A Perfect Hero (8 page)

“I loved Armand!”

“And you certainly loved what he gave you, didn’t you? But I find I’m curious. What of my brother? What of James? Did you love him too? He died,
madame
. He drowned, and you lived. I knew of your plan, you know. I always wondered that you took a fancy to a Roxbury, a man who was not upper-crust. James did always fancy himself a man about town, though, didn’t he? I confess, it was he who taught me to appreciate the finer things in life.” With his fingertips he ca
ressed the statue. “Oh, but James was always a
bon vivant
, wasn’t he? He pledged me to secrecy, you know, for I guessed about the two of you. What a man will not do,” he mocked, “for love of a woman! Ah, but you did quite well without him, didn’t you? I daresay, as Armand Lemieux’s wife, you fared much better!”

“You are a cunning, crafty man. And quite ruthless.”

“Thank you,
madame
.”

“It was not meant as a compliment.”

“Nonetheless, I take it as such.” He caressed
the statuette once more, then set it aside. “When will the next piece arrive?”

She moved stiffly to the door. “I will send word.”

His eyes glinted. “I anticipate our next en
counter then with the utmost pleasure.”

To his amusement, she did not echo the senti
ment.

Dawn streaked the horizon when Dane let him
self into the cottage. It had proved a fruitless night. He’d spent hours waiting for the coach, but his wait had been in vain. Frustrated, he fi
nally departed for the cottage.

His mood was thoughtful as he unsaddled Per
cival and led him beneath a shelter that had been built next to the cottage. Was the culprit onto him? he wondered. He was reminded of Phillip. So it was excitement he craved, did he? For all that Phillip claimed he wished to be in his place for the night, he had the feeling Phillip would not have relished lying in wait on such a miserable evening.

The fire had burned down to embers. Dane threw a chunk of wood onto the grate. He stood a moment, watching the flames leap high. Finally, he walked over to stand above his captive.

She was sleeping soundly, her face turned away from him on the pillow. Dane released a breath
of relief. Thank God. No doubt she would be back to plaguing him tomorrow, fiery and tart, which posed the question ...What
was
he to do with her?

Sighing, he sat and removed his boots. He was too tired to search for answers. For the moment, he possessed neither the will nor the wit to do battle with a tongue such as hers. He was ex
hausted. Sitting, he removed his boots and his shirt. A few hours’ rest was all he needed. Then he would be ready for a new day—and his unex
pected charge.

Raising a corner of the blanket, he slid into the narrow space, taking care not to disturb her. She gave no sign of waking, but continued to slumber on. Dane closed his eyes.

Sleep claimed him. And in his sleep, he dreamed. Of
her
. Of the lovely Julianna. Dimly, he felt her slide above him. Oh, but she was fair and sweet, her beautiful hair swirling over his chest as she bent over him. He fancied he could see her, poised above him as one small hand dar
ingly explored, skimming the grid of his belly.

He felt himself smile. It would be good with her, he decided. Indeed, it would be exquisite. Her hand was sliding down ...down. Lower, he thought, willing her to cup his rod, to touch and explore. To feel him grow hard beneath her fingertips.

In some faraway part of his mind, he regretted the barrier of his breeches. Out of consideration for her sensibilities, he hadn’t discarded them these last few nights. Her fingertips extended, a tentative venture. With dainty hesitance, almost stealthily . . .

With an oath, he vaulted from the bed.

The lovely lady was already on her feet. She was backing away. Her eyes were sizzling, pure, bright, and filled with blue fire.

She stopped. In her hands she held one of his pistols, aimed directly at the middle of his chest.

“Don’t move!” she cried. “Stop right there.”

Dane froze. Bloody hell! He’d been careless. He’d been foolish, and both might well come back to haunt him. Oh, but he should have known! He’d sensed her willfulness in the tilt of her chin.

“Give me the key,” she said, her voice very low.

A dawning awareness slipped over him. Damn! he thought. She was neither meek nor weak, and quite insistent.

