Nicole Jordan (21 page)

Talons of passion clutched at him, raking him with need. When she knelt before him, he shuddered, anticipating her erotic intentions.

He wasn’t mistaken. Delirious sensation ripped through him as she attended him, running her tongue around the head of his shaft…wetting the sensitive tip…blowing a tender, hot breath that aroused him wildly.

His entire body clenched.

And that was before she fastened her lush mouth around him.

“Sweet Christ,” Dare ground out harshly.

She showed him no mercy, though. His engorged shaft jutted out blatantly now, throbbing with a relentless ache. Every inch of his skin burned with fever for her. But her tongue and lips and teeth continued their sensual assault, forcing his surrender to the exquisite torment.

Dare gritted his teeth at the incredible onslaught of pleasure. He felt his sanity slipping away as she suckled him, drawing him into a vortex of fire. It was only moments before his rigid control broke.

Grating out her name, he dug his fingers into her shoulders and pulled her upright. Her beguiling mouth was moist and triumphant, but he felt the coiled tension in her body, saw the smoldering flames of desire in her eyes, and knew she was trapped in her need, as he was.

His hands clasping under her buttocks, he lifted her off her feet and spread her thighs, prepared to take her. A charge of bright lightning arced between them as their eyes met.

Dare held her stormy gaze as he slid upward into her molten, silky sweetness with a violent, thrusting need.

The stunning heat of her nearly made him explode. And Julienne’s gasping moan told him she was at the point of climax, as did the way she sank her fingers into his hair and arched against him.

Unable to speak, barely able to breathe, he carried her to the bed and fell with her. For a moment they rolled and tussled on the narrow mattress in a duel of desire, the turbulence of their clashing wills only adding to their passion. Julienne had wrapped her legs tightly around his hips and now was bucking and writhing beneath him. Dare felt his own arousal spurred and heightened by her tempestuous hunger.

Fearing he would burst, he covered her mouth in a deep, violent kiss of longing, and she responded just as fiercely, digging her nails into his shoulder blades, her fervor singeing, scalding, searing.

An instant later he felt the violence of her release. Julienne convulsed beneath him in a white-hot eruption, her scream captured by his mouth as he held her surging body down. The feel of her sleek, tight channel clutching around his shaft sent him over the edge. He sheathed himself to the hilt, his own hips jerking in a spasm of completion as savage, unrestrained pleasure washed over him in endless caresses of fire.

For a dozen heartbeats he lay sprawled on top of her, too exhausted to move. Finally, though, he eased his weight off her and gathered her limp body against him.

In the aftermath, Julienne lay wrapped in his arms, enveloped by his sinewy strength, her body boneless but her thoughts in turmoil. Her plan to punish Dare had gone awry; her lonely, yearning flesh had betrayed her, her resolve melting as anger turned to fervent hunger.

It was foolish to have succumbed to her passions, and yet she felt almost cleansed by the release of pent-up fury and hurt after so many years. Their lovemaking had been explosive, but she hadn’t wanted careful tenderness from Dare. She’d been wild and wanton—burning for him.

She had relished the fiery tempest. And she cherished more the peace that came afterward. She had missed this desperately, the intimacy of lying with Dare, their bodies entwined. His lips felt so right, his arms felt so right,
he
felt so right. She could feel his heartbeat like an echo of her own.

And yet he thought her a traitor.

A long moment passed before she could control her resentment, her wrath.

“Despite what you believe of me,” she said at last, her voice low and raw, “I would
never
aid the current regime in France. I hated the Revolutionists for murdering my father and destroying our future, but it was because of Napoleon that we remained destitute. If we had been able to recover even a part of the Folmont lands and fortune, I never would have—” She fell silent, gritting her teeth, knowing it was useless to ponder what-ifs.

“Never what?” Dare prodded, his warm breath brushing her temple.

“I never would have been compelled to prostitute myself.”

She felt him go very still. She had shocked him, as she intended.

“What do you mean?” The question held a sharp edge that surprised her.

