Dangerous to Love (44 page)

Julian was beginning to feel slightly disoriented, as though he had imbibed one glass of champagne too many. “I pity that poor woman, as you should, Serena.” His voice rose to a muted roar. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing after everything that has passed between us?”

This answer evidently found favor with her for she planted a moist kiss directly on his mouth. After a moment or two of pleasurable activity, Julian tore his lips away. “Now will you listen to me?”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Then just listen, dammit!”

“I don’t want to listen.”

“Serena,” he warned.

When she laughed recklessly, Julian groaned. Before his eyes, she was turning into Victoria, and Victoria was the last person he wanted at this precise moment. “Victoria, be reasonable,” he pleaded, but already she was tearing at his clothes, trying to get at him.

“This is what I want,” she crooned.

He grabbed for her shoulders and shook her with enough force to
get
her attention. “I am trying to act the gentleman, you wanton little hussy.”

She loved it when he teased her like this. “Gentleman!” she scoffed. “Then how do you explain this?” and she caressed the hard bulge that was threatening to burst his breeches.

As control began to slip away from him, with one last
heroic effort he tried to recall himself to his purpose in being there.

Loukas had used his influence to have a real warrant sworn out for his arrest. Those were genuine soldiers who would be coming for him, and a genuine justice of the peace. They must make his subsequent flight look convincing.

“Victoria, don’t do this. You may come to regret it.” Even as he spoke, his eyes were traveling the room, searching for the clock, trying to gauge how much time was left to him. They could just manage it.

“I could never regret this,” she said lovingly, and she covered his face with moist, openmouthed kisses.

“Oh Jesus,” said Julian, “I must be insane. Victoria, I yield. Take me. But for the love of God, do it quickly.”

She didn’t know that he had one eye on the clock. She only knew he was a hot and lusty lover whose appetite was sometimes so voracious that only a quick coupling could satisfy it. Losing no time, she eagerly began on the buttons of his shirt.

“We haven’t got time for that,” he said. “Take me now, Victoria. I want to be inside you
now.”

The words were so passionate that her own senses leapt in response. Her fingers quickly undid the buttons on his breeches, and she captured his hot, silky shaft in her cupped hand.

Though she reveled in the knowledge that she could so easily demolish his control, she couldn’t help wanting to prolong the moment. Julian was having none of it. His hands were everywhere at once, and before she could understand his intent, he had horsed her on the saddle of his loins, impaling her relentlessly on his hard length.

Gritting his teeth against the excruciating pleasure of the snug fit of her sheath, he tried to hint her into motion.

She was about to rebuke him for going too fast for her, when she became aware of the advantage of her position. She was the one who was on top.

He watched as her eyes widened in feminine appreciation. When she flashed him a smile of bare-faced triumph, he grinned. “Yes,” he said. “You are the jockey. But the trick is to keep up with your mount. Do you think you can keep up with me, Victoria?”

She accepted his challenge instantly. When he began to move, so did she. He quickened his rhythm. She kept pace with him. Neck and neck, hell-for-leather, they raced like lightning for the finishing line. He could still feel little after-shocks deep inside her when he reluctantly pulled from her body and rolled from beneath her. At least he had managed to deprive her of speech for a few minutes.

He readjusted his clothes before shaking her awake. “Serena, I must go.”

“Go? Where?” She tried to pull him down to her.

His voice grew more desperate as the minutes ticked by. “Time is of the essence. You must listen to me.”

The urgency behind his words finally penetrated her sensual inertia. “What is it, Julian?”

“They’ve come for me, the militia, just like the last time. It’s what I came to tell you. I had not expected them to arrive so soon. Can you hear them?”

In a moment, she was as alert as he. Pulling herself up, she stared at him in horror. “You must be mistaken. How .  .  . ?”

“Listen!”

Doors were slamming. Voices were calling out. “It’s only the boys from the barracks out for a little sport,” she said, but her voice was uncertain.

“No. I don’t think so. This time I’ve been forewarned. They’re coming for me tonight.”

“Who warned you?”

“A friend. I can’t say more than that.”

“But .  .  . what have you done?” she cried out.

“They say I murdered a man. Nelson Bloggs. Do you know of him?” He was watching her intently.

She shook her head.

“I’m innocent, of course. Once again, it’s a trumped-up charge. They’ll never be satisfied until they finish me off.”

“But I don’t understand. Who is ‘they’?”

“I wish I knew. Look, Serena, I’ve got to go into hiding, get away from them somehow. I hate to involve you in this, but there is no one else I can turn to. Will you help me, Serena? Can I ask that much of you?”

All her vague premonitions of disaster rushed back in a flood. Every pore, every fine hair on her body was tuned to his danger. This was what she had feared. This was what she had sensed beneath the gaiety and merriment. There were sinister forces at work in this house that boded no good for Julian Raynor.

She threw herself into his arms. “Julian, I would do anything for you. Anything. You must know it.”

“Then you’ll help me?”

“Only tell me what you want me to do.”

S
erena’s eyes flicked from table to table in the common room of The Thatched Tavern, and she experienced an overpowering sensation of dêjà vu. Everything had come full circle. It was as though she had been flung back in time to the night she had first met Julian. Even the cardplayers had a familiar look about them, these young actors and actresses from nearby theaters. And there was Flynn, across the table from her, looking a good ten years older with those wire-rimmed spectacles, gazing attentively at the cards he had just been dealt.

Her own costume was far more subdued than the getup she had worn on that other occasion. This time, she had learned her lesson. She wasn’t passing herself off as an actress, but as a very prim and proper lady’s maid, an abigail, and if anyone were to ask her name, it was there on the tip of her tongue. Abigail Straitlace, she would tell them, and she was resolved to live up to her name.

