A Perfect Hero (20 page)

His eyes darkened. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “Don’t cry, kitten. Please don’t cry.”

He dragged her onto his lap. With unfaltering need, her arms wound around his neck.

“Dane,” she cried. “
Dane.
”

His mouth was on the curve of her cheek. The slightest turn ...her mouth angled into his. She did not surrender. She did not yield. Rather she sought . . .

His embrace was almost frighteningly intense, yet tempered with a world of restraint. Their kiss was molten; both succumbed to an almost frantic urgency driven by the undercurrent of desire. Sharpened by the time spent apart, escalating into a desperation neither could control.

With a muffled exclamation, he levered himself lengthwise down the seat and pulled her atop him.

She strained against him, into him. Her finger
tips tore at the intricate folds of his cravat. His eyes burning, with a fingertip he traced the out
line of the peak of her breast, a slow, ever-narrowing circle until her nipple grew taut. Lightning seemed to flash, there when his gaze centered. She made no outcry when he dragged her bodice down to her waist. Julianna tugged
her hands free. She wanted to be free to touch, as he was free to touch.

His hands coasted up and down her bare back, stroking just the way she’d dreamed, warm against the valley of her spine. He bore her weight on his thighs, her sex against his. Her ball gown was thin, no hindrance at all to the ram
pant thrust of his arousal. Julianna’s heart bounded forward as the pangs of awakening per
ception unfurled; she was unbearably aware of him beneath her, hard and thick.

She kissed the place where his jaw met his throat. “I want to touch you,” she said, letting her tongue dance against his skin, warm and salty. “I want—”

He seemed to know exactly what she wanted. He tore open his trousers and freed his arousal. Julianna raised her head, wishing she could see what the darkness concealed—no matter. What she did see made her heart leap. She could feel his hunger. She traced the grid of his belly, loving the crisp texture of the hair beneath her fingertips. Her fingertips followed the line below the inden
tation of his navel, reveling in the way his muscles knotted beneath her.

And then she touched him.

Hot. She hadn’t known that flesh could be so burning hot, hot as a brand. She snatched her hand away only to return in the very next breath.

She touched him again. She touched him
again
, and saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes glittered. He muttered encouragement. Her fingers tripped along the length of his shaft, a ten
tative venture—yet still she did not withdraw, not even when she skimmed the helm of his member. Her heart seemed to stop. She could feel the tip, silken velvet, a shaft of iron.

“Dane,” she heard herself say, “you feel like . . .” Words failed her. “And it’s so—”

A harsh serrated sound scraped from his throat. His palms slid beneath her skirts, pushing aside her pantalets, catching her bare bottom. Through the night, his eyes gleamed dark and golden. She could feel the steely seam of his shaft searing her furrowed cove.

“Kitten,” he said hoarsely. “Come here, kit
ten.” He was lifting her, guiding, bringing her down onto him. She gasped as the swollen head of his member slipped inside her heat. Her maiden
head breached, he held her still, poised above him.

The carriage clattered around a corner. His fin
gers lost purchase on her hips. She clutched at his shoulders for balance. The motion drove her down, hard—sealing her to the hilt.

His expression was almost pained, his features strained. “Julianna,” he grated. “Oh, kitten.”

For an instant she stared at him in confusion. It hurt, more than she’d expected. He seemed im
possibly hard...she seemed impossibly tight, impossibly full of him. And for a frantic instant she wasn’t sure this was even possible
. . . .

But her body was already adjusting to his pos
session, the burning sting of his entry fading. Her body stretched to accept him, clinging to his heat, as if it was meant to be. Wool chafed the inside of her thighs, but all she could feel was him . . . hard and deep inside her. Filling her as nothing ever had. As nothing ever would.

His hands renewed their grasp on the span of her hips. “Kitten,” he said thickly. “I can’t stop. I can’t.”

And she wouldn’t. Her thighs gripped him tightly. Almost fiercely. Her bottom dug into her heels. Her palms flattened against the window of the carriage.

Wordlessly, she shook her head. Something passed between them in that moment. His eyes flared burning and gold and brilliant.

With a growl he covered her mouth. And she covered
him
.

Every inch of him.

She moved instinctively, tipping herself back, then forward. Squeezing her eyes shut, her move
ments directed solely by blind instinct. Dane’s fingers dug into her flesh. The cords in his neck stood out as he caught her and brought her down on his shaft, spearing deep. Again and again, caught up in a frantic, white-hot frenzy. His fin
gers molded themselves to her scalp, tugging her forward. Her hair came down in a silken fall of curls and pearls around them both, his mouth taking hers in wild ferocity. Then she was crying out against his lips, until breath and voice and the world itself slipped away to nothingness.

ane’s labored breathing eased to a trickle. Slowly, he raised his head, gradually aware that the carriage was rolling to a halt—and he was still inside her! Julianna was lying above him, dazed and limp, her white thighs a taut vise around his, her chestnut head still pillowed on his chest, a sight that was deliciously erotic.

