Seduction (22 page)

She thought about it. “Weak. Hungry. Better.”

He approached. “You were very ill.”

“You took care of me.” She studied him, almost disbelieving. Why had he nursed her? Had he merely wished to repay her for saving his life? Or had it meant more?

He hesitated, studying her in return. “Yes, I did. I was concerned.”

“You must have a dozen servants who could tend me.”

“I do not quite have a dozen servants.” His smile came and went. “And frankly, I had a bit of help. Two housemaids were kind enough to help me attend you. You were with fever for most of the night.” Suddenly he leaned over her and lay his palm on her forehead. His touch was terribly reassuring—but it also made her heart leap.

Would his touch always excite and arouse her? He was
not
her revolutionary war hero. There had been so many lies.

He gave her a very long look, as if he knew that he made her pulse race, and dropped his hand. “Your fever broke a few hours ago.” His expression tightened. “I hope a lesson was learned.”

She did not flinch. “Yes—to avoid ever being imprisoned in any way, again.”

His elegant brows lifted. “I do believe we shall have a serious discussion soon.”

“Why? Why do you care?”

He stared for a long moment. “I suppose I care for many reasons. I am going to get dressed. I will send breakfast up.”

He cared.
Charles had never told her he had cared, but he had acted as if he loved her, and at the time, she had believed that. When he had been exposed as a fraud and a liar, she hadn’t known what to believe. Did she dare believe Paget now?

She wanted to believe him.

Julianne hugged herself and watched him leave. A part of her suddenly wished he would come back and take her into his arms. Another part of her—far saner—urged her to run from him. As far and as fast as possible.

When he was gone, a maid walked in without knocking, carrying a breakfast tray. Lady Paget was behind her, resplendent in rose silk trimmed with gold. “I see you are awake, Miss Greystone.”

Julianne’s heart sank. About to get up, she sat back in the bed, pulling the covers high, as if they might protect her from Dominic’s mother. Her smile hadn’t changed. It was blatantly false.

“Nancy, please put the tray on the bed so Miss Greystone can reach it,” Lady Paget instructed.

Julianne was starving, but as the tray with its covered plates was laid down, she did not touch it. “Good morning,” she said carefully.

“My son was very worried about you—but you already know that.” She nodded at the bergère Dominic had vacated and the maid moved it closer to the bed. Lady Paget sat on it and stared.

“We are friends.” She didn’t know what to say, but knew no good was going to come of this encounter.

“He has told me all about you, Miss Greystone. I am very grateful that you nursed him back to health when he was so gravely injured.”

Julianne did not like the innuendo hanging to her first words. Why did this woman look down upon her? Was she simply a vain, preening snob? Or did she have a reason to despise her—for she certainly seemed to dislike her. “I could hardly let him die.”

“Even if you had known the truth? That he was an earl and a patriot?”

She bit her lip. “Even had I known the truth, I would have helped him. He told you that I mistook him for a Frenchman?”

“He told me that you mistook him for an officer in the French army.” Her gaze was frightening in its intensity now.

She knows,
Julianne thought anxiously,
that we are on opposite sides of the war.
“I am very grateful to Dominic for what he has done, and for being allowed to recover in this house—” she began, but Catherine cut her off.

“I owe you for taking care of my son when he was seriously injured, so I allowed you to recover from your incarceration and illness here.” Her green eyes flashed with anger. “But you are well now. This is my house, too. I have no tolerance for Jacobins, Miss Greystone. None.”

Julianne inhaled. “I am sure you don’t,” she said, and then wisely decided not to point out that this was a free country.

Catherine stood. “You are certainly entitled to your politics—but you are not entitled to a room in this house. You are the enemy.”

Julianne stared, stiff with tension. “I support the revolution,” she tried, “but I am not your enemy.”

“You most certainly are the enemy,” Catherine cried. “I am a Frenchwoman, a countess, a royalist! My son is an Englishman, a Tory and a patriot! You meet with your radical associates, espousing the great cause of
l’egalité, la liberté,
for all! Where is that freedom, Miss Greystone? It is not to be found in Paris, where my home was vandalized and destroyed deliberately by a mob. I fled Paris, fearing for my life. Is that freedom?” she cried. “Is that the revolution you condone?”

Julianne did not try to answer.

“I am afraid to go to my country home, which has been in my family for centuries! Is that freedom?”

She somehow said, “I do not condone vandalism, violence or other means of intimidation. But serfs, laborers and peasants deserve freedom, too.”

“In this house, you may keep your opinions to yourself. As for your radical activities, my son bears great burdens—and now he must worry about you? Rescue you? Shelter you? Because he is taken with that reddish hair, a fine figure, a pretty face?”

“We are friends,” she managed.

“I know a pair of lovers when I see one,” she said harshly. “If you think my son will ever make a serious commitment to a woman like yourself, a radical, Jacobin
bohème,
you are wrong! This is a passing inclination on his part. I know my son!” Flushed, she turned and stormed toward the door. But before leaving, she paused. “I want you out of my home as soon as you are fully recovered, Miss Greystone. I am hoping that will be today. Dominic is blinded by your charms. I am not.”

Julianne collapsed against the pillows. The countess would be intimidating even without being on the receiving end of her fury. And how could she even think Dominic blinded by her charms? He was the coolest, most rational man she had ever met!

Are you in love with her?

That is highly impertinent…

Why would Lady Paget even ask such a question? Julianne stared up at the ceiling, so tense now, her fists were clenched. She was drawn to a man she didn’t even know, when a war stood between them and she was only a passing interest. God, what was she doing?

