Shadow Dance (19 page)

She knew what would happen if she told him the truth. For all he mocked his honor, he would never take her, knowing she was still technically a virgin.

And she wanted it. Not for some hazy notion of revenge. That excuse had faded into the night, leaving only the truth that she hadn’t wanted to face. She wanted him, his body, taking hers. Before she had to leave forever.

She did the only thing she could think of. She let her fingers curl around him, caressing him. And she put her mouth against his, touching his lips with her tongue.

She was astonished at his reaction. With a low groan of desire, he pulled her against him, trapping her hand between their bodies as he kissed her back. And suddenly she wanted to get closer still, to sink into his very skin, to merge with him. She kissed him, her tongue meeting his quite shamelessly, and she writhed beneath him, wanting things she didn’t begin to understand.

He reached down and stripped the breeches off her, clumsily. And then he unfastened his own, freeing himself, and she tried to pull away from him, suddenly shy.

“Don’t stop now,” he groaned. “You were just developing an appreciation for the sport.”

“Sport?” she echoed in outrage. “You call this—” His mouth silenced her, with a deep, thrusting kiss that wiped her protest out of her mind. And he put her hand back, over his throbbing male flesh no longer shielded by his clothing, keeping it there, until her initial panic began to fade and an odd, sensual curiosity took over.

He was smooth, silken, and damp. She told herself she should be disgusted, but her fingers slid, fascinated, around the width of him, circling him, measuring him, delighting in his strangled groan of reaction.

His hand moved between her legs, and she stilled, waiting for the pain. There was none. His long fingers parted her, stroking her, and she felt an unfamiliar burgeoning warmth, one she could neither control nor deny. She arched her hips against his hand, and she heard his low murmur of approval as he deepened the pressure, sliding into the unexplained dampness of her, arousing her when she was certain nothing could.

She could feel the tendrils of delight build, spiraling upward. She knew it wouldn’t last, that it would turn to pain and fear, but it was already so much more than she’d ever dreamed that she wasn’t willing to settle for less.

“Promise me,” she said, and her voice was a gasping thread of sound.

He didn’t halt the insidiously delightful movement of his fingers; instead, he slid even deeper into her, and she could barely control her moan of pleasure.

“Anything,” he said.

She forced her eyes to open, to look deep into his in the moonlit room. The silver gray had darkened to a midnight
black, and the passionate wildness in his expression should have frightened her. Instead, it simply deepened her pleasure and her resolve.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Even if I beg you, don’t let me stop you.”

His stillness was unnerving. “I can’t …” he began.

“Don’t stop,” she said again. “Promise me. Even if I grow frightened, uneasy, even if I beg, you have to do it. I know what I want.”

“And what do you want? Revenge?”

It had been as good an excuse as any. But now wasn’t the time for excuses. “No,” she said. “I want you.”

He cursed then, her words unleashing the last of his self-restraint. He pushed her back against the bed, holding her shoulders down against the soft mattress as he knelt between her legs. She could feel him against her, heat and hardness against her, and she shivered in sudden, undeniable longing as he hesitated.

“Promise me,” she whispered again. “Don’t stop.”

“I promise.” The words were muffled as he pushed against her, sliding into her heated dampness with a sure, hard thrust. Only to come up against the evidence of her virginity.

He was rigid in her arms, impaling her, but not quite. “Open your eyes, damn it,” he said in a fierce voice.

She didn’t want to, but she had no choice except to comply. She looked up into his eyes, waiting.

“You’re a virgin,” he said in a low, bitter voice.

“Yes.”

“He never touched you.”

“He tried. He couldn’t.” She wanted to cry. Emotions were rocketing through her body, feelings she couldn’t
even begin to define. She was certain he was going to pull away from her, leave her. “Phelan,” she said in an imploring voice.

“I thought I told you I don’t need a virgin sacrifice,” he said, and his wintry voice was at odds with the heat of his body.

“You promised me,” she said furiously, clutching him. “You said you wouldn’t stop, even if I begged.”

