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“It does make a certain sense,” Geoffrey agreed slowly.
“Of course it does! It had to be someone who knew a great deal about Selby and about the trust. It had to be someone with the opportunity to do those things. Since Phoebe and I know that it was not Selby, then it is obvious that the real culprit must be the one who worked so hard to lay the blame on Selby—Stonehaven.”
“But how? Why? Stonehaven is a very wealthy man, you know. He wouldn’t need to steal money from St. Leger’s trust.”
“So everyone thinks,” Julia replied darkly. “Who really knows about another man’s finances? Don’t you see? That is precisely why I need to talk to Lord Stonehaven. I need to discover the reasons, the means.”
“Do you think he will simply tell you?” Geoffrey assumed a falsetto voice. “‘Oh, Lord Stonehaven, do tell, did you embezzle forty thousand pounds from young Thomas’s trust?”’ He lowered his voice to a gravelly pitch. “‘Why, yes, dear lady, I did. I’m so sorry that you asked, for of course I could not lie.”’
Julia grimaced. “You know I’m capable of being much more deceptive than that. Maybe I won’t be able to get him to confess, but surely I can get enough information out of him that I will be able to figure it out.”
“How can you possibly deceive him when everyone knows you are Selby’s sister?”
“Ah, but very few people in London know who I am. And, of course, I shall give Lord Stonehaven a false name.”
“Of course,” Geoffrey murmured. “I should have realized….”
“Please, Geoffrey…” Julia put on her most winsome expression. “Tell me that you will help me. Say you’ll escort me to Madame Beauclaire’s. That’s all you will have to do. You don’t have to stay with me or see me home or anything. I’ll take care of all the rest.”
“I can’t just abandon you there. I shall have to escort you home.”
“That’s not much,” Julia noted.
Geoffrey sighed. “You always make things sound so reasonable. So simple. Then they wind up an utter wasps’ nest.”
“It won’t. Even if it does, I promise that I will not involve you in it. I will never reveal that you were the one who got me inside.”
Geoffrey cocked one eyebrow at her. “If I refuse, how long are you going to keep after me to do it?”
Julia gave him a dimpling smile and tilted her head to one side, pretending to weigh the thought. “I’d say until the day I die.”
“I thought as much.” He shook his head. “I know I shall regret this. I shall probably end up either in gaol or fighting a duel. But I shall do it.”
Julia let out a little shriek and impulsively hugged him.
“Cousin, please,” he protested. “You’ll wrinkle my cravat!”
“Sorry.” She stepped back, still smiling. “Tonight, then?”
“Tonight!” He looked thunderstruck. “My dear, at least give me a chance to prepare myself.”
“Pooh. There’s no preparation necessary. It’s better to strike while the iron’s hot.” She knew from following Stonehaven that it had been several days since he had gone to Madame Beauclaire’s, so this evening seemed an opportune moment. However, she could hardly tell Geoffrey her reasoning.
“Where do you get such vulgar expressions?” Geoffrey drawled. “All right. You win. Tonight it will be.”
It took all Julia’s and Phoebe’s combined efforts to get her ready in time. She had decided to wear one of Phoebe’s dresses, since a married woman’s wardrobe allowed for a more flamboyant selection of color than the pastels and whites to which maidens were relegated. Though Phoebe’s blond looks were not enhanced by some of the jewellike colors that flattered Julia’s vivid coloring, there were a few gowns of suitable appearance and style, primarily one of a vivid peacock blue satin that made Julia’s blue eyes bright pools of color and also was a perfect complement to her auburn hair and creamy skin.
Since Phoebe was both shorter and rounder, the dress required some creative work on the seams and hem. But Phoebe was a fair hand with the needle, and the dress, fortunately, was stylishly narrow, so there was not much hem to lengthen. After Phoebe was through with it, Julia took the dress to her room and quickly pulled out the threads that held the ruffles of lace in place at the neckline, thereby lowering the neck of the dress to a level that would have horrified Phoebe. An upswept hairdo with artfully arranged wisps of curls gave her a stylish but somewhat tousled look, which she thought would surely make a man think of running his hands through her hair. The newly redone dress, when she pulled it on and fastened it, fit her like a glove. The high waist and low neckline combined to cup and reveal her full breasts to their best advantage, and the long, narrow skirt emphasized the slender length of her legs. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and her eyes blazed. She had not, she thought, ever looked better.
