Shadow Dance (7 page)

She had nerve in abundance, but then, he’d already admired that about her. She didn’t jump, even though she’d clearly had no idea he’d been watching her. It was too dark to see whether the telltale color flooded her face, but he imagined that would be the only sign. She simply kept stroking the horse, keeping her voice that same, soothing murmur. “Perhaps,” she conceded. She turned and looked across the stable at him, and her warm brown eyes were absolutely fearless. “And perhaps Mrs. Ramsey is stronger than she appears.”

“That’s always a possibility,” he agreed, closing the stable door behind him, shutting them into muted darkness. He started toward her, and while he couldn’t see her move, Valerian’s gelding responded to the sudden tension in the hand on his neck, lifting his head and making a worrying sound.

“Easy, boy,” Phelan murmured, drawing close. She had no escape—he was blocking the only exit to the stall.

She lifted her head. “Are you talking to the horse or to me?” she asked. “Sir,” she added, with defiance.

“The horse, obviously.”

“Why obviously?”

She was standing very straight and proud in front of him, her shoulders thrown back, her chin at a pugnacious tilt. She probably thought she looked the image of a street
urchin, when instead she looked deliciously, irresistibly female.

He moved closer, and she backed away, up against the rough wood wall of the stall. The building was an intoxicating array of smells, of horseflesh and oats, of fresh hay and the sea, of the wild roses that grew outside and the wild rose that stood before him. “Why don’t you tell me?” he countered softly, dangerously.

“I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The stammer was so slight, anyone else might have missed it. But Phelan was acutely aware of everything about her—the flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat, the faint sheen of perspiration across her broad brow, the nervous little exhalation of breath. He wanted to catch that breath in his mouth, to kiss her. He couldn’t remember actively wanting to kiss a woman before. But he wanted to take that rich, defiant mouth with his, and taste her.

“You were eavesdropping,” he said, instead of forcing the issue. “Hannigan caught you snooping outside the mistress’s door. I was wondering if you found out anything interesting.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping!” she protested, and if he hadn’t already discovered she was an adept liar, he might have believed her. “I don’t know what Hannigan told you, but I’d just been walking by and I thought I heard someone call my name …”

“It won’t wash. Your room is at the back of the house, behind the kitchen. You’d have no business being on the upper floors.”

She tried another tack. “So I was curious. You can’t blame a boy, can you? I’m new here, and how am I to know you’re to be trusted any more than that Sir Neville?
It only makes sense, to find out what one can about one’s employers.”

“No, I can’t blame a boy,” he said gently, moving closer still. There were only a few inches between them, and he could practically hear her heartbeat pounding against her chest. “I simply wondered what interesting bits of information you might have picked up.”

“Nothing,” she said, her voice filled with such disgust that he almost believed her. Almost. “The doors are that thick, and you and the missus were talking in very low voices. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of curiosity, now, is there?”

“Nothing wrong with curiosity,” he agreed. “But I thought I warned you.”

“Warned me?”

“Not to mix your accents. And when you get nervous, your voice rises to quite a feminine level.”

There was no mistaking the real panic in her face. “I’m still in the midst of my change.”

“I don’t think you’re going to change that much,” he said, his voice rich with irony. “What’s your real name? Julia?”

“I don’t know what—”

“Spare me,” he said, coming up against her, putting his hands on either side of the wall behind her head, trapping her there. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

For a moment she stared into his face, defiant to the last. “Damn you,” she said. And made the very grave mistake of reaching up and putting her hands against his chest in a futile attempt to shove him away.

It was all he needed to break the tight control he’d been exerting over himself. He caught her wrists, pulling them
down, and dragged her body up against his. Her strength was no match for his, and he was inexorable. “Time for a little honesty, Julia,” he said low. “The masquerade is over. Don’t waste my time trying to convince me you’re a boy. You’re not.”

She tried to yank herself away from him, but he wasn’t about to let her escape. “So tell me, my lady,” he said, his voice a cool, thin thread, “who are you?”

“Let me go,” she said. It was a plea, simply stated, and so surprising in its simplicity that he released her at once, stepping back, no longer touching her, even though his body raged to do so, and watched as she fell against the wall of the stable, trembling, her face white with emotions he couldn’t begin to fathom. Unfortunately, he knew that lust wasn’t one of them.

