Seduction (20 page)

“You missed supper,” Nesbitt said.

Julianne tried to smile at him and failed. Her stomach hurt too much from anxiety for her to have an appetite. She paced the cell, slowly.

How many times had Lucas begged her to be careful of voicing her opinions? How many times had he forbidden her from attending radical assemblies? He had only wanted to protect her—and he had been right. It was too dangerous now to be open about her positions and her views. But she hadn’t listened.

Had Lucas returned to London? Was he even now at the house? Was he worried about her? Was he speaking to the neighbors? Even if they had seen her being hustled into that carriage, Lucas wouldn’t have a clue as to where she had been taken.

Maybe, just maybe, he would enlist Paget’s help.

Suddenly a wave of dizziness swept her. Julianne hurried to her pallet to lie down. Once on her back, she simply lay there, fighting how heavy her eyes were, how exhausted her body was. Choking on despair, she curled into a ball, closing her eyes, thinking about her life at Greystone Manor, the affair with Paget and the riot. Eventually, near dawn, sleep claimed her another time.

Bright morning light awoke her. The jail was filled with conversation. She immediately recognized the sound of the wheeled food cart. Julianne sat up slowly, with dread.

She was still in the Tower.

The same two guards were approaching with the food cart. She got up—and a wave of dizziness made her sit back down. She waited for it to pass.

Then she got up more slowly and walked over to the front of her cell. The guard she’d spoken to yesterday looked at her and she said, “The constable never came.”

“He wasn’t here yesterday when I got off duty.”

“Bedford must know that I am here.” She spoke quietly. She did not have the energy to shout or make demands. “You will be rewarded.”

“I’ll see if I can speak to him when I am done in here,” he said. He picked up a bowl and held it near her cell’s food door, lifting it.

There was no dread now. Julianne took the bowl, sat on the pallet and ate the gruel with her fingers. She ignored the black specks she saw in it.

Then she used the chamber pot, as discreetly as possible, and sat back down, praying that the damned guard would speak with the constable. Minutes turned into an hour, then two. She stared at the end of the corridor, refusing to allow herself to think about an eternity spent in the Tower, with no way out.

The door opened. The man approaching was well dressed in a brown velvet coat, a copper waistcoat, pale breeches and stocking. His wig was even powdered.

She slowly stood up. “Constable.”

He looked her up and down, very skeptically.

Julianne knew she looked like the homeless in the East End. “I am Julianne Greystone,” she said. “My brother is Lucas Greystone, my uncle Sebastian Warlock. And my friend is Bedford. Please tell him I am here.”

The constable stared at her. “You speak very well.”

She fought her desperation. “Bedford will not be happy when he learns I am here and that my pleas have fallen on deaf ears.”

The constable stared and she knew he was trying to weigh the pitfalls of approaching a peer like Bedford with what might possibly be a con.

“I am telling you the truth. You must tell Bedford that I am here. Sir—what could I possibly gain by sending you on a wild-goose chase?”

“That is precisely what I am trying to decide,” he said.

“G
OOD
MORNING
,
darling,” Catherine said, walking into the breakfast chamber, which was a corner tower room with bright yellow walls.

Dominic laid down his newspaper and arose, moving to her to kiss her cheek. She was clad in a riding ensemble, and her cheeks were flushed, meaning she was just getting back from an early morning ride. “Good morning.” He was surprised that she had cut her ride short to join him for breakfast. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“We haven’t had a private moment in days.” She smiled and took the chair he had pulled out for her.

“That is because you are the height of fashion, and you are on a constant whirl,” he said with affection, meaning it. Catherine was always being called on, and her calendar was full.

“Should I stay at home by myself? Hmm, how dull would that be?”

“God knows, you are never dull.”

A servant appeared, pouring Catherine her favorite tea. She thanked him and said, “Did you enjoy the fête Lady Davis gave last night?”

He looked inquiringly at her. “I was rather bored.”

“I thought so. I saw Nadine did not attend, although she was invited.”

Dominic hadn’t seen Nadine since their reunion, and he had expected to see her at the soirée. D’Archand had been present, and while he had seemed in good spirits, he hadn’t wanted to discuss Nadine with Dom, beyond saying she had a bit of a cough.

Dom hadn’t believed him. He suspected Nadine had as much use for society now as he did.

They had more in common now than they had had before the revolution began, he thought. “I will see her later today. I have already sent a note.”

“Good.” She smiled at him. “You are the perfect diplomat, Dominic, and the perfect gentleman. Have I ever told you that? Nadine is a fortunate young woman.”

Suddenly he thought of Julianne, screaming at him that he was a liar. Julianne would very much disagree, he thought. “Being diplomatic is usually the practical solution to a conflict,” he said evasively. Catherine would be horrified if she ever realized that he had sacrificed his gentility to the cause of survival long ago.

“Well, if you are calling on her this afternoon, I will wait and do so tomorrow.” She smiled, clearly pleased. Then, softly, “I am sure the awkwardness will pass, Dominic.”

He sipped his tea. Catherine would not be pleased when he broke off the engagement, he thought. She would have to adjust to that event, just as she would adjust to his leaving shortly for France. Before he could summon up a bland response, Gerard entered the room. “My lord, you have a caller.”

Dom frowned. “It is 9:00 a.m. No one calls at this hour.”

“He claims to be the Constable of the Tower.”

Dom started. “The constable of
what
tower, pray tell?”

“The Tower of London, my lord.” Gerard waited.

Dom did not know the Constable of the Tower of London. Rather intrigued, he stood. “Where is he?”

“In the entry hall.”