Julia suffered a brief qualm as she thought of the acting job that lay before her. She must convince a man whom she despised that she was attracted to him. She must also make him believe she was an experienced woman of the world, fully capable not only of arousing a man’s desire, but also of fulfilling it, for if he thought she was the well-bred young lady fresh from the country that she really was, he would doubtless keep his passions leashed, and that was the last thing she wanted. His desire must well up hot and strong, the kind of feeling that could sweep a man into revealing far more than he normally would. Whatever she had told her cousin and Phoebe about merely talking to Lord Stonehaven, her real intention was to bring him so quiveringly close to the brink of mindless passion that he would reveal anything.
Prudently, she wrapped her cloak around her before she descended the stairs to meet Geoffrey. It would not do for either him or Phoebe to get a glimpse of how her dress actually looked. Geoffrey would probably not be as shocked as Phoebe would, but he was all too likely to pronounce that her attire was “not the thing” and refuse to take her until she changed. When she entered the drawing room, Phoebe, who had been chatting with Geoffrey, sprang to her feet.
“Julia! You look beautiful!”
“Egad, Cuz,” Geoffrey added. “Indeed you do. I shall be the most envied man in the room tonight.”
Julia favored him with a dazzling smile. Phoebe came forward to hug her and whisper a wish for good luck to her. Then Julia took Geoffrey’s arm, and they left.
The carriage drive was not long, for which Julia was grateful. She could not keep her mind on the languid chitchat in which Geoffrey engaged. The knot of nerves in her stomach grew as they drew closer to the gaming house, and by the time they pulled up in front of the small, elegant structure, she was afraid she might disgrace herself and ruin everything by being sick.
She took Geoffrey’s arm with an icy hand and walked up the steps to the house, hoping that she looked calm rather than terrified. Geoffrey was greeted with courteous familiarity at the door and quickly ushered inside. She felt the eyes of more than one occupant of the house turn toward her as they strolled in, but she was too busy gazing all around her at the strange atmosphere to pay attention to anything else.
It was a house like many others, decorated with no lack of taste or expense, with the difference that instead of couches and chairs and the usual things that filled the drawing room and dining room, the rooms opening off the entry were furnished with tables and chairs, all filled by men playing cards. There were only two women among the fifteen or twenty men she could see. One was a silver-haired woman with a fortune in jewelry around her neck and at her ears. Her eyes were fixed intently on the cards in her hand, and a feverish spot of red colored each cheek. The other female was a petite woman with improbably blond hair and an overly voluptuous figure stuffed into a gown designed for a sylph. Julia’s first thought was that the woman looked vulgar, but she quickly reminded herself that she, too, was dressed in less-than-ladylike attire.
A servant came up to take her gloves and cloak. Julia dawdled over the tasks, reluctant to reveal her attire to Geoffrey, but fortunately, before she had to draw off her cloak, a friend of Geoffrey’s hallooed at him from the next room. Geoffrey lifted his hand in a wave and smiled. He was as convivial as he was lazy, and Julia knew that he would spend the evening drinking and conversing with his friends in endless rounds of cards, and therefore, in his careless way, would probably lose all track of her.
“Ah, there is Cornbliss. I suppose I must go to him.” He looked back at Julia. “Shall I introduce you? What is your name, by the by, or I shall make a shocking slip, I’m sure.”
“Jessica,” Julia answered quickly, having spent a good part of the afternoon cogitating on names and other matters of deception. “That way, if either of us slips and starts to say my name, we can change it quickly.”
“Clever girl.”
“Jessica Murrow,” she added. “As for who I am, it doesn’t matter.”
“I shall maintain an air of mystery, that’s always handy when one doesn’t know what one’s doing.”
Julia smiled. “Go join your friends. I shan’t mind, and I don’t need to be introduced.”
“If you are sure?”
Julia nodded. She had counted on Geoffrey’s laziness and general unconcern to keep him out of her hair, and she was happy to see that she had been right. With a brief salute of his lips against the back of Julia’s hand, he strolled away to join his compatriots. Relieved, she shrugged out of her cloak and handed it to the long-suffering footman who still stood waiting for her. Quickly she stepped into the room opposite the one her cousin had entered and moved out of sight of the wide doorway. Thus established, she took stock of her surroundings.