Her reaction answered one question immediately. She was running away from a man. A man who’d hurt her in the ways only a man could. He wanted to curse, both that unknown man and himself, for wanting to do the same thing to her.

“All right,” he said, bringing his own powerful reactions under control. “Then explain it to me.”

“I’m no one,” she said. “If you’ll just let me leave …”

“I don’t think I can do that. I’m afraid you know too much about us already. I can’t have you going off and telling people things you shouldn’t.”

“But don’t you want me away from here? After all, I lied to you—I tricked you from the very beginning.” She was rapidly losing her impressive calm.

“You may have lied to me,” he said, “but quite frankly, you never tricked me. I’m quite adept at seeing through deception. Didn’t you wonder that you haven’t been asked
to do any of the rough work? Not to mention the fact that people have shown an unusual amount of modesty around you. If you’d been thinking, it would have been more than clear. And if you’re attempting such an absurd masquerade, you need to be thinking.”

“It wasn’t absurd!” she protested. “I’ve fooled people for more than six weeks now, and you’re the first one who’s seen through my disguise. I should have known,” she added bitterly. “You have devil’s eyes, just like your wife’s. Let me leave here. I really don’t know anything that would harm you or your household. I’ll move on, to Portsmouth, perhaps, and …”

“You were planning to rob me, weren’t you?” he asked. “You were planning to strip my pockets and book the next passage out of England. I think now is the time to answer my question, dear Julia. Who are you running away from, and why?”

“Juliette,” she said in a low, resentful voice.

He made the mistake of laughing. “I should have known! Shakespeare had any number of young heroines dressing up as men and thinking they could fool people, though I don’t remember Juliet ever being involved in such a masquerade. You have a romantic streak after all.”

“It’s not funny,” she said furiously. “Release me, or I’ll tell the magistrate.”

“Tell the magistrate what?”

“That you’ve got something to hide.”

“What?” He pursued it, careful not to touch her, even as he longed to.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice rich with frustration. “But it has something to do with your wife and your bullying henchman.”

Phelan shouted with laughter. “Such a harsh term for such a gentle man as Hannigan. It would wound him deeply to hear you call him such. I’ll spare him your opinion. After all, you’ll need to get along with him during the next weeks.”

“I’m leaving here!” she cried, trying to push past him.

He caught her narrow shoulders in his big, strong hands, marveling at how fragile, how pliant, she felt. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said. “Not until I’m ready to let you go.”

“You can’t keep me here.”

“Don’t be absurd. Of course I can. With the help of my bullying henchman, of course. Not to mention his extended family. You wouldn’t get ten feet away from this place if I didn’t allow it. Accept your lot in life, fair Juliette. You’re staying here.”

“Why?”

He stared at her for a moment, nonplussed. “Why?” he echoed. “Because you amuse me, and I’m damned bored.”

“If you touch me I’ll cut your heart out,” she said so fiercely he almost believed her.

“Juliette,” he whispered, “I already am touching you.” And he splayed his fingers across her thin cambric shirt, caressing her delicate throat.

She shivered, but mixed with the sheer animal terror was something else, something she couldn’t quite hide. She might not recognize it herself, but it existed, deep inside, where that other man’s touch hadn’t reached her.

“Please,” she said again, and it was enough to break his heart. If he’d possessed one.

He leaned forward and put his lips against her throat, gently, feathering the delicate skin, tasting the panic that
beat against the vein in her neck. She tasted so damned good, he wanted to slide his hands under that damned shirt and push it from her. He wanted to pull her down into the sweet-smelling straw and taste every delicious inch of her.

But her skin felt cold, and he knew it could only be from fear. He raised his head to look down at her, and contemplated several promises.

He made none of them. Only one to himself, one he hoped he could keep.

He would try not to hurt her. He couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t. He couldn’t guarantee that he could keep his hands off her, no matter how frightened she was. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, he wanted her, with a fierce, irrational longing that was stronger than any of the passing lust he’d felt in his adventurous life.

He released her, dropping his hands to his sides, and he saw her strong, lithe body turn limp with relief. “Go back to the house,” he said in a deceptively mild voice.

“What are you going to do?”

“For the moment, absolutely nothing. I’ll discuss the situation with my … wife, and we’ll see what we can come up with.”

“I could be her lady’s maid,” she suggested with sudden enthusiasm. “Dulcie is the only other female in the household, and I expect Mrs. Ramsey could do with some assistance.”