He’d lost his mind. He’d lost control. He cursed furiously to himself.
At
himself. He’d just taken Lady Julianna Sterling on the seat of a car
riage, their clothing thrust crudely aside! Not only that, he’d displayed all the clumsy technique of a randy youth anxious for his first taste of a woman. No finesse, no skill. Above all, no re
straint! He hadn’t even taken the time to properly undress her—or himself!

It was no way to take a virgin. No way to take a lady.

But it was done. There was no going back. No reclaiming the past. And if he was honest with himself—and he usually was—in all truth, he didn’t want to.

He’d wanted her from the beginning.
He wanted her still.
“We’ve stopped, love.”
He lifted her from his body. A spasm of regret

speared through him. Pulling her skirts down, he

glanced at her house, a red brick dwelling. “Dane, why are you smiling like that?” He shook his head. “You’ll not believe this,

sweet.” “Indeed I won’t. Particularly not unless you tell me.”

He chuckled, dragging her bodice back up around her shoulders. “I live just around the next corner,” he stated blithely.

“You don’t,” she said immediately. “I do. The house overlooking the square with the charming stone portico.” “Oh! I adore that house! I wanted to buy it, but

it was beyond my means!” He laughed. “It’s just as charming inside.” The driver opened the door and offered a hand

to Julianna. Dane leaped down behind her. She was desperately trying to restore order to her curls. He settled a hand on her waist. “Sore?”

He lowered his mouth to her curls and inhaled deeply. He’d noticed how she winced once she was on the ground.

She was aghast. “No!”

“Liar,” he challenged softly. “Permit me.” He swung her up into his arms and strode toward the house. Her housekeeper was there, sweeping the door wide. Dane strode inside as if he had every right to be there.

The woman’s recovery was admirable. At the sight of her mistress in his arms, she pointed to
ward the stairs. “Last door on your right, my lord.”

Dane quirked a brow at Julianna. “Your house
keeper is a most insightful woman,” he re
marked. “I like her.”

“You—you haven’t even met her,” Julianna sputtered.

He spun around the turn at the landing. “And you and I have only just been introduced for
mally tonight,” he reminded her. “Our relation
ship has progressed most handily, has it not?”

“Are you a rake, sir?”

“Not anymore,” came his brash rejoinder.

In her room a fire burned brightly. He crossed the gold-and-maroon-patterned carpet to place her beside the bed. He tossed his jacket across the footboard and rolled up his sleeves, baring strong, muscular forearms. She stood mutely
while he divested her of her gown, stockings, and slippers. On the washstand was a pitcher of steaming water. Pouring a little into the basin, he wrung out a cloth and returned to her.

A hand on her shoulder, he eased her back on the crisp white counterpane. “Lie back,” he said softly.

Julianna propped herself on her elbows. “What are you doing?” she asked weakly.

“Hush.” He pressed the cloth between her legs, soothing her swollen flesh. He looked at her face. “Are you all right?”

Her hands lay alongside her head. Her fingers curled into her palms. “Yes,” she said faintly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He chuckled. “Sweet,” he said almost cheer
fully, “do you really want me to answer that?”

A vivid blush stained her cheeks. Dane wiped away the lingering traces of his possession. The cloth landed in the basin.

She shivered suddenly. “Chilly?” he murmured.

“A little.”

“Then let me warm you.” He stepped out of his trousers...and into her bed.

She inhaled sharply. “Dane.”

“My prim little kitten.” His body completely eclipsed her own. He bent his head and kissed her, his mouth sliding up the side of her neck. God, she tasted good. Of lemons and her own
unique sweetness. She made his body ache. The feel of her made him dizzy. He wanted to plunge inside her once more, feel her body clamp tight around his flesh again and again.

“Stop,” she said unsteadily. “I can’t think when you do that.”

“Your mind is far too occupied with thought, kitten.”

“And your hands are far too occupied with me!”

He chuckled. “I do not deny it!”

She swatted away the hand that captured one round, sweet breast. “You are trying to trick me, aren’t you? You think you can waylay me, don’t you?”

“It would appear not,” he said dryly. He stretched out beside her, propping himself on an elbow so he could look at her. Alas, she reached down to retrieve the sheet and drag it over her nakedness.

“You have much to explain, Dane. You post
pone the inevitable.”

