Swept Away (17 page)

He let out a lurid oath. “Are you trying to kill me? Or simply wake up the whole inn?”

“You were touching me. You said you would not!” She tried to scramble off him but was hampered by their bound hands and the bed on one side of them. She wound up wallowing on him, and her face flamed bright red when she felt the inevitable response of his body beneath her.

He saw her look and chuckled. “'Tis you who are causing it, my girl. I have done nothing.”

“Oh!” She managed to roll off on the far side of him, and they lay awkwardly, arms joined on top of them. “Get up. I think I would rather go to gaol than have to spend another moment with you.”

She struggled to her feet, and he, too, rose, reaching out to steady her when her heel caught in her hem and she almost tumbled down again. Julia straightened her skirt and jerked her arm away from him, shooting him a glare.

“I think you must have an odd notion of gaol, then,” he replied mildly.

Julia ignored him, shaking out her dress and reflecting that it would never be the same. She looked across the room into the mirror and let out a heartfelt groan. “I look as if I've been sleeping in a ditch!”

“No. How can you say that? There's not a speck of dirt on you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you always this annoying in the mornings?”

“I am, I fear, instantly alert when I wake up.” He smiled wickedly. “Especially when I awake from so pleasant a dream.”

The look in his eyes left her little doubt what that dream had involved. Julia curled her lip and stalked across the room toward the mirror. “I have no brush,” she moaned. “Look at my hair.”

He gazed, as instructed, upon the mass of tangled curls. She looked, he thought, like a woman who had passed a night of heated lovemaking, and the image sent a curl of hunger through his loins. The strangely good humor in which he had awakened vanished. It galled him that he could still desire this woman after the way she had betrayed him. His whole body was throbbing, and the dream he had had of making love to her was, now that he thought about it, most irritating. She was a trollop, and though he had never deluded himself that she was anything but a woman of easy virtue, he had thought that she returned his liking and passion, that she wanted him and not just the things he could give her. The way she had rejected the bracelet he had tried to give her had strengthened that belief. After all, there were any number of men, he was sure, who would be more than happy to be her protector—but she had chosen him.

Now, of course, he saw what folly that idea had been. She had played him for a fool. She had never had the least intention of giving herself to him. She had merely been stringing him along so that her cohorts could kidnap him.

He cast her a dark look, forcing himself not to say any of the things he was thinking. That would make him too vulnerable. Instead, he addressed her complaint about the lack of a brush. “Here. I have a comb.”

He walked over to the chair, pulling her with him, and took the comb from the inner pocket of his jacket. Julia took the comb and began to try to pull it through her hair, but her right hand was bound to his left one, and she jerked his hand awkwardly. She cast him a look of dislike, and he answered by snatching the comb from her hand.

“Here. I'll do it.”

He grabbed a hank of her luxuriant hair and began to comb through the ends, carefully removing the tangles. He could smell the sweet scent of roses that still clung to the strands. He remembered the way they had felt in his hands last night, and the pulse in his loins grew faster and heavier. He combed his way through her tresses, section by section. Her wayward curls twined around his fingers, soft as silk. His throat closed, and his mouth turned dry. He suspected that she could hear the rasp of his breath.

She could, and the sound of it shook her. He was not nearly as immune to her as he had claimed, even awake, and she could not deny a certain spurt of triumph at the knowledge. She was intensely aware of his closeness, of the heat of his body, the sound of his breathing, the way her hair caught on the faint roughness of his skin. Heat flooded her abdomen.

She jerked her head away from him. “That—that's fine.”

She shoved the thick mass of her hair back behind her shoulders. Deverel stopped, his hand arrested in midair, then tossed the comb onto the chest of drawers. He turned and walked across the room to the washbasin, and she, of course, was compelled to go with him. He had to dump the old water out of the basin, which meant going to the window and raising it, then picking up the basin and carrying it to it. With each movement, his hand jerked at Julia's irritatingly, and she had to follow him. They bumped into each other twice. He poured some water from the pitcher into the basin and reached down to scoop it up, carrying her hand and arm with it.