“I’ll pass on your offer,” he said wryly. “Go to bed.”

“It’s early.”

“Go to bed,” he snapped, “or I’ll take you there.”

She was wise enough to recognize a reprieve when she heard it. She skirted around him, scampering from the stable without a backward glance.

He watched her go, wondering idly whether she’d try to leave tonight or wait a few days. He’d have to mention it to Hannigan, though his bullying henchman was probably already aware of the situation.

She wouldn’t get far, he had no doubt of that. And he expected she’d probably wait a day or two, thinking she’d lull his suspicions.

She had a lot to learn about him. It was going to be a mixed pleasure, teaching her.

“Damn him, damn him, damn him,” Juliette muttered beneath her breath when she finally reached the privacy of her room. “Damn him all to bloody hell.” She used the rich English curses with a certain amount of pleasure. Her father had taught her those, and even worse ones, but she avoided the more intense ones. Mark-David had used those words to her, and she didn’t want to think about them in context with the man who saw far too much.

She could curse in many languages: French, Italian, Greek, Arabic, and Spanish; but there was nothing like some of the good old Anglo-Saxon phrases to vent one’s spleen.

She flung herself down on her narrow bed, staring out the window to the sea and the evening sky beyond. The room was small and simply furnished, but it was hers, something that should have tipped her off. In a household such as this, she would never have been given the luxury of a private room.

He was right: she’d been foolishly blind, hoping no one would see through her disguise. She’d grown complacent, arrogant in her belief that she could fool everyone. No
one had relieved himself in front of her; no one had commented on her myriad trips to the necessary, far too many for a boy. No one had stripped off his clothes in front of her, though Ramsey had threatened. He’d done it on purpose, waiting for her reaction. She hadn’t given it to him, but that still hadn’t managed to allay his suspicions. Damn him, damn him, damn him.

She wouldn’t run right now. He’d be watching; he’d probably be expecting her to make a break for it. He knew her too well, a fact which alarmed her even more than his unmasking her. She didn’t like any man seeing her so clearly.

She’d wait a couple of days. He wouldn’t touch her again—after all, he had a glorious-looking wife, and Juliette knew perfectly well that she herself was small and dark and plain. Lemur had made it more than clear that she was lacking everything needed for a woman, a fact she rejoiced in.

She’d be safe, if she bided her time. She still had to have money if she was to book passage to the Continent, and if Ramsey had seen through her so easily, others might as well. Perhaps she should reconsider her strategy. She’d grown adept at a working-class accent. Maybe she could book passage as a seamstress or a lady’s maid, traveling to new employment.

Even to her hopeful frame of mind, that didn’t sound terribly likely. A woman alone on a ship, particularly the kind of ship she’d be able to afford, could run into all sorts of danger, the kind of danger that might make Mark-David Lemur seem welcome by comparison. She couldn’t quite imagine it, but anything was possible.

She rose from the narrow bed and walked to the window, staring out past the overgrown gardens to the sea beyond.
The night air was filled with the scent of roses mingling with the salt smell of the ocean, and she leaned against the open shutter and sighed. She should run. She should stop making excuses to herself about lulling Ramsey’s suspicions, because if she simply faced the truth, she’d know that she didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to leave this place, where she’d found the first measure of comfort and safety she’d known since her father had died.

And for some illogical, irrational reason, she didn’t want to leave the greatest threat she’d ever known, the man who’d penetrated her disguise with such devastating ease. The man whose touch had terrified and disgusted her, as every man’s had, but whose touch had also managed to spark strange longings inside her that she refused to put a name to.

She moved away from the window resolutely, heading for her bed. Lifting the thin mattress, she withdrew all her meager belongings. The thin lace undergarments, made for a lady. The change of linen.

Juliette sat back on her heels, fury and panic whipping through her. The diamond-and-pearl earbobs were gone.

“Interesting,” Phelan murmured, glancing at the jewelry Hannigan had placed on the desk. “Not the sort of thing our little stableboy would be likely to have. Did you discover anything else of interest?”

Hannigan shrugged. “She came tearing back a bit too quickly. I can tell you she wears ladies’ undergarments beneath the boys’ clothes. High quality they were, too.”

“Now why don’t I like the thought of you pawing through her underclothes?” Phelan inquired in a deceptively tranquil voice.