Can you possibly care?
she thought defiantly.

“Your grandfather’s allegations caused such a scandal for me that I could no longer show my face in public without creating a scene. I was branded a treacherous whore even by my friends.” Anger drove her to continue. “I might have borne it, perhaps, but
Maman
was devastated. I left town, hoping to spare her. But the income from the shop wouldn’t fully support her…. And then her disease grew worse. She needed constant care and relief from the pain. So I took a protector to pay her bills.”

“A protector?” Dare’s voice was a low rasp.

Remembering, Julienne swallowed hard, fighting a sudden rush of ancient grief. “I had no choice. I was all
Maman
had.”

His expression unreadable, Dare rose up on one elbow to stare down at her.

His image swam before her eyes, shimmering with the firelight and her foolish tears. She dashed them away furiously. She would
not
fall victim to self-pity. And she would not countenance his suspicions.

“I sold my body, Dare, but not my loyalty to this country.”

At his intense scrutiny, she looked away, trying to hold fast to her anger; it was her sole defense against him. “I am not for sale! Not inside my soul. And I am not a traitor.”

Dare remained silent, recalling when he had first met Julienne, how she had shielded her mother with all the fierceness of a lioness protecting her cub. She had sacrificed far more than most daughters would have, selling her body to sustain her mother’s final days. He felt a fierce stab of guilt that she had been brought so low—

Grimly Dare caught himself. He shouldn’t feel guilt over what had become of Julienne. If she had never betrayed him with her lover, her mother would have been well cared for. He would have seen to it, even if they hadn’t wed. But Julienne never had even given him the chance to make the offer.

“It hurts that you believed your grandfather’s lies,” she said after a moment.

I hurt, too,
he thought.
You cut out my heart
. But he’d known those particular accusations of the old man’s were lies. And he knew Julienne was still enraged by it. He could see the fire in her eyes—a long-burning, powerful anger amid the pain.

“I never believed my grandfather’s accusations of treason,” he said quietly.

“But you do think me capable of it now.”

Dare bit back a sigh. “I admit when I first saw you with Riddingham, I wanted you to be guilty. I was still bitter about your betrayal seven years ago.”

And he would never shake that bitterness, Dare reflected, feeling an ache in his chest at what they had lost. He lifted a loose curl from her cheek, brushing it against his lips and inhaling the sweet scent.

This was part of his shattered dream, holding Julienne in his arms, feeling her luscious warmth against him, the silkiness of her skin beneath his hands…. He had hungered for this closeness, this intimacy he had known only with her. The solace he craved was always her. He still craved her, not only with his body but with his heart—

Dare shut his eyes. Was it possible, he wondered, that he still loved her? God help him. That kind of weakness could destroy him.

But if he’d thought that making love to Julienne would lessen her hold on him, if he’d hoped to take her body and walk away triumphant, he realized now how gravely mistaken he was. A single violent coupling couldn’t quench his passion for her. It might never be quenched.

I’ll never be free of you,
his heart whispered.
You’ll haunt me forever
.

He could do his damnedest, however, to haunt Julienne in return. He wanted her as hungry and vulnerable as he was.

Deliberately he rested his palm on her breast—and felt her flinch.

At his arousing touch, Julienne drew a sharp breath, recognizing the instantaneous return of sexual desire. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to think, to breathe, to want. Dare made her feel desperate with wanting—

In despair she untangled her limbs from his and sat up abruptly.

Behind her she heard Dare’s murmur. “We’re on the same side, Jewel. We are not enemies.”

“It would be easier if we were,” she replied in a hoarse voice.

He hesitated. “I don’t know about you, but I would rather call a halt to this miserable style of warfare.”

“So would I.” She exhaled slowly. “If you are serious about wanting me to spy for you…I will do it.”

“Willingly?”

Julienne glanced back at him. “That is the only way I can prove my innocence to you, isn’t it?”

His lashes lowered, hooding his gaze. “You needn’t prove your innocence to me.”