Bloody hell, this was what happened by letting down his guard. He should have known better. He
did
know better! Never again would he be so gullible.

“Well,” he said. “It appears I underestimated you. You weren’t ill, were you?”

Her lips pressed together.

“It was a ruse. A way to disarm me, I sup
pose.” He paused. “I suppose you think you’re very clever.”

“Cleverness has nothing to do with it. You wouldn’t let me go!” Her tone was accusing.

Their eyes met. Softly he said, “I was worried about you, kitten.”

“Worried! You left me alone for hours on end.”

“Not because I wanted to,” he said immedi
ately. And indeed, he hadn’t. But if he hadn’t shown up for his meeting with Phillip, it would have thrown everything into chaos. All would have been ruined.

“Why should I believe anything you say? From your own lips, you’re a thief. A brigand!”

A logical assumption, he thought.

“. . . and now I want that key!”

Dane shook his head. “And where would you go? I told you, we’re in the middle of the forest, far from the nearest village. Would you rather be lost than here with me? I won’t harm you.” His tone was cajoling. “If that was my intention, I would have done so by now.”

Dane eyed her, silently calculating the distance between them. She stood perhaps ten paces away. She was a well-bred young woman, clearly of privileged upbringing. It was a miracle she knew one end of a pistol from the other.

“If you want the key, you’ll have to take it
from me. You’ll have to get close. And who will

have the advantage then, I wonder?”

Her eyes flickered.

“You won’t shoot,” he predicted.

“I will! Do you think you know me so well? You do not know me at all, sir! Now put your hands up!”

Damn! His hands inched up, while he eyed the barrel, which was level with his chest. “Yes. But have you ever seen a dead man?”

“I have. My father.”

“Perhaps I should rephrase. Have you ever seen a man die? Have you ever seen a man shot?”

“Stop it!” she said wildly. “I know what you’re doing!”

“It’s not a pretty sight,” he continued. “Frankly, it’s damned messy. Granted, that de
pends on where a man is shot. A head wound—”

“Cease!”

“You’re sweating, kitten. I can see it from here. I think if you were to shoot me, you’d probably faint dead away.” Her resolve was weakening. The tables were about to turn. Perhaps it was stubborn pride, but he was reasonably certain his instincts hadn’t deserted him entirely.

His eyes bored into hers. “I thought you were going to shoot.”

“I am. I will!” She swallowed hard. She was faltering, the barrel of the pistol wavering.

“Then do it,” he dared.

She retreated a step. “Stay there!” she said

shakily. Smug now, Dane took a step forward. Julianna squeezed her eyes shut, turned her

head aside...and fired.

t was most odd how it happened . . . It was not pain, but shock that filled his mind. His heart seemed to sputter, then resumed with hard, thudding strokes. A sensation of blinding heat was spreading through his chest. He couldn’t breathe. Was this how it would happen then...? God rot it, this scrap of a woman had managed what Napoleon’s army could not do. His knees weakened. Damnation! He would not swoon like a woman—by God, he would not! Yet fear washed through him—the secret fear that no one knew of. A hundred things passed through his mind in that instant.

Still stunned, he raised incredulous eyes to hers. But she wasn’t there...Sweet Christ, he
might die...and the chit was rifling through his pockets.

After that blasted key.

The sound was deafening. Hearing it, Julianna dropped the pistol; she was dimly aware of it clat
tering across the floor. For the space of a heart
beat, she couldn’t see. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air before her and burned her throat. When it cleared, she saw him.

The shot had brought him to his knees.

A curious haze seemed to surround her; she saw herself as if through a dark mist. Almost be
fore she knew what she was about, she was at his side, thrusting her hand into the pockets of his breeches.

She emerged with the key to the door.

It glinted in her palm, catching the light from the window. She stared at it dumbly for an in
stant, then scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping in her haste. Bolting toward the door, she thrust the key in the lock; it clattered to the floor. With a cry she bent to retrieve it. Straightening, she looked from the key in her palm, back to his face.

Little did she realize it was a moment that would change her life forever.

