“You don’t need to pay penance with your life. And the harm was caused by our mutual father, not by you. You didn’t ask for your existence; you certainly don’t need to give it up to please a madwoman.” Phelan grimaced. “Besides, we might be wrong. My mother might not have murdered him after all.”
There, the words were out in the open, the unspoken suspicion that had rested between the brothers for so long. He ought to feel relieved at finally having spoken the fear that had haunted him. Instead, he felt even more troubled.
Valerian didn’t reply for a moment, and the thought hung between them like a dark cloud. “We can leave it,” he said finally. “I’m willing to go to France, or Italy, and spend the rest of my life there. After all, it’s not as if I’m turning my back on an inheritance. With Lord Harry dead, I’m not welcome at Romney Hall, even if I wasn’t suspected of killing him. There’s nothing to tie me to England.”
“Nothing but your love of the place. I’m the one who’d prefer to spend my days abroad, wandering. You might just as well suggest I confess to the crime. It would make more sense. Then at least you could return home …”
“I wouldn’t let you do that for me,” Val said fiercely.
“And I wouldn’t let you make that sacrifice for my mother. So that leaves us where we started. Waiting. Hoping for some other answer.”
“And if we don’t find it?” Valerian asked.
“Then we go together.” Phelan’s voice allowed no disagreement. Valerian was the one human being he’d allowed himself to care for during his life, with the exception of Hannigan. He wouldn’t abandon him now.
“You’re a stubborn man, Phelan.”
“It’s a family trait.”
There was no mistaking Hannigan’s knock on the door, nor the lack of hesitation before he opened it, then stepped forward and closed it before any prying eyes could peer inside. “We’re going to have to do something about yon wench,” Hannigan said.
“Which one?” Val asked, flopping down into a chair.
“The new one. I can’t call her Julian, since it’s clear as rain that she wasn’t born with a name like that. She’s been asking questions.”
“Questions?” Phelan echoed.
“About you, your lordship. Seems quite curious about where you came from, what brought you here, how long you’ve been married. I might almost think she was taken with you.”
Phelan found he could still smile. “And what makes you think she isn’t?”
“She’s too smart for that. She’s looking after herself, that one is, and she’s not about to get distracted by the likes of you. If it were the young master here, I might have my doubts. He’s got a pretty enough face to turn even the wisest woman’s head. But it’s you she fancies, or I miss my guess. She’s watching you, and those brown eyes of hers are clever. And that’s not all,” he added darkly.
“Enlighten us, Hannigan,” Phelan drawled, expecting the worst.
“I caught her outside this door just now. I think she was listening to the two of you.”
“A reasonable assumption,” Phelan said. “I don’t know that she would have heard anything terribly edifying.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. It wouldn’t do to underestimate the girl. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t have a good idea what lies beneath Mr. Valerian’s skirts.”
“Hannigan, you shock me!” Val protested, his voice rich with amusement.
“That’s as may be,” Hannigan said, still deadly serious. “But I think we should get rid of her.”
“And how do you propose to do that, Hannigan? Cosh her over the head and drop her in the sea like the wreckers used to?” Valerian asked lazily.
“That’s not a bit funny, young master,” Hannigan replied severely. “I come from these parts originally, and the wreckers are nothing to joke about. They’ve paid for their crimes, paid dearly. Their like will not be seen again.”
“A good thing,” Phelan murmured. “So what do you suggest I do with the girl? Send her over to Pinworth? I doubt he’d thank me when he discovers her true identity.”
“The way I see it, you’ve got two choices, your lordship. Either send her on her way, back to where she came from, or take her into your bed. Either way, she’d no longer be a threat to you.”
“Hannigan, you amaze me!” Phelan said with a shout of laughter. “How little you know women! The most dangerous thing in the world is to turn a romantic young creature into a bed partner. They fancy themselves in love, they start expecting all sorts of things, and then they grow furious when they realize their tender passion is all one-sided. I’d as like cut my own throat as take her to bed.”
“Really?” Valerian intervened with maddening cheer. “If you feel that strongly, I’d be more than happy to volunteer for such a hazardous duty. It’s an unpleasant task, but I feel sure I could rise to the occasion.”
“You’re not too big for me to thrash,” Phelan said in a dangerous voice. “No one’s putting a hand on her unless it’s me. Besides, what about your precious bluestocking?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, she thinks I’m a woman,” Val replied irritably.
“You could always enlighten her.”
“You don’t really suggest that?” Valerian demanded.
“No,” Phelan admitted. “For the time being, I think we ought to keep on as we are. You in skirts, our new servant in pants. In the meantime, what are we going to do about our inquisitive little friend?”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something to distract her, Phelan. Particularly since she fancies you,” Val drawled.
“That’s a matter of opinion. I think she covets my purse far more than my body. But I can certainly give her something more immediate to worry about than who and what you are. Even supposing she’s guessed. Where is she, Hannigan?”
“I sent her to the kitchen, to peel potatoes for Dulcie. I told her to feed and water the horses when she finished there. I imagine you might find her in the stables.”
“Excellent,” Phelan murmured, feeling unaccountably cheerful. “While she’s occupied, why don’t you search her room and see if you come up with anything of interest, Hannigan? I’ll see what I can do with the girl.”
“Changed your mind about Hannigan’s advice, brother?” Valerian asked.
“Not particularly. There are other ways to distract a woman.”
“Yes, but they’re not so pleasant.”
“Lecher,” Phelan said lazily, and strode from the room in search of his quarry.
She’d left the kitchen, which was just as well. Dulcie was a maternal soul, and she wouldn’t care for his tactics, and wouldn’t hesitate to tell him so. He wanted Little Miss Incognita alone where he could do his best to terrorize her into maintaining a discreet silence.
She didn’t hear him enter the stables. It was a small building, with only half a dozen stalls, and only four of them filled. She was standing in an empty stall next to his brother’s gelding, stroking his long chestnut nose and murmuring to him. Phelan stood just within the entrance, listening to her soft voice.
“You’re a pretty boy,” she crooned, a low, impossibly erotic sound, and Phelan had the absurd wish that she were talking to him. “Much too big a horse for a lady. I bet I could handle you, though.” Her strong, small hands stroked the dark neck of Valerian’s horse, and Phelan felt his own skin tingle in sympathetic response. “The question is, what’s going on with the master and his mistress? And why would a pretty lady like Mrs. Ramsey want a great big beauty like you?”
“Perhaps she prefers a challenge,” Phelan said.
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 lo
t 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.”