Seduction (12 page)

“I am well aware of Julianne’s views,” Lucas said sharply. “I have tolerated them, but I do not approve, and she knows it. But what, pray tell, concern is this of yours?”

“She saved my life. In this way, I am saving hers. She should not be open about her radical leanings, not in such a dangerous time.”

Lucas stared very closely. “I still do not understand your concern, Paget.”

Dom shook his head. “You do not need to understand it, then. Did you know she is thinking of aiding and abetting the Jacobins in Paris by hunting down an émigré family that has settled in Cornwall?”

Lucas said grimly, “No, I did not.”

“Treyton is in love with her. He is dangerously radical.”

“I do not approve of Treyton. She can do better. How do you know about this Jacobin mission?”

He did not approve of Treyton, either, so that satisfied him. “She told me. I have warned her not to go after this émigré family that her Jacobin friends are hunting. She will never survive such games of espionage.”

“I have chastised her over and over. I have forbidden her from attending radical assemblies. And I agree with you—Julianne can hardly survive games of espionage! But my sister is stubborn, and very hard to control. I can hardly put her under lock and key.”

“She must be controlled, or she might wind up in a predicament she cannot get out of. Her views are seditious, if not treasonous, and she might find herself in serious jeopardy. Our people could decide to prosecute her, and the Jacobins would destroy her the moment they were done with her.”

“Is it that bad in France?” Lucas asked.

“It is that bad in France,” Dominic said. He chose his words with care. “Your sister has her own charm. I have become fond of her in the past few weeks. I do not want to see her pay a terrible price for her inexperience.” The men locked stares. “She should mind her own affairs, stay out of politics and marry well.”

Lucas laughed without mirth. “You know, Paget, I respect you, and not because you are Bedford, but for what you are doing for our country. And as much as I agree with you about Julianne, if you think I could force a marriage on her, you do not know her as well as you claim to. I am loath to force her into anything, for that matter.”

“But you are head of this household, Greystone, and you decide what is in her best interest. Clearly, someone must look out for her. I am prepared to help in this matter,” he added.

Lucas was surprised. “What does that mean?”

“Again, I always repay my debts. I owe you and your brother and sisters. I can help with her dowry.”

Lucas looked shocked. Then he said, harshly, “Why the hell would you do that? Amelia wrote me that she was very concerned by Julianne’s susceptibility to your persuasion. She told me she was alarmed because Julianne had gone from nurse to companion. She elaborated that the two of you were constantly together. I, of course, knew who you were when I received her letter, so I was not alarmed, although I was surprised, knowing my sister as I do. But I am alarmed now.
What is the extent of your relationship?
”

He controlled his facial muscles. “You do not need to be alarmed. You already know the extent of our relationship—she has been my savior, my nurse and my companion. I have appreciated her companionship while I have been confined. And that is the end of it. Surely you are not suggesting an inappropriate connection?”

Lucas stared. After a moment, he said, “No, of course not. You are an honorable man.”

He almost flinched. He knew that the motto
War with Honor
existed, but anyone who believed it was a fool who would not live for long. “Consider my offer, Greystone.”

“You are not helping with my sister’s dowry.” Lucas was flat.

He realized he would not be allowed to contribute even a penny. The other man impressed him. “I am also afraid that Julianne will be manipulated by her radical Parisian friends. If I were you, I would intercept her correspondence.”

He flushed. “The truth is, I have considered it. But I despise the notion of spying upon my sister. It goes against my sense of honor.”

“She needs your protection. You will regret it if you do not.”

Lucas took a draught of the brandy.

Dom knew an opening when he saw one and he barreled on. “She saved my life and I do not want her life endangered by her foolish views. Did you know she is having difficulty with your neighbors? That she is shunned by some of them? That doors which used to be open to her are now closed?”

“Yes, I do know,” Lucas said grimly. “But if you think the solution is for me to marry her off, so her husband can be her gaoler, then you are mistaken. Even if I got her to the altar, she would still maintain her radical principles—even more strongly, I believe.” Lucas picked up his drink, but he only stared at it while rotating the glass in his hands.

Dom realized he had made the strongest case that he could. He was surprised at how important it had been to do so. But Julianne was her own worst enemy. Someone had to look out for her.

He reminded himself that she was not his affair, not any longer. The reminder felt hollow. And he knew Julianne well enough to know that in the end, she would stubbornly do as she wished.

There was, however, one more thing. “I have made the points I wish to make, with one exception.”

Lucas looked up.

“I cannot be unmasked, even now.”

“Julianne would never betray you to your enemies, Paget. Surely you know that?”

He knew no such thing. “Only five men have known of my activities, Greystone, and now, it is six. The women in this house are not to discover who I am, or that I am English, or that I am Bedford. I cannot have such information in their hands. That information is highly classified.”

Lucas stared. “Sebastian has already made this case for you. I have told no one—not even Jack—about you.”

“Good.” Dom smiled for the first time that morning, and picked up his glass. “So I will remain Charles Maurice, and you can pretend to apprehend me.”

T
HE
MOMENT
J
ULIANNE
led the carriage horse into the stables, she saw Lucas’s red gelding in its stall.

Lucas was home.

He would discover that Charles was a French soldier and turn him over to the authorities.