Dane was wavering, his expression one of sheer disbelief. Julianna stood motionless, para
lyzed by what she glimpsed there. Something
naked. Something vulnerable. Something almost pleading.

She wasn’t quite sure what she’d intended. Her thoughts were a wild scramble in her brain. She’d closed her eyes ...she had no conscious recol
lection of pulling the trigger. The next thing she knew there was that dreadful explosion, and her ears were ringing.

She, who had always thought herself a tender
hearted soul ...had just shot a man.

A sickening sense of shame spilled through her. What had she done? She was appalled. Horrified at her own behavior. She’d only meant to frighten him ...a silly notion, that! As if a high
wayman would be afraid of
her
!

But at least he wasn’t dead. At least not yet anyway. She darted back toward him.

He was looking up at her. Gritting his teeth, he fought to stay upright. “Go,” he said tightly. “Just go, damn you!”

But she couldn’t. She knew then she couldn’t leave him.

The effort seemed to expend all his strength. He pitched forward on the floor.

Kneeling beside him, Julianna shook his good shoulder, as if to jar him awake. “No!” she cried desperately. “No!”

Wrapping her arms around him, she tried to turn him over.

His eyes flickered open. He stared at her, al
most as if he was angry. She knew it when his brows drew together fiercely over his nose. “Why the devil are you still here?”

“I shot you,” she said grimly. “Now I’m going to save you.”

He was right. There was blood. A good deal of it.

He had turned to his back. A bright red stain was blooming on the front of his shirt. Franti
cally, Julianna dug her fingers into the opening and ripped it away. Blood welled, pooling above his heart, thick and dark and crimson. Looking at it, the bitter taste of bile burned her throat.

“Julianna. Julianna.”

The sound of her name wrenched her gaze to his.

Dane had pushed himself to a sitting position. “You’re going to have to help me, kitten.”

Julianna took a deep breath. Steadying her nerves, she slid her shoulder beneath his and slid an arm around his back. In truth she wasn’t much help; his frame was too large. He’d have pinned her cold if he’d fallen. It was his own strength that got him to the bed. But as he lay back, she noticed how pale he was, his skin shades whiter than before. Beads of sweat dotted his upper lip.

“The bleeding must be staunched. There’s a basket of cloths in the cupboard. Will you fetch them?”

Julianna scurried to obey, wadding up a clean white cloth and holding it to his shoulder.

“Press hard,” he said. “I realize you’re just a puny little thing, but try, will you, kitten?”

“Don’t call me that!” Her breath was sawing in and out of her throat. It was half sob, half angry protest. Almost defiantly she leaned into him, us
ing the heel of her hand to increase the pressure. Dane sucked in a scraping, labored breath.

It seemed to take hours before, at last, the bleeding slowed to a trickle. She could see the hole where the bullet had gone in. The flesh around it was black with gunpowder. Somehow she hadn’t expected that, and it shook her to the core.

Dane released the air from his lungs and looked at her. He regretted what he had to tell her, but it had to be done. “I’m afraid your work isn’t done yet, kitten. You’re going to have to re
move the bullet.”

“What!” she said faintly.

“The ball is still in my shoulder.”

She stared at him dumbly. Was he suggest
ing . . . “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it—”

He was shaking his head. “If it had gone clean through, it would have gone out through my back. It didn’t.”

Julianna stared at him in horror. She shook her head wildly. “No. I can’t—”

“Who else? You’re the only one who can. I cer
tainly can’t. Besides, you said you were going to save me.”

What had she been thinking, to say such a thing? Julianna’s heart began to pound against her ribs. Hard, so very, very hard...

“You can do it, I know you can.”

She wished she had as much faith in her abili
ties as he did. “How could you know that? You don’t even know me.”

“I think you are a woman with a remarkable will. And you have a steady hand, don’t you?”

Julianna swallowed hard. “Tell me what to do.”

“In the cupboard, you’ll find a basin. In it you’ll find everything you need. And bring the bottle of brandy that’s there, too.” His voice was beginning to show signs of pain.