He just looked at her for a long moment. “I’m not going to stop,” he said. “You’re mine. The bonds of marriage are worthless, they’re a sham. I’m the one who makes you come alive, and you belong to me.” His voice was fierce and possessive, and she gloried in it. “And I intend to take you.” And before she realized what he was doing, he’d thrust deep inside her, breaking past her maidenhead to rest at the very entrance to her womb.

She let out a small shriek, more of surprise than of pain, and he quickly covered her mouth with his. They stayed motionless for a moment as her body grew accustomed to his, and then he began to move, rocking against her, pulling away and then pushing back in, filling her ever more deeply. He reached down and caught her legs, wrapping them around his hips, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, holding on, telling herself she was doing this for him, for the sheer, once-in-a-lifetime pleasure of belonging, when her body began to tremble once more beneath his embrace.

Something was building inside her, a panic, a confusion, a longing she couldn’t begin to understand. She clung more tightly, her fingers scraping against his sweat-damp flesh, and each time he surged against her she raised her hips to meet him. She wanted more, she wanted something
she had never had, and she couldn’t even find the words to ask for it.

She didn’t need to. He slid his hand between their bodies and touched her. He clapped his hand over her mouth just as she screamed, and her body convulsed around his, in a shimmer of magic and madness. It took forever for the moment to pass, an endless, velvet eternity. When she could finally open her eyes, she saw him looking down at her, his body still rigid in hers.

“That’s what you meant when you said you wanted to see me climax,” she said in a raw whisper.

“Yes.” And he surged against her, deeply, each thrust sending new shivers of delight through her flesh. She wanted to beg him to stop, to tell him she couldn’t stand any more, but the pace of his thrusts increased, and she found herself warming, melting once more beneath him, and she wrapped her arms tightly around him, trying to draw him in deeper, deeper, as his body pushed her against the bed, his hands clenched around her shoulders, and suddenly he went rigid in her arms, a strangled cry on his lips, as he flooded her with his seed.

She took it all, folding him against her, clinging to him with a fierceness that knew no boundaries. For these few short hours he was hers, hers alone, and she was his. All too soon she would leave, for his sake as much as for hers, and she’d become nothing more than a curious memory. For now, she had a small, brief glimpse of eternity.

Because she’d heard the word, his strangled gasp as he’d given himself to her completely. And that word had been “love.”

She was damp and sticky when she slid from the bed. There was blood on the white linen sheets, indisputable
proof of her virginity, and she felt sore and stretched between her legs. She looked down at the man sleeping there so peacefully in the predawn light, and she felt her heart break.

Damn him. Why had he gone and broken past her defenses, into her heart? She hadn’t even recognized his insidious effect on her, except to know that he infuriated her as much as his touch had aroused her. She should have known better than to come to his bed. If she hadn’t, she might have continued her life in happy ignorance of what she was missing, and never thought of Phelan Romney again.

No, she couldn’t convince herself of that. Perhaps she would have thought of him with distant affection and lingering regret.

No, not that either. She’d fallen in love with the man, and she knew exactly when. Not when he’d taken her body and shown her the wondrous things humans were capable of, in stark contrast to the pain and bestiality of Lemur’s attentions.

Not when he’d kissed her in the rain-soaked garden, or even when he’d rescued her from Neville Pinworth on a whim, though all those things added to it.

It was when she’d glanced at his sketchbook and seen that drawing of herself asleep on the beach. The sullen, vulnerable woman-child, with defiance, an unlikely beauty, and a stern vulnerability she’d never admit to. When she saw how well he knew her, and still had made her beautiful, she’d known she could love him.

She pulled on her clothes, promising herself a thorough wash when she reached her room. No longer did she want to fling her revenge in Mark-David Lemur’s face. If he
was ever able to finally take her, he’d find out for himself that someone had been there first. And she had no intention of telling him who.

But first she had one stop to make. She was going to go by way of Phelan’s study, find his sketchbook, and take that drawing with her.

So that never again, in whatever became of her life, would she ever forget love.

Damned if he didn’t have a romantic streak in his body after all, Phelan thought several hours later as he dressed. He wanted to strip the bloody sheets from the bed and fling them at Mark-David Lemur. The little worm hadn’t even had it in him to take his bride. All he’d done was frighten and hurt her.