She rushed the startled mare into her box, shut the door and latched it and ran from the barn, her pulse pounding with fear. She must prevent Lucas from interfering; she must not let him arrest Charles! She lifted her skirts and raced across the drive, tripping several times. By the time she reached the front entrance, she was panting and breathless. She rushed inside, not bothering to close the door. The house seemed strangely silent.
Where were they?
All she could hear was her own heavy, labored breathing.

She started for the stairs, passing the closed library door. And then she faltered, detecting the murmur of male voices from behind the entry.

She froze, still out of breath. The tone of the conversation sounded low key and ordinary—as if a quiet discussion was taking place.

Lucas must be within, but he could not be with Charles. They must have another guest. For Lucas would not have an ordinary discussion with an enemy of the state! Voices would be raised—she would detect the tones of alarm or anger. Julianne reached for the doorknob. But she was so agitated that her hand slipped off the knob instead of turning it, and as she grasped it again, she heard Lucas speaking, very clearly, with some amusement in his tone.

She closed her eyes in relief—perhaps Charles had fled the house.

And then she heard the perfectly cultured tones of an Englishman speaking back to him.

Disbelief began.

That could not be Charles speaking.

Without thinking, she laid her ear against the door.

“Apparently he will have my head if we are not at Whitehall within forty-eight hours,” Lucas was saying.

“That is the republican way, and I must admit, I find that jest in rather bad taste.”

The disbelief intensified.
It was not possible.
The Englishman almost sounded like Charles! She would have thought it Charles, except he did not have a French accent. Instead, his tones were cultured and upper class.

“We will leave this afternoon, if that suits you, Paget. We can hire a coach with fresh horses in Penzance, and that way you will be at the War Office as commanded.”

“It suits me,” the Englishman said. “I debated trying to get a letter off to London, but I was afraid to put any intelligence in the post.”

“I can imagine you are eager to leave Cornwall.”

“Frankly, I am very eager to get back to London. I can’t quite imagine walking down a city street without the fear of coming across a crazed mob, intent on violence, brutality and murder. And I am very eager to return to my home. It has been well over a year—a year and a half, actually.”

Disbelief had become shock.
No.
That was not Charles, because Charles was a Frenchman, with an accent, and he did not have a home in London!

“Julianne will fight our ruse tooth and nail,” Lucas said. “She will be furious when I apprehend you to take you to the London authorities.”

“She can never know who I really am.”

She realized she was paralyzed.
She can never know....

Somehow she pushed open the door—and saw Charles and Lucas standing before the dark hearth.

Oh my God.

As one, both men turned to look at her. Lucas smiled; Charles did not. “Hello, Julianne. I have met your friend, Maurice.”

Julianne did not even see Lucas. She saw only Charles—who was not a Frenchman at all.

The shock intensified; she stared, absolutely speechless.

He was a lie. Everything was a lie.

In French, he said, “I’m afraid our picnic has been canceled. Your brother has other plans for me.”

“Before you start shouting, I must take him to London. The authorities will wish to interview him,” Lucas said.

She began to tremble wildly, her gaze locked with Paget’s.
“Liar.”

His green eyes flickered.

Lucas walked over to her, laying a hand on her arm. She flung it off, not looking at him. “Liar! I heard you—speaking English perfectly—without an accent! You aren’t a Frenchman—you are English!”

His expression never changed. He stared, not saying a word, but she felt his mind racing.

“There is no way out of your lies. You are no Frenchman!” Where, she thought, was her beloved Charles Maurice? How could this be happening?

Lucas said calmly, “How long were you standing at the door, Julianne?”

She could not stop shaking. She continued to stare at the
Englishman
. “Long enough to hear you call him Paget—a very fine, old, revered English name. Long enough to hear him speaking in English, without the slightest accent. Long enough to know he lives in London, not France. That he has a home there that he misses!” she cried. “Long enough to have heard you say you must be at Whitehall in forty-eight hours.” She gasped, the horror complete now. “Tom was right! He said I must not trust you!”

And she had trusted him completely—with her body and her heart.

Finally, his expression changed. “I am sorry,” he said.

How could this be happening? The library was tilting, spinning. She could not think clearly—this was impossible!

And then her stunned mind understood exactly who she was looking at. He had been wounded in France, but he was an Englishman, which meant one thing. He was a British agent, and he had been in France to undermine the revolution. “You are a spy!”

He was firm. “I am very sorry, Julianne, that I found it necessary to lie to you. But I am not a spy. My mother is French, and I was visiting her properties in France when I got caught up in the violence there.”

She almost laughed at him. As if she would ever again believe a word he uttered!

Where was her beloved Charles—the revolutionary hero who loved her?

“Julianne, you must be calm. It was a matter of survival for Paget to go along with your misconception that he was a Frenchman and an officer in the army.”

She finally looked at her brother. “Did you know, too?”

“No.”

She didn’t believe him, either. “My God, are you a spy, too? Is that why you are always in London these days? Maybe you are gallivanting around Paris, as well!”

“I don’t have time to spy, Julianne,” Lucas said. “And you know it.”

She looked back at Paget, not knowing any such thing. As he stood there, he looked arrogant, patronizing and wealthy, every inch the British noble. Did he have a title? The disbelief, horror and shock had become one mass of confusion. This was a nightmare. This could not be happening.

“I don’t believe either of you.” She whirled and ran from the room.

J
ULIANNE
DID
NOT
KNOW
how long she stood at the window in her bedroom, gazing blindly out at the driveway and stables below. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. It was impossible to think clearly. The shock was too debilitating, and it overwhelmed her.