He made a noise of exasperation and reached over to the knot at his wrist to untie it. Julia went still. Escape suddenly beckoned. Stonehaven was looking down at the knot and did not see her other hand ease out to grasp the handle of the pitcher. It was not easy to untie the knot with only one hand, and Deverel frowned down at it in concentration. At last he pulled it free.

“There!” he said, as the rope uncoiled from his wrist.

As it fell free, Julia swung the pitcher up at him with all her might. She intended to hit him on the head, but he moved reflexively backward, so that it struck a glancing blow on his chest and shoulder. She turned the pitcher upside down in her swing, and water splashed out on both of them. Deverel staggered back a little, and, fortunately for Julia, his heel slipped in the spilled water and he tumbled down.

In a flash Julia was across the room and turning the key in the door. He surged to his feet, cursing, and started after her just as she flung open the door and bounded out.

J
ulia fairly flew across the hall and down the stairs, but she could hear the thud of Deverel's bare feet right behind her. He was faster than she, taking the steps two at a time, and he caught her at the bottom of the stairs. He grabbed her arm and swung her around.

“You little wretch!” His eyes flashed, and his face was stamped with fury.

“Let go of me!” Julia tried to twist away, lashing out with her free hand and her feet. She landed a kick on his shin, and he let out an oath.

“Dammit! Stand still!” He grappled with her, and they staggered across the floor, coming up with a thud against the wall.

By this time Deverel had his arms tightly around her, immobilizing her arms at her sides, and now he pressed his full weight against her, pinning her legs to the wall.

“Stop it! Let go of me. I can hardly breathe!”

“If you couldn't breathe, you wouldn't be chattering,” he retorted, looking down into her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled with anger as she glared at him. Her hair, tumbling freely around her shoulders, was a thick auburn curtain. Her beauty struck him all over again.

He was very aware of the softness of her body against his. He tried to ignore the sensations that were sizzling through him, but it was difficult. He had been in a fever of desire for this woman for days, and the disillusionment of last night seemed not to have reduced that fever one bit. He had lied to her the evening before when he said he had no desire to bed her. He had desired it very much, and it had taken a great exercise of his self-control to lie down beside her without touching her. Then, this morning, when he had been awakened so abruptly by hitting the floor, her curvaceous body atop his, he had been jerked out of a decidedly lascivious dream featuring her, unclothed, in his bed. He had been as hard as a rock, and combing through her luxuriant hair had not helped matters.

Now, pressed against her, remembering the way her body had rubbed against his in their struggle, he was pulsing with desire again, and the fact that his passion so overwhelmed his reason made him even more furious with her. He wanted to shout, to shake her, to sink into her and make love to her until she cried out with longing, too. He tried to shove the vision from his mind. His eyes dropped down to her mouth, then lower. The bodice of her dress had been splashed with water. The muslin, always sheer, and the thin cotton chemise beneath were soaked, turning them almost transparent. The rosy brown buds of her nipples showed clearly, pressing saucily against the cloth. He took a ragged breath.

Julia, as aware as he of the intimacy of their position, was also finding it difficult to breathe. She told herself it was because he was pushing her into the wall, but she knew that it sprang more from the feel of his body against hers all the way up and down. She could feel the hard throb of his desire against her abdomen.

“Let go of me!” she snapped, pushing back at him with her own body. It was that, the sudden thrust of her pelvis against him, that made him snap.

A savage light flared in Deverel's eyes, and he let out a groan. His mouth found hers hungrily. Julia sagged against him, suddenly too weak to stand on her own. His mouth consumed hers, taking her with teeth and tongue and lips. Julia, in whom all thought of resistance had fled as soon as his mouth touched hers, strained up against him, frustrated that his arms clamped hers down so that she could not wrap them around his neck.

Heat scorched them. It was only the barest remnant of good sense that kept Deverel from shoving up her skirts and taking her right there against the wall. He had never felt so beyond reason, so desperate to have a woman. It seemed, strangely, as if her betrayal of him only made him want her more. He ground his pelvis into hers and was further aroused by the whimper of pleasure that rose in her throat. His arms went beneath her buttocks, and he lifted her from the floor, his mouth still ravaging hers. His brain was aflame, registering nothing but a vague intent to carry her up the stairs and back into their room.