Of course, Phelan could bring himself to feel grateful. He was the first and, damn it, the only man who would ever have Juliette MacGowan. He could finally admit to the fierce possessiveness that filled him whenever he thought of her. He wasn’t going to go any further with it, to define the reasons for that possessiveness. It existed, and she belonged to him. Forever.

There was only one slight drawback to his satisfaction. The knowledge, unbidden, that he belonged to her as well, he who’d never allowed himself to care about anyone other than his younger brother.

He wasn’t going to worry about it, he told himself as he shaved. There would be time enough to sift through his conflicting emotions when he took her away from here. Back to the places he loved so well.

He was actually humming beneath his breath when he bounded downstairs. Hannigan met him coming up, and his expression was ludicrous. “You’re singing?” he said in astonishment. “In all the years I’ve been with you, I’ve never heard you sing.”

“I’m feeling very much in charity with the world,” Phelan announced, continuing down the stairs.

“Well, you won’t be.”

Phelan stopped in the middle of the stairs. He turned to stare at Hannigan, and he could feel the ice flow through his veins. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s gone. Left with her husband at the crack of dawn, and there weren’t nothing I could do to stop them,” Hannigan said in a lugubrious voice.

“Damn you,” Phelan cursed, pushing past him. “Why didn’t you stop him—”

“She wanted to go,” Hannigan broke in. “I’m sorry for it, but that’s the truth. He wasn’t forcing her to do a thing.”

Phelan had started back down the stairs at a run. “I’m going after them,” he said, but Hannigan was as quick-footed as ever, racing ahead to stop him.

“She wanted to go,” Hannigan said again. “If she hadn’t, do you think I’d have let him take her? She was calm, and smiling, and damned if she wasn’t wearing those diamond-and-pearl earbobs you had locked up in the library. She was glad to be going back with him.”

“The hell she was! Tell Valerian I’ve gone—”

Hannigan caught his arm in a bearlike grip. “She left you a note, lad. In the library.”

Phelan pulled away, wanting to shout his fury and denial in Hannigan’s face. “I’m going after her,” he said in a
still, deadly voice. “I don’t give a damn what she said in her note—Lemur would have made her write it.”

“Lemur wasn’t with her when she left it.”

“Damn it,” Phelan said furiously, “I won’t believe it.”

“Read the note, lad. If you’re still wanting to go after her, I’ll go with you.”

The library was still and dark, cold and dead. His desk drawer lay open, and the earbobs were gone. He’d meant to give them back to her these past several days. Obviously she’d taken them herself.

The note lay in the middle of his desk. He’d never seen her handwriting before, and he stared at it, avoiding the inevitable, concentrating on the feminine curlicues and sweeps. He would have thought her handwriting would have reflected the real Juliette—direct and fearless.

He picked up the paper and broke the seal. “Direct” was the word for Juliette after all.

“My lord,” she wrote, “I am leaving with my husband. Please do not attempt to come after me. Upon due consideration, I realize that my life belongs with him. At heart I am a conventional creature after all, and this adventure has run its course. I cannot see spending my life as the mistress of a murderer when I could live a life of respect and comfort as Mrs. Lemur. And I find, for all the novelty of last night, that I would prefer a less taxing existence, and a husband whose physical demands are few. With every good wish for your future, I remain, Juliette MacGowan Lemur.”

He had no idea how long he stood there, staring at the cool, polite words, disbelieving. She had to have been coerced. They had to be lies. But Hannigan said she was alone when she left the note. And it was nothing more than he would have expected from the female of the species.
Lady Margery, the one woman who had ever professed to love him, would be capable of this and more. Denying the truth of it was the rash, foolish act of a lovesick fool, a slave to his emotions. And Phelan had never been anyone’s fool, particularly not some snip of a girl’s.

“Do you want me to saddle your horse?” Hannigan’s voice broke through his bleak abstraction.

He lifted his head, feeling the icy composure cover him, pushing away pain and regret and doubt, leaving nothing but an eerie calm. He’d crumpled the letter in one strong hand, and he let it fall to the floor. “I won’t be needing him,” he said in a bored tone of voice that might, or might not, have fooled Hannigan. “Did she leave any other word?”