She had never before been in such an intensely masculine atmosphere. It must be, she thought, similar to a gentleman’s club, that inner sanctum of masculinity from which all women were excluded. Smoke rose lazily from cigars and pipes without regard to feminine sensibilities. Snifters of brandy and glasses of port or wine sat on the tables beside them. The rumble of male voices filled the air, punctuated now and then by a bark of loud laughter. Julia suspected that she would hear things tonight that would make her blush.
She wandered through the room, then out the connecting doors into the larger room beyond. This, she realized, must be a small ballroom. Here, in addition to the tables of cardplayers, were two tables centered by the popular wheels of chance and another long table where a game of dice had drawn the attention of a large number of men. A woman in her forties stood beside one of the players, seemingly observing the play, but Julia noticed that her eyes were rarely fixed on the table. Her gaze roamed the room with calm efficiency, taking in everything without seeming sharp or inquisitive. She smiled and nodded at one person or another who raised a hand in greeting, and after a moment she moved away from that table to another one. This woman, Julia decided, must be Madame Beauclaire herself, for she definitely had the air of someone in charge. Julia studied her covertly, a little amazed to find that the mistress of a gaming house moved and spoke with such an air of gentility. Her dress of olive green crepe was less revealing than Julia’s own, very much the sort of thing a middle-aged Society matron would wear to a party, and only a simple strand of pearls encircled her throat. She wore only one or two rings, including a simple gold wedding band, and a set of small diamond-and-pearl ear-bobs danced in her earlobes.
Her gaze turned to Julia, and Julia knew that she was summing up her clothes and manner in the first steps to determining exactly who and what this stranger was. When she looked straight at Julia, Julia favored her with a small smile, then turned away—without haste—and moved back out into the entry hall. A visit to the music room across the hall, where a woman vainly battled the noise with a number on the pianoforte, established that Lord Stonehaven was not in the house.
Julia took out her nerves on the lace handkerchief she carried, wringing it between her hands. What was she to do if the man did not come tonight? Even if he came, how would she occupy herself until that moment? She had felt the gazes of more than one interested man on her during her stroll through the rooms, and she felt sure that it would not be long before she began receiving invitations of a decidedly improper sort. The best thing, she thought, was to keep moving, and with that in mind, she turned and started across the hall back to the larger room. Just as she did, the front door opened, and she turned. The footman who had answered the door stepped aside with an obsequious bow.
Lord Stonehaven stepped into the hall.
Julia stopped short. Suddenly she could not breathe. Nor could she tear her eyes away from the figure standing at the other end of the hall. He was tall, with the wide shoulders and long, muscled legs of a sportsman. Elegantly attired in black evening wear, a starched cravat tied perfectly at his neck, he was the picture of a well-to-do gentleman. Diamond studs winked at his cuffs.
He looked up, and his eyes met hers. For a moment they were frozen in time, staring at each other. Stonehaven was, Julia had to admit, the most handsome man she had ever seen. Thick black hair, cut fashionably short, framed a square-jawed face of perfect proportions. His mouth was wide and mobile, his nose straight, and two black slashes of brows accented eyes as dark as his hair and sinfully long-lashed. A stubborn chin with a deep cleft and a small slash of a scar on his cheekbone gave his face a firmly masculine set.
Hate spurted up in Julia, hot and tasting of bile, and her heart pounded crazily. She detested this man with a fury that threatened to swamp her. And tonight she had to make him want her more than he had ever wanted any other woman.
2 (#uda294eb9-b781-5e25-8ac7-17c06e03513a)
Julia broke her paralysis and looked away from Stonehaven. Slowly, affecting an air of unconcern, she continued on her path into the large gaming room. Her heart was pounding like a drum, and it was all she could do to keep herself from turning to glance back at him. Was he still watching her? Would he follow?