Her fingers trembled alarmingly when she picked up her own cards. That other time, she had been overwrought, but nothing like this. This time it was Julian who must be got away,
Julian,
not some fugitive Jacobite whom she did not know.

Oh God, if only it was a nightmare, if only she could awaken and find everything as it was before the militia had descended on the Kirklands’ place with a warrant for Julian’s arrest. Would she ever forget that assembly of stony-faced guests in the great salon, and Lord Kirkland grimly advising them that if anyone knew of Julian’s
whereabouts, he or she must come forward with that information. Not to do so was a criminal offense and would be severely punished.

She hadn’t known where Julian was. She still did not know. All she knew was that he had given her a week to set things in motion, a week to reopen the escape route and arrange passage for him out of England.

“We shall rendezvous at dusk, a week from tonight, at The Thatched Tavern,” were his last words to her before he had slipped over the windowsill to become swallowed up in the night.

He had given her other instructions before that, admonishing her to trust as few people as possible, that his own name must not be mentioned, that his life depended on her discretion.

Oh God, who were “they”? Who were these nameless, faceless enemies who wished him harm? And what had he ever done to provoke such hatred? Was he keeping secrets from her? Was he involved in plots and counterplots that she knew nothing about? Her brain was reeling from all her wild conjecturing, and she was still no nearer to finding answers to her questions.

“Your trick, I believe.”

Flynn’s voice recalled her to the present. Had she actually won that hand when her mind was miles away? Apparently she had.

Flynn, of course, had guessed from the outset that the person who must be got away was Julian. Not that it mattered. She trusted Flynn implicitly. If it had been possible, they would have contrived things without taking anyone else into their confidence. But they had no connections, no means of arranging passage out of England for Julian. They had to take Clive into their confidence, up to a point. They could not tell him, however, the identity of their “passenger” for fear he would refuse
outright to help them. In Clive’s code, Jacobites were men of honor. Murderers were beyond the pale. But Julian wasn’t a murderer, and if she could have been sure of convincing Clive of it, she would have pleaded his case.

It was Flynn who had found a way around their dilemma. He was the one who had approached Clive, saying that he was calling in all the favors Clive owed him for all those Jacobites he had helped in the past. This time, he, Flynn, was the one with the mate who must be got out of England.

Clive had been reluctant, but in the end, Flynn had persuaded him. When they delivered Julian to the safe house tonight, Clive would know that they had duped him, but by that time, it would be too late to draw back. She would make sure that Clive understood that, even if it meant threatening him with exposure. He must help Julian. He must.

When the door to the taproom opened, her heart leapt to her throat, but it was only a couple of liveried footmen who were taking refuge from the weather. Outside, a thick, pea-soup fog had brought the city to a standstill. There were few sedans about and even fewer carriages. So much the better. In the event that something went wrong, the fog would make pursuit that much harder. On the other hand, time was wasting, and she was beginning to wonder if Julian had become lost in the fog. Oh God, now what were they supposed to do?

She was on the point of signaling her distress to Flynn, when one of the patrons called to the landlord that he was ready to pay his shot. Heart pounding, she half turned in her chair to get a better look at him. Julian! Though his table was in a dimly lit alcove, she could see at a glance that it was he. He had taken no pains to disguise himself. Either the man needed his head examined or he was reckless
beyond redemption. Dangerous. Reckless. Wild. Hadn’t she always known it? Then why was she smiling?

He had got here before them, and while she had been watching the door, waiting on tenterhooks for him to appear, he had been watching
them.
From the looks of things, he had done so in comfort, consuming a leisurely, substantial supper. He must have nerves of steel. Her own nerves were shot to pieces.

A quick look at Flynn convinced her that he was well aware of Julian’s presence. The card game was coming to a close, and he was letting it be known that he and his “intended” must take a reluctant leave of their newfound friends. Serena took the hint, and with many regretful looks and promises to return another evening, she allowed Flynn to escort her from the premises. On the pavement, they dallied, as though they were not quite sure of their direction in that impenetrable fog. A few minutes later, they were joined by Julian.

“Well,” said Flynn, “I think we timed that to a nicety.”

“Yes, we did, didn’t we?” said Julian. “Well, what’s the next step, Flynn?”

“Now, we go underground, to them Roman ruins.”

Serena was too choked to speak. Now that Julian was with her, now that she could reach out and touch him, all the dread and panic she had suppressed this last week came rushing to the fore. She felt as shivery as a jelly.

“I did not recognize you at first,” he said. “I was expecting a dark-haired lady.” He touched a finger to her blond curls. “You know who I mean. Victoria Noble.”

“No,” said Serena. “Tonight, I am Abigail Straitlace.”

“Coward,” he said, and laughed.

Flynn looked from one to the other. “I ’ates to interrupt, but I thinks we should be moving along.”

Julian extended his hand to Serena. She clung to it,
trying to take comfort from the pressure he exerted. There was so much to say, and so little time left to them. She did not know how she could bear it.

   “I had no notion,” said Julian, “that these underground passages were so extensive.” He held up the lantern in his hand to look back the way they had come. “Are these all Roman ruins?”

They were waiting at the bottom of a flight of broken-down stone stairs for Flynn to give them the signal that it was safe to come out of hiding.

“Flynn would say so, but I doubt it. They’re old but more than that I cannot say.”

He nodded. “Nor had I expected to meet so many people coming and going. It’s almost like a thoroughfare.”