She sat up and flung the covers aside. A wave of dizziness took her.

She sat back down. She needed to eat something, and then she would leave.

J
ULIANNE
ASKED
FOR
HER
clothes, but the maid told her that the dress had been tossed into the rubbish, and her undergarments were hanging to dry. Her interview with Lady Paget remained foremost in her mind. She wanted to leave immediately, before having another unpleasant encounter. The prospect of never seeing Dominic again hurt terribly, which was even more reason to leave.

After pleading with her, Nancy brought her clothes, and now Julianne stood in a chemise and under petticoat as they attached a bustle to each hip. “Thank you so much for lending me your things,” she whispered. She was still somewhat light-headed from her illness and her ordeal.

Nancy was petite, dark haired and French, and probably Julianne’s own age. “His lordship instructed us to meet your every command, my lady.” Her French accent was thick. She smiled slyly now. “I would not refuse, not when His Lordship is so fond of you.”

Julianne did not smile back. She knew exactly what the pretty housemaid was thinking. “We are friends,” she tried.

Nancy laughed. It was a happy sound.
“Bien sur!”
Then, as slyly, “He sat up all night with you, my lady.”

Julianne reverted to French. “It is simply Miss Greystone, Nancy. I do not have a title.” But her heart hammered now. “Did he really sit up all night with me?”

Before Nancy could answer, Dominic said, “Why don’t you ask me?”

She whirled. He leaned negligently against the door, wearing a magnificent chocolate-brown frock coat with gold embroidery. A bronze waistcoat was beneath and French lace gushed from his cuffs and at his collar. His breeches were cream colored, his stockings white. His gaze was very languid and trained steadily upon her.

Julianne felt as if he could see through her chemise and petticoat.

“Why are you out of bed?” he asked.

Nancy had frozen behind her, her head down. Julianne could feel her delighted and wicked thoughts. “I am getting dressed. I am leaving.”

“Really? Since when?” He sauntered forward now.

“I must go, Paget.”

He reached her and touched her chin, tilting up her face. Julianne trembled, slammed with desire. “You are going nowhere today.”

Her trembling increased. She would never tell him about the horrid interview with Lady Paget. “I can’t possibly impose upon you any longer.”

He was amused. “I imposed upon you for an entire month.”

“Dominic,” she tried.

He moved some of her hair back behind her shoulder—a lover’s casual gesture. “Nancy, would you leave us for a moment.” It was not a question.

Nancy fled, fighting a knowing smile.

“She knows—everyone knows,” Julianne said.

“She suspects, which is an entirely different matter. But no one can prove anything. I will deny any rumors—if anyone dares to gossip.” He was calm. “Why are you running away from me?”

“Because I would be ten times the fool to stay!” she cried.

He stared. “So I take it that I am not forgiven for my deception during my stay at Greystone?”

“No.”

He paced away and said, “You need rest. You cannot leave yet.” His gaze lifted to hers.

His look was making her resolve crumble. “Lucas is probably home. He will be frantic when he realizes that I am missing.”

“Lucas is not back in town. I left a letter for him this morning.”

She stared, with some dread. “What did you tell him?”

He slowly smiled at her. “Oh, have no fear. I did not tell him in a letter that you were dragged from your bed by the authorities and imprisoned in the Tower, with charges of sedition pending. I prefer to tell him that in person.”

She cried out. “Please, we must never tell him what happened!”

He gave her a sharp look. “You crossed many lines, Julianne. You could have been hurt, beaten, raped in that prison—and charged. And no one might have ever known anything about it.”

She hugged herself. “But none of those things happened, and I intend to be much more circumspect in the future.”

“None of those things happened, because I rescued you. Are you suggesting that you will continue to agitate for your radical causes?” He was incredulous.

“I can hardly change how I think.”

“People change their minds all of the time.”

“So you wish for me to become a Tory—a reactionary, like you?” she cried.

He flushed. “I am a Tory, but I am not a reactionary, Julianne.” His tone had filled with warning.

“I am sorry. I don’t even know you. I have no right to assume what you are thinking, or what you believe.”

“No, you do not.” He stared, unsmiling. “I do not expect you to change how you think. I know you very well. Your beliefs are ingrained. They are in your heart.”

He knew her well because she had always been honest with him. But she didn’t know him at all.

“I do expect you to change your behavior. I asked you to promise me to refrain from carrying on your radical activities when we were in my coach, and you did not make the promise.”

She didn’t know what to say. She had no wish to ever be arrested again—yet the cause she fought for was greater than herself.

He made a sound—a harsh, mirthless laugh. “Oh, I can feel how you are scheming now—you have no intention of backing off. Julianne, next time, you might be hurt. Next time, you might be charged with sedition, or worse! I heard that Butler spoke at your assembly.”

She was taken aback. “I don’t agree with him.”

“Thank God!”

“Pitt is a tyrant.”

He choked. “Believe what you will. But let us consider the facts. This is war, and those supporting France will no longer be tolerated, Julianne. The government has declared war on radicals like yourself. You may hold to your beliefs, but you cannot espouse them and you cannot act on them. It is insane to do so! Please,” he added harshly.

“It is almost as if,” she said slowly, “you care about me.”

His gaze narrowed. And he reached out and drew her forward directly against his body. “I already told you that I care. How often must I repeat myself?”

She was acutely aware of being in his arms. “You deceived me once, entirely.”

“Yes, I did, and I regret it entirely.”

Julianne went still as his mouth claimed hers, fiercely. And then as her heart leapt, desire fisted and she was incapable of even wanting to resist. He deepened the kiss.