Damsel in Disguise (10 page)

“And made it a monster. No, Julia. It’s better this way. Better for my child, better for you. You have no ties to me, just as you wanted it. I suppose we should both be quite content with how life has gone.”

He stood and moved toward the door. The blanket was still balled up in his grasp, so he threw it at her. She bundled it against herself. He turned away from the pitiful image.

“Where are you going?” she asked behind him.

“Back to London. My mother tells me Fitzgelder is causing some trouble for her there.”

“What sort of trouble?”

He didn’t dare risk looking back at her. “I would have expected you to know, since he
is
your husband.”

“He’s not! He’s nothing to me.”

Now he couldn’t help but turn and glare. “Oh, don’t give me that. You claim to know all about how he’s been plotting to kill me. You obviously still have some association with him, despite the fact you’re traipsing around in trousers now.”

“I told you, I overheard his plot by accident.”

“Give it up, Julia, and go back to Fitzgelder. You truly are his type.”

He tried to leave again, but she stopped him. Damn, why couldn’t he just keep going? But she called to him, and he was helpless.

“Wait! You can’t be leaving tonight, can you? After someone tried to kill you? Twice?”

“That’s all the more reason I’d better get back to London and look in on my mother.”

“What sort of trouble is your cousin causing for her?”

“I don’t know. Good-bye, Julia.”

Finally, his hand was on the door latch. She was behind him and would soon be out of his life forever. By God, perhaps this brief reunion was just what he needed—he could finally see her for what she truly was. Perhaps he could, at last, wipe her from his soul and start over.

“I know what he’s planning,” she said softly.

His hand stayed.

“I mean, beyond just his simple plans to kill you,” she went on.

Hell and damnation, but he turned to face her again. She was huddled there, wrapped in that foul blanket with her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked terrified. Every ounce of his being wanted to go to her and hold her, promise her all would be well. By God, if he didn’t walk out that door this instant, he’d be lost forever.

“It, er, involves your family.”

His hand dropped to his side.

“He said he’d kill me if I ever told you about it,” she went on, her lip trembling.

She cowered into the blanket as he stalked back over to her. He knew the minute her dewy, dark eyes met his, he was doomed. Damn it, he did still have a heart, after all.

Julia was shaking. True, she had her blanket back now, but it didn’t seem to help. Lord, what had she done? She didn’t know anything about plans Fitzgelder might have for Rastmoor’s family. This was insane, making up more lies like this!

But she couldn’t very well let him leave right now, could she? He’d go out into that dark night and get himself killed! And what of poor Sophie? How was Julia going to find the girl on her own? Like it or not, she simply had to keep Rastmoor around tonight. Oh, this was an awful muddle.

Then again, maybe not. She was amazed to watch as Rastmoor’s face lost some of its fury. He was regarding her with a cautious curiosity, and he certainly wasn’t walking out that door. Clearly he was intrigued by her words. It would seem her outrageous fabrication hit on something

“What are his plans, Julia?” he asked slowly.

Now, that was an excellent question; if only she had an excellent answer. Well, Papa had trained her to improvise. This seemed like a good time to make use of that skill.

“Fitzgelder, well . . . he knows something,” she said cautiously.

She watched as one eyebrow arched. Apparently she’d guessed right; Fitzgelder
did
know something. She didn’t, of course, so this was going to be tricky.

“Those secret papers. Mother was right to be concerned, wasn’t she?” Rastmoor finished for her.

Secret papers? His mother? What on earth could Fitzgelder have over Rastmoor’s mother? Well, that was interesting. Judging by the look on Rastmoor’s face, it just might be something important. Likely it was damaging, too. Was there indeed some dark family secret hovering over the Rastmoor name? What on earth could it be?

Something shocking and sordid, she supposed. It was always that way with the upper crust, wasn’t it? Well, unfortunate as this was for Lady Rastmoor, it certainly gave Julia a leg up. She’d make sure Rastmoor didn’t leave this inn without her tonight.

“Yes, Anthony,” she said, modulating her voice to a dusky and insinuating whisper. “He found out about those secret papers.”

This was the right thing to say. Rastmoor’s eyes grew dark.

“Damn it. He admitted as much three years ago, but I didn’t want to believe him.”

Rastmoor ran his hand through his hair and glanced around the room. She could feel the tension in his body; it was seeping into her own tired muscles. The urge to reach out and comfort him was no improvisation—it was real. She tamped it down.

“What does he want?” he asked finally, his eyes returning to rest on hers.

“Er, what does he always want?”

Rastmoor snorted. “Money, of course. The bastard is a veritable bottomless pit. I daresay he expected marrying you would solve his financial issues, the fool. He didn’t exactly get what he thought he was getting, did he?”

“No,” she said and decided to leave it at that. Better to change the subject. “He still hates you for inheriting, you know.” This much of the story she
did
know.

“Let him hate me,” Rastmoor growled. “The law is the law. If his father had been man enough to marry his mother instead of merely bringing another bastard into this world, then Grandfather’s title would have gone to him. I can’t help that his father was a bounder and mine was not.”

Everyone knew this aspect of the feud between Rastmoor and his cousin. Fitzgelder had always begrudged Rastmoor’s birth. Rastmoor said Fitzgelder often ranted that
his
father had been the elder, so
he
should have inherited, not Rastmoor. Julia heard he even went so far as to falsify church records to make it appear that his parents had indeed been married. It didn’t work. Thwarted, he turned to propagating rumors about Rastmoor’s own legitimacy. He found no success, though. Rastmoor inherited the title and all that went with it, while Fitzgelder could do nothing but grind his teeth and look for opportunities to make his cousin’s life miserable. Apparently he’d become quite adept at it.