Hannigan grinned. “I think you know the answer to that better than I do, whether or not you care to admit it. You want me to lock her in? She might decide that now’s a good time to run away.”

“She’s an enterprising girl—she’d probably use the window,” Phelan said. “I think I’ll simply remove her clothes. She’s not likely to wander about without them. Despite all outward appearances, she does have some sense.”

“You want me to take care of it?”

Phelan knew Hannigan was teasing him, waiting for his annoyed reaction. “Don’t push me. If anyone’s going to be traipsing around her bedroom, it will be me.”

“I thought you might see it that way,” Hannigan said smugly. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Phelan almost called him back. That surge of irrational jealousy troubled him. He’d made it his intention never to care too deeply about a woman. As long as he didn’t allow himself to get too close, one was as good as another, as long as she knew how he played the game. Years ago he’d given up any interest in a family, a wife, a normal life. His heritage was far too clouded, too unstable ever to consider passing on. As long as he kept his emotions and desires in check, he didn’t need to worry.

Juliette was threatening that hard-won self-control. The thought of Hannigan touching her lacy undergarments sent a shaft of anger through him. The thought of entering her bedroom, where she doubtless lay sleeping, made his gut twist with something that should have been simple, uncomplicated lust.

But it wasn’t. Lust was direct, easily remedied, if not with one woman, then with another. If he gave in to his
irrational longing for her, he’d be on his way to disaster. He couldn’t allow himself to care.

He waited until after midnight, when the sounds of the house and its inhabitants had quieted. She’d locked her door, probably barred it as well. Foolish child. Nothing would keep him out if he decided he wanted to get in.

But he wasn’t in the mood for violence. He walked outside, skirting the house, the moonlight leading the way. Her ground-floor window looked out over the ocean. It was shuttered against the night air, but a simple push opened it.

She lay stretched out on the bed, a light cover thrown over her. A chair was pushed up against the door as added protection, and her clothes lay across the chair.

It was a simple enough matter to vault silently through the window, landing on his bare feet in the darkness. He scooped up her clothes, turned to leave, and then paused, giving in to temptation.

She was lying on her stomach, and he could see the narrow, graceful line of her back. Her fist was by her mouth, and he could see the streaks of dried tears on her cheek.

It shocked him. Juliette wasn’t the sort of woman who would give way to the weakness of tears. But alone in her room, faced with the loss of her earrings and her disguise, she’d given in.

He reached out a hand to smooth her hair away from her face, then stopped himself. If he touched her, he’d kiss her. If he kissed her while she lay naked in the bed, then he would make love to her. And if he made love to her, he’d have to send her away. Before he made the fatal mistake of caring for her.

He didn’t want to send her away. Not without knowing the answers to the secrets she kept. He had to content himself
with one last, longing look. Then he slipped through the window again, her clothes over his arm. They smelled of roses, they smelled of the sea, they smelled of her. He stood in the moonlit garden and put his face against the rough material, drinking in her scent. And then he shook himself.

Moon madness. He was getting as daft as Valerian over his silly bluestocking. Not as daft as his mother.

No, not that. Not yet.

That particular curse still awaited him.

“I’m going for a ride,” Valerian announced the next morning.

Phelan looked up from the breakfast table, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed his brother. Valerian hadn’t bothered with his disguise—he was dressed simply in breeches and a plain white shirt, his golden-blond hair tied back behind his handsome face. He made a lovely woman, Phelan thought dispassionately. He made an even more handsome man.

“Do you think that’s wise?” he said mildly, sipping his coffee. Dulcie was a whiz at coffee—she’d perfected the Arabian style he preferred, though Valerian still insisted he got the grounds in his teeth. “Despite our fears, our little Juliette doesn’t yet realize our secret. It might do us well to keep her in the dark.”

“Our little Juliette?” Valerian echoed, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Does that mean you’re willing to share?”

“Don’t try my patience, Val,” Phelan said, ignoring his instinctive anger. He’d never been jealous of a female before, and certainly not with his own brother. He was jealous now. “She offered to be your lady’s maid.”

“Did she, now? I might enjoy that.” Val threw himself into a chair, watching to see how Phelan would react.

Phelan didn’t gratify him. “I don’t think she would. She’s not overfond of men.”

Val’s good humor remained intact. “I expect you’ll manage to change her mind.”

“Perhaps. If I decide to bother.”