He allowed a smile to curve his lips. “I suppose the sooner I explain, the sooner we can proceed to...a more pleasurable undertaking.”

She took exception to his suggestiveness. “This is a serious matter. Pray do not trifle with me.” Her diction was clipped and precise. Her obsti
nate little jaw thrust out as she regarded him.

All at once her gaze narrowed. “The day I
left ...The estate we passed on the way to the village. Is it yours?”

A lone fingertip trailed along her cheek. “Very good, kitten. And yes, it’s the family estate.”

“And the cottage where you took me? That is yours, too?”

“A hunting cottage. Used by my family for years now.”

“Your family,” she repeated. “So you really have two sisters?”

“I do. Daniela is older than I by two years, Del
phine by three. Both have three children.”

“And your parents?”

“They died five years ago, my mother within a month of my father.” He smiled slightly. “It was better that way, I think. It would have been hard for either of them to live without the other.”

Her eyes had turned a stormy blue. “Why, Dane? Why would a man such as you ride as the Magpie? What possible reason could there be?”

“A very good one.” He waited a moment too long to answer. His hesitation cost him.

She pounced. “You see! I knew it!”

He knew there would be no skirting her ques
tions. “Julianna,” he murmured, “what if I told you it was all a masquerade?”

She gestured impatiently. “I’m quite aware of that.”

“What if I told you it was...necessary?”

“Necessary? Necessary that you resort to
thievery?” It was obvious how it pained her to say it. “Why? Why would a man such as you do such a thing? Are you a gambler? Are you in such dire need of funds that you must steal?”

He released a laugh. “Hardly.”

“What then? A lark? A dare? You’ve taken sil
ver, gold, jewels—”

“Do not be so dramatic! What has been taken has been only enough to maintain the façade.”

“The façade! My God, Dane, you even dared to rob the Prime Minister’s private secretary. The start of your illustrious career as the Magpie, was it not?”

“Nay, Julianna.”

“Of course you did! I read the details in the newspapers...”

“Details greatly exaggerated, I assure you.”

She scoffed. “You made no secret of your spoils in the cottage. Indeed you boasted of their value.”

“Ah, those sacks in the cottage.”

“Yes,
those
.”

“I won’t deny I took them, Julianna.”

She made a sound.

He gave a half smile. “Kitten, which is it? Do you want me to be guilty or no?”

“Of course not.”

“Then let me tell you what is in those sacks,” he said softly.

“I know what’s in them!”

“You think you know,” he contradicted, then paused. “Julianna,” he said softly, “the notes in those sacks are not real.”

She stared. “What?”

“They’re counterfeit, love. They’ve been forged.”

“Counterfeit,” she repeated, her confusion was evident. She looked at him blankly. “How could you know that, Dane.
How?
”

“The truth is, Julianna, we should not even be having this discussion. I risk much by telling you, both your safety and mine. But you have been drawn into this unwittingly. And while the cir
cumstances do not compel that you know the truth, I cannot—I
will
not—hide it from you any longer.”

Something changed in her expression. “Oh, Lord.”

“I resigned my commission after Waterloo, sweet. I-I was so terrified of dying! Every time I thought of that blood-soaked field, a cold sweat broke out upon my brow. How could I continue being a soldier when I was so weak? Yet I felt . . . less than a man, so very much a coward! Those men at Waterloo...it was as if I had deserted them, turned my back on them. At times I felt I had walked away from my country. But I could not allow my fear to consume me—I
would
not!

I realized the best way to conquer my fear was to face it, not shirk from it! Indeed, for me it’s been the only way.

“And then I discovered there was another way I could serve...by fighting the enemies on our own shores. A situation came up and an official in high offices approached me—during the war I had assumed a false identity and retrieved a doc
ument that proved invaluable to my superiors. They felt I had skills that might prove useful in certain endeavors...And my title gave me en
trance to circles that might have been questioned otherwise.”

Her fists had come up to curl beneath her chin. Another time, and he might have laughed at her dazed expression.

His eyes bored into hers. “Kitten,” he said gently, “do you understand what it is I am saying?”

She did not relieve him of that unblinking stare.

“Dear God,” she said numbly. “You’re a spy.”

Julianna felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Her mind teetered. Agents. High of
fices. False identities. All sounded so mysterious and dark.

“You are a spy,” she said again, as if to con
vince herself. She heard her voice as if through a fog—and his as well.

“I confess, I have never been particularly fond of that term. It has such a devious quality. Agent has a much more palatable sound.”

She was hardly about to quibble the point. She sat up, tucking the counterpane beneath her arms and pushing herself back so that she rested against the pillows. Her heart was racing so that she feared it would leap from her breast.