She knew that she could not look, could not seem interested in him. Ever since she had come up with the idea of luring Lord Stonehaven into her feminine web, she had thought carefully about how to do it. He had been a friend of her brother’s for years, albeit not one of his closest, and Selby had spoken of him now and then, usually in the context of some sort of sport—hunting, boxing, marksmanship. He was, she knew, a man who thrived on competition, who liked a challenge. So she had determined that the best way to attract his interest was to appear disinterested herself. Let him be the hunter. Let him come to her and try to win her favors—that was the way to fix his desire on her.
Still, it took all her willpower to refrain from looking. She strolled into the gaming room and down the length of it, moving as far from him as she could get. She paused behind a table of players and idly observed them for a few moments. She could not have said what they were playing, and she did not even notice the inviting smile that one of the men sent her way. All her attention, all her thoughts, were on the room behind her and the question of whether or not Lord Stonehaven had entered it. She was about to turn away toward another table when a masculine voice spoke behind her.
“Are you fond of piquet?”
A thrill shot down her nerves, but she made herself turn casually to look at the speaker. Lord Stonehaven was standing only a foot away from her, a smile that she could classify only as supercilious touching his mouth. He was watching her, his dark eyes faintly amused. He was even more handsome up close, she thought, the sort of man who would set young women to giggling and smirking. Julia, however, had no desire to do either one; the urge she felt rushing up inside her was a strong desire to launch into him, fists flying. This man had ruined her brother! Her anger was so deep and bitter, she could almost taste it. It was going to require all her self-possession, she realized, to pretend to calm indifference.
“Were you addressing me, sir?” she asked in as cool a voice as she could muster.
“Why, yes, I was.” The amusement in his eyes deepened. “Sorry—I realize that we are not acquainted, but I presumed upon a common interest.” He made a vague gesture toward the room.
“Indeed.” Julia gave him a small smile, letting a hint of the dimple appear in her cheek. She had, after all, to give him some encouragement even as she pretended to elude him.
He returned the smile, and Julia felt her stomach turn a little flip. Who would have thought that a man such as he could have so much warmth in his eyes? She glanced away quickly, then worried that she had been too demure for the part she was playing.
“Have you played here before?” he asked, and she turned her attention back to him. “I have not seen you.”
“No. This is my first evening here. I came with a friend.”
“A good friend?” he asked in a slow, rich voice, and she realized that he was subtly asking if she was some other man’s mistress.
“No,” she replied, hoping that her cheeks did not betray her by reddening. “Not a good friend.”
“How nice for me. Then I am hopeful he will not mind if I get you a glass of punch.”
“It does not matter. You see, it is I you must ask about such things, not any man.”
He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Ah. An independent woman, I see.”
“Indeed I am.”
“Then may I escort you to the refreshment tables?” He offered her his arm.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “That would be very nice.”
There was something quite freeing about acting this way, Julia thought as she walked with him into the hall. She had never before in her life been in a place like this, where there were no matrons watching, no expectations on everyone’s part of how a young woman should act and what she should say. Though Julia considered herself a free thinker, she had been raised to act as a young lady should, and she had always been aware of the need to act in such a way as not to bring any embarrassment to her family.
Like any other young woman, she was careful not to dance more than twice with the same man and not to flirt too much with any one man, lest she be said to be forward. She had always to pay her respects to the old ladies who lined the walls at the county cotillions, looking like a group of well-fed buzzards in their invariably black dresses, and to be careful not to say something to offend them. If a man wanted to escort her down to dine at a ball, he had first to request permission of her chaperon. These were the sorts of restrictions that chafed at her, but which she knew she could not flout without bringing down local censure not only on herself but on poor Phoebe, and before that her mother, for their perceived laxity in training her.
But here there were no duennas, no women who could enumerate her family lineage back to Queen Elizabeth, if not beyond. There was no one to gossip or to care how she acted, no conventions to flout. No one even knew who she was, so her family name could not be called into shame. There was not the least likelihood that anyone would be shocked by her behavior, unless perhaps she decided to take it into her head to get up on a table and remove all her clothes—and from what she had seen of many of the avid cardplayers here tonight, most of them would be concerned only because she was wasting one of their card tables. She could, she thought, say exactly what she wanted and act precisely how she pleased, and no one would give it a second thought.
“I hope your thoughts concern me,” her companion said, and Julia turned to look at him, startled.
“What?”
“Your smile was one of such happiness, I was hopeful that I figured in your thoughts.”