Julianna did as he said. “My word, I could al
most believe you were expecting this.” Julianna unfolded a small leather case. In the pockets were a sharp-edged knife, another with a hook on the end, and a pair of tweezers. Another held needle and thread.

She sent him an incredulous look. “Surgeon’s tools?” she asked in amazement.

One corner of his mouth crooked up, the tini
est smile. “Let us just say I believe in being pre
pared.” In the aftermath, Dane felt a sheer and utter fool. He hadn’t been prepared for
her
shoot
ing him. Perhaps the wound had addled his
senses, but he couldn’t be angry with her. What she had done had taken a great deal of mettle.

Nor was Julianna surprised, once she paused to consider. It was a dangerous life he’d chosen.

She listened intently to his instructions. After dousing the knife with brandy, she gathered her courage and took it up. Her heart thundered so loud she could scarcely think.

Dane held up a hand. “Wait!”

Julianna stopped, the point of the knife poised over his chest. He grabbed the bottle and took several long swallows. He started to set it down, then paused.

“Perhaps you’d like some, too.”

That she even considered it spoke to her state! She glanced pointedly at the knife in her hand. “I think not, sir. If I do, I won’t have a steady hand, now will I?”

Her prim tone nearly set him off. A dull haze had settled over him. Whether it was pain or the effects of the brandy, he didn’t know.

He leaned back. Quietly he spoke. “I’m ready,” was all he said.

Uttering a fervent prayer, Julianna went to work.

Only once did Julianna brave a glance at his face; it was a mistake, for she nearly dropped the knife. He was as pale as winter’s snow, his eyes squeezed shut. She wondered wildly if he’d
passed out—indeed, she hoped he had. But then he swallowed, the cords in his neck standing taut.

Tears stood high and bright in her eyes. Tears she refused to allow to fall.

Perspiration gathered on her brow. How he could stand the probe of the instruments in his chest, she had no idea. She encountered flesh, muscle—cringed at the hardness of bone. But he was being incredibly brave, and the knowledge made her ache inside.

Minutes later, the ball dropped into the basin. But he’d begun to bleed again, and her probing had widened the opening where the ball had first torn into his shoulder. She had no choice but to stitch it closed as best she was able. She was breathing hard by the time she sat back.

A tremor went through him. His eyes opened. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His tone was hoarse, but a whisper of sound. And he was trying valiantly to smile.

Julianna couldn’t. Her throat was clogged tight. She could barely breathe. His blood was warm. Sticky on her fingertips.

The walls of the cottage tilted crazily. Her stomach began to heave. Lunging outside, she lost the contents of her stomach.

Her arms clamped tight to her breast, she rocked back and forth, over and over. She felt like the world was going crazy, and
she
along with it.

All she’d wanted was a few days away from
London. Perhaps a trifling bit of excitement to

liven her humdrum life!

But not this. Never this.

Hot, blinding tears streamed from her eyes. Fi
nally, she wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands, dabbed at her mouth with the end of her gown, and walked back inside.

Dane’s eyes never left her pale face. “Better?” he murmured.

Standing above him, she nodded, still unable to speak, trying desperately to calm her wayward emotions. And he seemed to know it, for his gaze sharpened intently.

“You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

She raised her head. “Why wouldn’t I?” she said with all the dignity she could muster.

He gave a faint smile. “Why indeed?” The smile faded. “You’re a puzzling little creature, aren’t you? First you shoot me, then you cry.”

Julianna didn’t know what to say, and so she said nothing.

His mouth opened. He was about to say some
thing more, but all at once he stopped. His eyes were glazed and unfocused. He gave a tiny shake of his head. She sensed him struggling to remain aware. But it was no use. His eyes closed. He suc
cumbed to exhaustion and pain.

Or so she thought.

All at once his eyelids snapped open.

“Percival. I forgot about Percival.” He was quite agitated. “He must be looked after.” Julianna frowned. “Percival? Is he your friend?”