“But what about you, Julia?” Rastmoor asked suddenly. “Where do you fit into this? Obviously my cousin’s blackmail will benefit you as well.”

“Benefit me?”

“You’re his wife, after all. Is that why you agreed to help him like this?”

“Help him? I’m not helping him!”

“Don’t think me a fool. It’s obvious what he’s done. He sent you out to find me, didn’t he?”

“Of course not. I told you; I overheard his plan by accident.”

“Forgive me if I find your word a little hard to take. If you merely sought to warn me, why the disguise? Why the deception? No, this is Fitzgelder’s style. He likely thought dressing you in men’s clothing could get you close to me; then, once it was too late, I’d fall prey to your charms.” Here he paused and let his gaze roam over her again. “I daresay he knows better than any how irresistible you can be.”

He hadn’t meant that as a compliment, but still her cheeks flushed.

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” she assured him. “He thinks I’m dead.”

Rastmoor cocked one eyebrow. “Does he?”

She nodded. “He has no idea I’m here.”

He leaned closer. She clutched the blanket tighter.

“He didn’t send you out to lure me into his trap, Julia?”

She shook her head. “I came out to
warn
you about his trap.”

“And your ever-so-fetching disguise?”

“To avoid him.”

He touched her again. He slid one long finger across her jaw and down the sensitive slope of her neck. She flinched, pained at how easily her body became his.

“So, he’s not sitting over his cups somewhere tonight, wondering if I’ve bedded you yet?”

She shook her head again.

“He’s not laughing at how easily I might be swayed by your soft skin or by the way your breath catches in your throat when I touch you just so?”

She tried to speak but couldn’t; her breath caught in her throat when his burning touch traced the shape of her breast through the rough blanket.

“And he’s not cursing himself for letting you out of his sight when there’s a chance I might take you places tonight he’s never been man enough to find?”

“No, Anthony, he’s not.”

His eyes were filled with burning ice when they met hers. “Then he’s a bastard
and
a fool.”

She wasn’t sure who moved first, but in a heartbeat she was clinging tightly to Rastmoor’s shoulders as his lips crushed hers with a three-year-old vengeance. She gave in willingly, and the blanket slid down between them. Warmth from Rastmoor’s body spread into hers, his thin shirt all that separated skin from skin.

Heat raged to life inside her, and bringing Rastmoor closer, feeling him with her again after all this time, became the only thought in her mind. Whatever else happened tonight, she needed to hold him to her until the aching need could finally be sated. For so long she’d been numb; this brief taste of Rastmoor now was intoxicating.

He didn’t bother with the niceties of conversation. With animal passion he once again pulled the blanket from her, letting his hands roam freely across her skin. She moaned when he pressed her back down into the mattress. He was kissing her, touching her, groping her as if his need was as great as hers. His legs parted her thighs, and he paused just long enough to fumble at his trousers. She gathered her wits and reached between them to assist.

He shoved her hand away. Clearly he did not need assistance; he made it very obvious when he thrust himself inside her a moment later he had things well in control. She bit back a surprised gasp. After wanting him so desperately as she had for these past years, how could she not be ready for him tonight? He’d caught her off guard. She hadn’t been ready.

He didn’t let that stop him, though. He hardly seemed to notice her sudden discomfort. She clenched her eyes and tried to block all thoughts and simply relax in the wonder of being with this man again. Yet she could not. She understood what he was doing.

Rastmoor was not making love to her; he was taking revenge on Fitzgelder. The passion he poured into her was not affection or even blind lust—it was bitter disgust. As his body heaved and thrust over her, his horrible cousin was occupying his thoughts. She was, basically, incidental.

“What’s the matter, Julia?” he asked with a hard edge to his voice. “Am I not so much to your liking anymore?”

“Does it matter?” she replied.

He paused just long enough to shrug. “No, I suppose not.”

And clearly it didn’t. His enthusiasm for these primitive actions didn’t seem diminished by her obvious uninvolvement. He kept right at it until she felt him find his release. He was careful to withdraw and spill his seed against her belly; just one more reminder his heart had been far from this. Fortunately, the whole event had not taken long. She wasn’t sure how much of this cold, impersonal coupling she could have endured. Angry tears formed, but she fought them back.

Rastmoor slid off her and collapsed on the bed. She kept still, tugging as much of the blanket out from under him as she could. He tugged it right back.

“No. I prefer you naked.”

“It’s cold in here,” she declared. He held the blanket firm.

“It’s warm enough.”

“That’s because you’ve still got all your clothes on.”
Beast
.

“Get some sleep. You’ll probably want an early start if you’re going after your friend Sophie.”

“And where will you be?”

“I’m leaving tonight. For London.”

He didn’t move. She didn’t either. He was beside her, but they were not touching. At any moment she expected him to do up his trousers and go, but as the moments ticked by, she wondered if perhaps he hadn’t fallen asleep instead.

The inn was quiet. She could hear an occasional snore from one of the nearby rooms, and through the window a night bird called. Something clattered in the stable just beyond the yard—a restless horse, most likely. All human movement had ceased for the night, it appeared.

Rastmoor’s breathing was slow and regular. The chill of the damp June air began to settle in her. Cautiously, she reached to tug at the blanket again.

“I said, I prefer you naked,” he announced, his unexpected voice causing her to jump.

“I thought you were sleeping.”

“I’m not.”