“Oh.” Julia chuckled. “Now you have me, sir, for if I say they were of you, then I am over bold, and if I say they were not, I am insulting.”
“I suspect that you are a woman who does not care particularly if either is said of you.”
Julia gave him an enigmatic smile. “I would say that would depend on who was speaking.”
“Ah. Well, I am not so foolishly brave as to ask whether I would be one whose opinion would matter to you.” They had reached the rear-most room of the first floor, where a long sideboard held not only a punch bowl but a number of platters of cheeses, meats, breads and cakes. “No, pray, do not answer. Tell me instead what to put on your plate.”
He picked up a glass plate and began to fill it with various delicacies, though Julia doubted that her nerves would allow her to eat much, if any, of them. She would have protested that she did not want to eat, but she knew that being alone with him in the dining area was far better for her purposes than returning to the card rooms. Once he had filled two plates and added cups of punch to them, Stonehaven led her back into the entryway and up the stairs to the second floor. Julia followed him, surprised.
“But where are we going?”
“Only a quieter place to talk and eat.” He gestured toward a low velvet sofa against the wall at the side of the stairs. A potted palm shielded it partially from view, and it offered a comfortable, quiet place to sit.
Julia sat down, taking her plate, and he sat down beside her, much closer than was proper. It was odd to have a strange man this close to her. She was very aware of the heat of his body, the breadth of his shoulders, the faint scent of his masculine cologne. She had never thought about his smelling this good, she thought. Impatiently, she called back her errant thoughts; she had to concentrate on her purpose.
“Are there gaming rooms up here?” she asked, more to keep her thoughts on track than to satisfy any real curiosity.
“Yes, these rooms are where you find those who like to dip deep.” He gestured toward the two closed doors that lay in front of the stairs. “That room over there, where the door is open, is simply a sort of sitting room, where one can pause to collect oneself between games. I don’t believe that I have ever seen anyone in it.”
“The gamesters here do seem preoccupied with their cards,” Julia admitted, taking a bit of cheese on a cracker and finding it quite tasty. Perhaps she was hungrier than she had thought.
“Mmm-hmm.”
Julia glanced at him. He was watching her eat, his own food untouched on the plate, and the heat in his eyes sent a shiver straight through her. His gaze slid down from her mouth, taking in the long curve of her white throat, and came to rest upon the swell of her breasts above the dress. Julia resisted the impulse to tug the dress higher. She had more than once surprised a hot, secret look on the face of one of her admirers, but none of them had ever looked at her like this—as if they had a right to do so, as if they were picturing her without any clothes on at all. And certainly none of their love-struck gazes had ever made her feel this strange combination of shivers and heat inside.
She swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. She tried to think what a woman of the sort she was playing would do, but her mind was curiously sluggish. He reached over and ran his forefinger down her cheek and across her jawline to her chin.
“You are a beautiful woman.”
“Th-thank you.” His skin felt like fire upon hers, and Julia had the sudden, awful feeling that she was in over her head.
“I noticed you as soon as I walked in.”
“Indeed?” Now his finger was tracing the line of her throat down to the ridge of her collarbone.
“Indeed. I believe you noticed me, too. Am I right?”
“I saw you, yes.” Julia struggled to pull her thoughts together. She could not let herself be distracted. She had achieved her goal of catching Lord Stonehaven’s interest. Now she had to use it to her advantage. She could not sit here like a mannequin, saying only yes and no.
What would a woman such as she was supposed to be do? A crafty, experienced sort. The first thing, she thought, was that she had to be in control. It would never do to let a man like Stonehaven think that he could win this easily, that he could disturb her thoughts or monopolize her time or expect her to give in to him. For one thing, she suspected that he would lose interest more quickly. For another, it was essential for her purposes that she retain control of the situation.
Accordingly, she slid as far to the side of the sofa as she could, moving away from his hand, and whipped open the furled fan she carried. She wafted it a time or two in front of her, looking at him across the top.
“Or, at least,” she continued in as bored a voice as she could muster, “I believe that it was you. I barely glanced at the door, you see.”
“I see.” Oddly enough, he seemed amused by her answer. Julia decided that she had made the right move. He must be pleased that she was planning to provide him with something of a chase. No doubt, with his looks and wealth, women fell all too easily at his feet.