“For Valerian, my lord. Just a note to say goodbye.”

Phelan flicked an imaginary speck of dust off his dark coat. “Well,” he drawled, “that makes things a great deal easier all around, doesn’t it? I was expecting we were going to have to get into some foul to-do with Lemur over her, but if she’s chosen to go back where she belongs, it keeps everything much simpler.”

“Much simpler, my lord.”

“Bring me my coffee, Hannigan,” he said with an elaborate yawn. “I’ve got my work cut out for me if we’re to leave for France within the next few days.”

“Yes, sir. Are you certain you don’t mind?”

“Mind about what?”

“About the girl, my lord. I hadn’t thought she was anything special.”

Phelan smiled bitterly. “Nothing special at all, Hannigan.”

He closed the door behind him, silently. She’d made a
fool of him, she with her innocence and her masquerade. She’d played Lemur for a fool as well. Doubtless the poor cuckold was simply a possessive, incompetent husband, not some paragon of evil. She’d had her revenge on Lemur, she’d made no bones about it, and Phelan had been a besotted moonling to think the hours spent in his bed had any meaning for her.

He was well rid of her, well rid of a temporary weakness, a momentary obsession, a brief interlude that went well on its way to convincing him that he really might inherit his mother’s madness. She was gone, and he should thank the heavens for it. He was free of her, blissfully free, and he need never think of her again.

And with that, he slammed his fist into the heavy oak door, full force.

It was an unseasonably cold morning. Juliette couldn’t keep from shivering, even wrapped in an enveloping cloak. She hadn’t been warm since she’d left the dangerous shelter of Phelan’s arms, and somehow she doubted she would ever be warm again.

Lemur had been waiting for her when she crept back into her room. The look on his face should have terrified her, but during the past few hours she’d lost her capacity to fear. It no longer mattered what he might do to her. She had tasted love, and that memory would sustain her.

Not for a moment did she consider running to Phelan for help, protection. He would have two choices, and two choices only. One, he would have had to let Lemur leave, and her husband would have returned with the Bow Street runners to take him in for questioning, and the truth about
Valerian would be bound to come out. Or two, Phelan would have to kill her husband.

And while Juliette had no doubt that Lemur deserved to die, she didn’t want it to be for her sake. And she didn’t want his blood to be on Phelan’s hands.

It was the one gift of love she could give him, one he would never know he’d received. But the gift was in the giving, and the knowledge could almost warm her.

She’d wept when she’d written the note, but had been careful not to let any tears mar the smooth handwriting. She’d taken great pains with it, and when she remembered the neat, wicked words, they made her sick inside. She had retrieved the earbobs, to ensure that he would think the worst of her. She hadn’t been able to resist taking the sketch. She deserved that much, to keep her strong through the coming weeks and months and years … without Phelan.

It was a dark, blustery day, better suited to October than to midsummer, but it suited Juliette’s mood. She rode in silence, for the first time regretting her freedom in riding astride. After the previous night’s encounter, she might have preferred sidesaddle for a few days.

She smiled to herself at the notion, the memory a small thing she could treasure, when Lemur’s sharp voice turned her to stone.

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking I forgive you,” he said in a soft, sly voice. “Just because you came willingly doesn’t mean you’ve absolved yourself of your crimes.”

She glanced at him, gripping the pommel tightly. “Crimes, Mark-David? I wasn’t aware I’d committed any.”

“Running away from your husband, to begin with,” he said. “Taking my diamonds—”

“
My
diamonds,” she interrupted, not really caring. She’d
never been one for jewels; the MacGowan diamonds were simply a way to help her escape. The earrings hung heavily on her ears, and she was half tempted to rip them off and throw them into the sea.

“Not anymore. When you married me, your possessions became mine. You’ve had far too lax an upbringing, I’ve told you that before. Your father gave you too much freedom; he never had the sense to beat some deference into you.”

“You haven’t had much luck trying.”

“Don’t goad me, girl. I will have my justice, and I doubt you’ll like it much.”

“Do your worst,” she said coolly. “I really don’t care.”