Neither of them noticed the sounds of the front door of the inn opening, followed by voices, then footsteps into the public room. In fact, they did not hear the collective gasp of the small group that had entered the inn.

Then a male voice rang out across the room. “Good God! Stonehaven!”

Deverel and Julia froze, the voice affecting them like a bucket of cold water thrown over them. Deverel's arms loosened around her, and they turned. Three people stood about seven feet away, staring at them in horrified astonishment—a man, a woman and a teenage boy. They could not have been anyone either Julia or Deverel would less like to have seen.

“Fitzmaurice,” Deverel croaked out.

“Julia!” Pamela St. Leger, beside Major Fitzmaurice, exclaimed, for once seemingly at a loss for words.

Thomas, standing beside his mother, said nothing, merely stared, his jaw dropping.

Julia turned bright red. Deverel cursed under his breath.

“Julia, what are you doing here? And—and like that!” Pamela spluttered. “Whatever are you thinking?”

Julia let out a heartfelt groan and huddled against Deverel, much to his surprise, turning her face into his chest.

“As if what your brother did wasn't bad enough!” Pamela continued, heedless of Julia's humiliation. “Here you are, carrying on like a hussy in a public inn!” Her eyes went expressively to their dishabille—their shoes off, his shirt hanging out, Julia's hair a mess. “Poor Phoebe.” She sighed. “Poor Gilbert. I don't know how the Armigers will manage to hold up their heads now.”

“Julia?” Deverel murmured, stiffening as the names Pamela said began to sink in on him. “Bloody hell!”

He put his fingers beneath Julia's chin and forced her head up so that she had to look at him. He read the misery and humiliation on her face, a confirmation of Pamela's words. Understanding dawned in his face. “Sweet Lord!” he breathed. “That's why…”

He broke off as Thomas spoke up for the first time. “You're wrong, Mother. Sir Selby didn't do anything bad! And,” he added staunchly, “I'm sure that Julia did not, either.”

“To be sure,” Fitzmaurice added without conviction.

“Don't be foolish, Thomas,” Pamela said with a little titter. “It is rather obvious what your dear Julia has been doing. But it really doesn't matter whether she has done anything wrong. What matters is that she is here at this inn, in the morning, with Lord Stonehaven, both of them, um, dressed as they are and locked in an embrace that would make even a widow like myself blush. Once she has been discovered in such a compromising position, her reputation is ruined. Isn't that right, Julia?”

Julia turned her head and regarded the other woman with a stony expression. She knew as well as Pamela did that her reputation was in shreds, for Pamela would delight in spreading the information around. However, she knew that it was even worse than what Pamela thought. Now Deverel knew exactly who she was, and the stunned look in his eyes told her that he also had a very good guess as to why she had kidnapped him. If he had hated her before, he would hate her doubly now. He would realize that she suspected him of embezzling the money and ruining Selby. Even though it would cost him something in terms of reputation, he would make sure that everyone knew of her being compromised—as if Pamela would not hurry to make sure of that herself! He would not rest until her reputation was utterly ruined, as Selby's had been, for then no one would believe her if she accused him of stealing the money.

She had failed, utterly and miserably. Not only had she not cleared Selby's name, she had made everything worse for Gilbert and Phoebe by embroiling the family name in another scandal.

“Well, darling,” Stonehaven said lightly, “it looks like we must tell them.”

Julia's head snapped back to him.
What was he talking about?
She thought for one wild instant that perhaps he had run mad. Instead of the thunderous expression she had expected, he was gazing down at her with a smile on his face. Had she seen this expression on any other man's face, she would have said that he was looking at her with affection. But that, she knew, was impossible.

“What?” she croaked out.

“Oh, I know we were planning to tell Mother first, but given the situation, I think we must let Major Fitzmaurice and Mrs. St. Leger in on our surprise.” He turned toward the others, one arm still around Julia's shoulders, holding her tightly against him so that her arm, with the piece of rope still dangling from it, was hidden from them.