“Let me know if you’re not interested …”

“Enough!” Phelan thundered, loud enough for the cups to rattle in their saucers, no longer making any effort to disguise his possessiveness. “I thought I made myself clear.”

“You have, brother mine. Crystal clear,” Val said cheerfully. “It simply amuses me to see you so churlish. I’m not used to having women mean anything to you other than a few hours of entertainment.”

“Juliette doesn’t mean anything more to me,” Phelan said flatly.

“No? Then why aren’t you willing to share?”

“Valerian …”

“Pax, brother mine,” Val said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m only teasing. She can’t hold a candle to my bluestocking, as far as I’m concerned. I’ll simply have to resign myself to a stretch of celibacy.”

“You could always seduce Neville Pinworth,” Phelan suggested lazily.

“Wretch!” Valerian shuddered. “Where is your little heroine at the moment?”

“Still in her room, where she’ll stay for the next few hours.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I took her clothes.”

Valerian let out an admiring whistle. “What else did you take while you were at it?” he said with a leer.

“She was asleep, brat. She didn’t even know I was there. If I decide to have her, I’ll do it when she’s fully conscious.”

“If?” Valerian’s blond eyebrows arched.

Phelan ignored him. “She also came possessed of a magnificent set of diamond-and-pearl earbobs. I’m sending Hannigan off with them to see if he can discover anything about them. The obvious explanation is that she stole them, and that’s why she’s running, but I don’t think so. She doesn’t strike me as a thief.”

“Even though you were convinced she was planning to strip your pockets and take off?”

“That’s a different matter. She hates me. She considers me fair game.” Phelan leaned back in his chair, contemplating his coffee. “I think the earrings are hers, and I think they have a history. Stones that size are usually recognizable, and Hannigan should be able to provide the answers.”

Valerian reached over and took a brioche. Dulcie had also managed to master French pastry, estimable woman that she was. “And why should Hannigan be able to do that?” he asked. “What nefarious talents has a gentleman’s gentleman picked up during his travels with you? Not that Hannigan has ever seemed remotely like your average gentleman’s gentleman.”

“I think he was always possessed of those talents,” Phelan said wryly. “And I don’t inquire too closely, as long as the job gets done. Suffice it to say he numbers among his vast acquaintance certain individuals who would be knowledgeable about famous diamonds and about recent thefts.”

“You’re a loyal employer.”

“Hannigan has been with us since before I was born.
You know that as well as I do,” Phelan said simply. “He would die for us. You or me,” he added.

“I believe he would. Let us hope he won’t be called upon to do so.” Valerian rose, stretching. “I’m off.”

“Have a care. This is a deserted bit of land, and it’s still early enough, but it wouldn’t do to have any witnesses to your riding about. In truth we don’t look so alike that any observers would be sure you’re me.”

“Such a thoughtful, prosaic old bore,” Valerian teased.

“I wouldn’t like to lose you.”

“You’re a better brother than I deserve,” Valerian said with sudden seriousness.

“True enough. You still can’t have Juliette,” his brother retorted, defusing the sudden sentiment. “Be off with you. The sooner you go riding, the sooner you’ll be safely back in skirts.”

“Don’t remind me.” He groaned. “Why we ever embarked on this hellish masquerade is beyond me.”

“If it was good enough for Bonnie Prince Charlie, brat, then it’s good enough for you.” Phelan kept the sympathy from his voice. Indeed, he could imagine only too easily the frustration Valerian must be feeling, an energetic, woman-loving man trapped in skirts. While going for bruising rides along the strand represented a certain risk, without those rides Valerian might very well explode. “Do me a favor. Wear a hat. That way people might indeed mistake you for me.”

“A hat wouldn’t stay on, not at the pace I’m intending to set,” Val said. “They’ll just assume that dainty Mrs. Ramsey is a hoyden after all, who rides astride, wearing men’s breeches.”

“I doubt it. You ride like a man.”

“Thank God for that much. I was afraid I was starting to mince. I wouldn’t want to end up another Sir Neville.”

“No chance of that. Not as long as you’re mooning after the bluestocking.”

“Ah, Sophie,” Valerian said soulfully. “She’ll be the death of me yet.”

“Let’s hope not, Val. Let’s sincerely hope not.”

Hannigan appeared at the door, silent as always. Phelan was used to his ways, having traveled to the far ends of the earth with him over the past ten years, both in the army and on his own, but Valerian still jumped nervously.