“Not about yourself, perhaps. You never put much stock in your own well-being. But I fancy you won’t like seeing your lover and his wife brought up on charges, will you? Humiliated, degraded, thrown in jail …”

“You promised you’d leave them alone,” she said furiously.

Lemur’s smile would have done an archbishop proud. “And you believed me. I never truly considered it. After all, Romney did me a great injury by shielding you. And I’m not convinced he didn’t suspect you were a woman. To be sure, you’re scarcely feminine, even in dresses, but one shouldn’t assume anything.”

She said nothing for a moment, biting her lip. It felt tender, swollen, and she knew it was from the delicious, insistent pressure of Phelan’s mouth. “He hadn’t any idea,” she said. “He thought I was a boy. There’s no need to have anything more to do with the man. Leave him be.”

“Since you ask so sweetly, how can I possibly refuse?” Lemur said in a dulcet voice that didn’t fool her for a moment.
“Just answer me one thing. Where were you this morning, while I waited for you in your room?”

She wanted to tell him the truth. She wanted to fling her defiance in his face, but the only way she could protect Phelan was to lie.

“In the library,” she said with a certain amount of truth. “I was looking for something to steal.” And stolen it she had. The sketch Phelan had drawn of her now lay folded against her skin.

“Still thinking you could get away from me? I trust you’ve learned otherwise.”

“Indeed. I’ve accepted my fate,” she said, hoping she sounded conciliatory.

“That pleases me. I only hope you can accept Phelan Romney’s fate as well.”

She stifled her protest. She’d already revealed too much of her feelings, and if there was one thing to be said for Mark-David Lemur, he was not a stupid man. “His fate is none of my concern,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You didn’t think him handsome, my lady wife? Such a tall, dark man. Most women would find him quite attractive, though I gather his brother is even more glorious.”

“I am not interested in the attractions of men,” she said coolly. “Nor women either. The pleasures of the flesh escape me entirely.” And she shifted in the saddle, the better to accommodate the throbbing between her legs that still lingered from Phelan’s touch.

“I’m glad you feel that way. A decent woman isn’t supposed to enjoy her husband’s attentions. She must simply submit.” Lemur rode his horse closer to her, his leg brushing against hers, and she jerked away, unable to control
her distaste. He reached over and put his hand across her gloved one, pressing her fingers into the hard leather of the saddle with painful intensity. “I’ve bespoken rooms in a small inn a few miles north of here. It seemed wisest to avoid Hampton Regis entirely. Romney might not accept your departure as wisely as you have, and I haven’t had time to alert the authorities to his presence.”

“Does it matter?” she managed to ask in a disinterested voice.

“Only to you, my love,” he said, the endearment a cruel joke. “Only to you.”

The ride was endless. A cold, light mist began to fall sometime in late morning, and the cloak Lemur had brought with him had no hood. The rain matted Juliette’s hair and slid down the collar of her jacket. She could only hope it wouldn’t reach the piece of paper she had tucked inside her shirt. It was all she had left of Phelan; for some reason, she knew if she lost it she would lose everything worth living for.

They reached the inn by late afternoon. Juliette was almost faint with cold and hunger, and her entire body was a mass of aches. Miles back, she’d lost the ability to bless each and every one of those tender aches, and while she wanted to suffer nobly, she felt remarkably querulous. She was beyond terror—if Lemur was going to rape her, beat her, kill her, she simply hoped he’d get on with it. Otherwise she wanted a good meal, and a hot bath, and a warm bed.

The inn was not devoid of company. An elderly lady had bespoken private rooms as well, and the landlord was hard pressed to take proper care of both of his exalted guests, particularly when Lemur was so demanding. No sooner
had they been settled in a parlor than mine host disappeared, leaving Lemur fuming.

“I don’t see why some old lady deserves better treatment than we do,” he said irritably.

Juliette was standing by the fire, stripping the wet cloak from her chilled body, and she made no reply. But the serving maid, with astonishing temerity, ventured to speak up. “It’s ‘cause she’s a lady,” the girl said, obviously in awe of that fact. “We’ve never had someone with a title staying here, and Mr. ‘Awkins is that impressed. Meaning no disrespect to you, sir,” she added hastily, having finally realized that Lemur was enraged.