“Sorry,” he continued. “We had not informed anyone. We had wanted to wait until we had told Lady Stonehaven. That's where we are going now.”

“To Stonehaven?” Fitzmaurice looked confused. “But isn't your estate in Buckinghamshire?” His intelligence was not great, but even he knew that Buckinghamshire lay in exactly the opposite direction.

“Of course,” Deverel replied smoothly. “But we had to come to Julia's home first, of course.”

“Eh?” Fitzmaurice continued to gaze at him blankly, but Pamela's face was stamped with suspicion.

Deverel made a gesture of dismissal. “But that doesn't matter. What is important is what you just saw. I admit that Julia and I were guilty of a shocking breach of conduct,” Deverel said, smiling, “but it was not sinful. I hope that you will not hold it too much against us. One must make allowances, you know, for newlyweds. Julia and I were just married yesterday by special license.”

His statement was followed by a profound silence. Major Fitzmaurice's natural thinking processes were slow. Everyone else was too stunned to speak. Fitzmaurice's face was the first to clear.

“Well!” he said heartily. “That explains it, then. Congratulations, old boy.” He strode forward to shake Deverel's hand. “Never thought I'd see the day. And Julia, my dear.” She offered him a wan smile as he went on. “I wish you very happy, Lady Stonehaven.”

Julia paled. “Oh, no! You mustn't call me that!”

“It's still Julia, of course, to you, Fitz,” Deverel explained easily. “That won't change, I assure you.” He turned toward St. Leger. “Well, Thomas, aren't you going to congratulate us? I know you are quite fond of Julia.”

“Y-yes, yes, of course,” Thomas stammered, looking questioningly at Julia. She frowned at him, hoping that he realized that it was all a hoax. However, she could hardly say so in front of his mother. “Congratulations, sir. Julia.”

“How…remarkable,” Pamela said with ironic emphasis. Julia felt sure that she did not believe a word of what Stonehaven had said, but she could hardly dispute it, at least, not to his face.

“Yes, isn't it?” Stonehaven smiled at her. “I could hardly believe my good fortune when Julia accepted me.”

“Join us for breakfast,” Fitzmaurice suggested heartily. “That's why we stopped—going back to Farrow, you see, and we figured they wouldn't have any victuals set out for us. Fortunate circumstance, wasn't it, running into you?”

“Yes. Most fortunate,” Deverel replied dryly. “However, I am afraid that we must beg off this time. We really need to get on our way if we are to make it to Stonehaven this evening.” He bowed toward them. “If you will excuse us.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned toward his “bride.” “Come, my love, we must finish getting ready.”

Julia hesitated, feeling guiltily that she should tell them that Deverel was lying. But then Deverel gripped her arm, turning her around, and propelled her up the stairs with him, carefully keeping her arm with the tell-tale rope in front of them. He whisked her into their room and closed the door after them, carefully turning the key. He turned to face her.

Julia stared at him for a moment. Her knees suddenly began to tremble with the aftermath of excitement, and she sat down shakily in the chair. “Oh, no! What are we to do now? Of all the terrible luck!”

“I must say, it was, rather. But there's no time for moans and recriminations now. We have to get out of here quickly, before they think to ask some difficult questions—like why we spent the night in an inn instead of at your home.”

“Why did you tell them we were married?” Julia cried, jumping back up and beginning to pace the room.

“I should think that would be obvious. It was the only possible thing that could save your reputation. God knows
you
seem to have no problem playing fast and loose with it, but I'll be damned if I'll be known as the sort of cad who would compromise a genteel young lady.”

“But it makes it all worse! Don't you see? They'll find out the truth soon enough, and then it will just add to the scandal!”

“They won't find out the truth,” he said, tucking in his shirt and sitting down to put on his stockings and shoes. “It won't be a fantastic tale.” He gestured toward her. “Get on your shoes, girl, we need to leave.”

“But how can it not be?” Julia felt like screaming, but she sat down obediently and put on her shoes. “We aren't married. We can hardly—”

“We shall remedy that soon enough,” he replied grimly.

Julia stared at him. Slowly she rose to her feet. “Are you suggesting that you and I get married?”