“Excuse me,” he said to Catherine, who was as surprised as he was. He walked past Gerard, who followed him from the breakfast room into the corridor outside. The Tower served as a prison, an armory and a storehouse for royal treasures and monies. The Constable could have any number of responsibilities, but none to do with him. “Did he say why he wishes to see me?”

“He said he has a message for you from one of his prisoners.”

Dominic could not imagine knowing someone currently imprisoned in the Tower. Those sent for incarceration there were often high-ranking figures, mostly political prisoners of some sort. But he had been away for a long time. He might have an acquaintance who was imprisoned there. Aware that Catherine had followed them into the hall, he looked over his shoulder at her. “Has anyone we know been recently imprisoned?”

“Not that I can think of,” she said.

These days, no one really knew who might be an enemy of the state, he thought. But those against the war—and in favor of the French Republic—hid their views.

And then Julianne’s image came to mind.

Julianne—an open Jacobin sympathizer.

His heart felt as if it had briefly stopped. He shoved the alarm aside. Julianne was in Cornwall. No one cared about her Society of Friends of the People. No one, other than Treyton and himself, knew that she had been asked to locate an émigré family by the Parisian Jacobins. No one in London would even know of her existence.

He calmed slightly as he entered the grand, high-ceilinged foyer of the house. The constable turned, smiling. Dom saw that he did not know him. Portly and elegant, the man bowed. “My lord, I am Edward Thompson. I am very sorry to call at this hour, but I was given a message to relay to you from one of my prisoners. It is highly unusual, of course, but she insisted. I only pray there is no treachery here, and I am not the victim of a small conspiracy.”

She
insisted
....

Somehow, he kept the utter shock from his face. No, it could not be Julianne! “Who wishes to contact me?”

“Miss Julianne Greystone, my lord. She insisted I come to you directly and inform you of the fact that she has been incarcerated. I pray I have not made a grave error.”

Julianne was in the Tower.

The anger began. “Take me to Miss Greystone.”

S
URELY
D
OMINIC
WOULD
come for her.

She prayed he was a man of his word.

Julianne sat on her pallet, hugging her knees to her chest, staring toward the end of the corridor. The door was too far away for her to see it, and the end of the hall was cloaked in shadows. But she knew the door was there. Dominic would have to walk through it if he came for her. He would come, wouldn’t he?

She thought she saw a movement at the corridor’s end. Afraid to hope, she froze. And then she heard the heavy iron door closing. She heard faint footsteps.

Please, let it be Dominic, she prayed.

The footsteps were clearly audible now. They grew louder, approaching.

She was so afraid that a pair of guards would be walking toward her. Her heart slammed wildly, making it impossible to breathe.

And Dominic emerged from the shadows....

He saw her at the exact moment that she saw him. Their gazes met; he halted. His green eyes widened in shock.

Slowly, Julianne stood, trembling and faint from exhaustion and relief. And she wondered how she had ever thought him a mere army officer. He was the epitome of wealth, power and authority, every inch the nobleman. She had never seen him in his own clothes before, and he wore a navy blue velvet coat, a pale, silvery blue silk waistcoat, fine white breeches, white stockings and black buckled shoes. He even had on a dark, elegant wig and a black tricorn hat.

His gaze slammed down her bloodstained, blackened skirts. He turned. Julianne saw that he was wearing several rings. “Release her at once.” His voice was filled with dangerous warning. It was a tone that no one would dare disobey.

“Yes, my lord.” The Constable nodded, and a guard rushed to obey.

Julianne fought the terrific urge to break down and weep. He had come. He was getting her released.

And she met his gaze again. She wondered if he was angry. His green gaze was dark.

“Are you all right?” He spoke calmly as the guard turned the key in the lock.

She hesitated. She wasn’t all right, and she didn’t think she would ever be all right again.

“Whose blood is that, Julianne?” he asked as calmly.

“I am not hurt.” She inhaled as the door was opened. “I don’t know.”

His brow slashed upward.

The guard gestured for her to come out, but she turned and looked at Nesbitt, Adams and the other three men in the cell. They stared back. She had already told them that if she were released she would help them get out, while Nesbitt had urged her to expose the atrocious despotism of Pitt’s government. She had promised him she would.

“Julianne,” Dominic said, as quietly. Nevertheless, it was an order.

She smiled weakly at her friends and turned, starting forward. As she did, the cell tilted wildly. She watched the bars spinning.

He cried out.

Julianne saw his horror as he rushed toward her—and that was the last thing that she saw.

J
ULIANNE
BECAME
AWARE
of light pressing against her closed eyelids—and a solid, familiar wall of muscle behind her back, equally familiar male arms around her. “Charles.” She murmured, the cloud lifting.

“You have fainted. Be still.”

She opened her eyes and looked at Charles’s beloved face. But it wasn’t Charles who held her in his arms, as she lay in the back of a coach with red velvet seats. It was Dominic Paget.

Recollection returned instantly. “Dominic.”

“Yes.”

“You came.” Relief flooded her. She wasn’t in the Tower. She was with Paget—she was safe.

“Of course I came.” His expression was bland, his tone utterly collected.

She struggled to sit up and he released her. Her weary mind raced. He was a man of his word; the horror of the past few days was over. “I was afraid you would not come.”

His green eyes searched hers. “I told you to send word if you ever needed me, Julianne. I meant it when I said I owed you.” His mouth firmed ever so slightly. “We are probably even.”

He was so devoid of emotion. Had she really seen anger in his eyes a moment ago? “I was afraid that you had left London.”

“As you can see, I have remained in town.” His gaze moved slowly over her face.