“Do I not?” Rising from the bed, she went to the wardrobe and pulled out a wrapper, using it to cover her bare body.

“As I said,” Dare remarked, “you will be well paid.”

Julienne forced a shrug. “The income will be welcome, but I would have agreed in any case. I want Napoleon defeated as much as you do, perhaps more so.” She tied the sash with a jerk. “What do you want me to do?”

“Discover whatever you can from the émigré community. We’re especially interested in hints of anti-Royalists plots or rumors about Napoleon sympathizers.”

“While you continue to hunt for Caliban?”

“Yes. You will report to me for the time being.”

“Very well. You should go now.”

It was a dismissal, and to her relief, Dare didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. He rose silently to dress.

Julienne moved to stand before the hearth, holding out her hands to ward off her sudden chill.

She would do whatever Dare asked of her, whether it was spying on scheming émigrés or helping him find Caliban. She was determined to prove her innocence to him.

And she was even more determined to make the elusive rake fall in love with her again. She would win Dare’s total surrender in their battle of seduction, Julienne vowed.

But first she would have to conquer her own emotions. If tonight was any example, she was in danger of having her own sensual weapons turned on her.

She would have to do far better at hardening her feelings and bolstering her heart’s defenses if she wanted to survive.

Chapter

Eleven

Julienne began her commission as a spy much sooner than expected, for the next day brought news that eclipsed all else: Napoleon Bonaparte had abdicated.

For hours pandemonium reigned in London as crowds took to the streets in celebration. Amid the blaring trumpets and banging pots and pans came ecstatic cheers and triumphant shouts of “the Corsican Monster is vanquished!” All Europe had been ground under Napoleon’s boot heel for so long that his defeat seemed almost miraculous.

The émigrés could talk of nothing else, Julienne discovered when she attended the impromptu gatherings at Solange Brogard’s salon over the next several days. She shared their jubilation, even though her future wasn’t directly dependent on the fate of Napoleon’s successor, as theirs was. When the French Senate had declared in favor of King Louis, it meant that many of the exiles would be able to return home. But Julienne had no close family remaining, and the Folmont estates had been confiscated long ago.

At week’s end, however, she had little progress to report to Dare. He called at her lodgings to take her for a drive in the country.

Even though it was a beautiful spring day, Julienne felt a definite tension between them. But Dare made no mention of her revelations about her shameful past, and she was determined to keep tight control of her emotions and pretend their angry lovemaking had never occurred.

She waited until they had left London’s main streets before summarizing her lack of success as a spy.

“Everyone I observed is elated that Louis will be returning to France, along with the Compte d’Artois, the Prince de Conde, and other members of the exiled court. But I found no one at all who raised my suspicions or seemed to support Bonaparte. I’m sorry.”

Dare shook his head. “You needn’t apologize. And I sympathize with your frustration. We’ve had no luck in the search for Caliban.”

“You haven’t been able to identify the companion’s lover?”

He hesitated, making Julienne wonder if he had indeed uncovered a new lead. But all he said was, “No. It’s too soon yet to expect any breakthroughs on that front.”

Then he surprised her by asking an entirely unrelated question. “That is quite a fetching hat. Did you design it?”

She reached up to touch the wide-brimmed silk bonnet that was adorned with tiny roses. “Not I.
Maman
was the one with the creative talent.”

“While you were the one with the business sense.”

“I suppose,” Julienne said, puzzled by his change of subject.

For years after escaping to Kent, she and her mother had lived on the charity of distant relatives, in genteel shabbiness, struggling to make ends meet—until Julienne had hit upon the idea of selling bonnets and chapeaus that her artistic but frail mother designed. Like many Frenchwomen, the comptess had an astute eye for fashion, and her creations were in great demand. The business prospered well enough to eventually allow them to open a millinery and even to employ a clerk. They were scorned by both the French and English gentry for earning their living in trade, but at least they could afford the comptess’s medicines.

Julienne couldn’t understand, however, why Dare would make such an oblique observation unless it was to distract her from interrogating him about Caliban.