Damsel in Disguise (12 page)

Her eyelids slid open, and she met him with a sparkle. “Do you suppose anyone heard that?”

He had to laugh. Indeed, the posting house was full tonight, and the walls were thin. How could anyone not have heard that? No doubt they’d get some rather curious stares at breakfast. Unless, of course, he left before breakfast as he planned. He really ought to leave, he knew. If Sophie truly did have the locket, then every minute he spent not hunting for her was a minute Fitzgelder had over them.

Julia must have read his thoughts. “If you think you’re leaving now, I’m going with you.”

“No, you should rest,” he said and reached to pull the blanket up over her.

He’d stay until she was sleeping, then he’d drag himself away. Damn, but it was going to be difficult to leave her.

“I’m not letting you go without me.”

So, she knew what he was about. He wasn’t surprised.

“Go to sleep, Julia.”

She reached for him and slid her hand under his shirt, stroking him in the sensitive spot she’d long ago discovered just below his rib cage. “Stay tonight, Anthony. It’s too dangerous right now, and you need your rest, too.”

A sensible man would ignore her. He hadn’t been sensible for years. Hell, he’d been fooling himself to think he could walk away from her tonight. He was exhausted, and his resistance was shot.

“Very well. We’ll leave in a few hours. We’ll both get some rest.”

No sense trying to deny how she’d affected him. Any idiot could see he was weak as a baby after their lovemaking. Julia had drained him in every sense of the word, but he wasn’t complaining. Maybe, finally, he’d had enough of her.

She hugged the blanket to her and snuggled closer to him. “Good,” she said through a yawn.

No, he decided, not good. This was bad. Even after taking her twice in rapid succession, he could feel the response deep down in his core as her skin contacted his. He hadn’t had enough. He would never have enough.

Damn, this was not good at all.

He shoved the blanket aside and dragged himself out of her bed. “I’d better go back to my room. I’ll call you in a few hours, and we can leave around dawn.”

“Don’t you dare! I’ll not be left behind while you go off on your own to get yourself killed.”

She moved as if she would follow him, and he had no doubt she would.

“I’m not leaving. I’m just going to my room. It appears neither of us will get any rest if I stay here.”

She didn’t seem entirely convinced. “You won’t leave?”

“No. I’ll stay until morning. Early morning.”

Was she satisfied with his response, or was she just too tired to argue? He couldn’t tell. Either way, she dropped back onto the bed and let her eyelids fall closed.

“All right then,” she said without emotion. “I suppose I’ll just have to trust you.”

He had to laugh at that, too. “I’ll call for you in the morning. Just remember, as far as anyone knows, you’re still Alexander Clemmons.”

“It’s not as if I have a Mary, Queen of Scots, costume lying about. Of course I’ll have to present myself as Clemmons again.”

God, but even dead tired and poorly used, she was wonderful. He’d best put more than a simple wall between them tonight. He did up his trousers and moved toward the door.

“Get some sleep, Julia.”

She nodded, sinking deeper into her pillow. “And don’t you dare try to sneak away, Anthony Rastmoor.”

No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He was too tired, and they’d likely have a long day ahead of them. And if he didn’t stop imagining just how much he’d rather stay in Julia’s bed right now, he was going to have a long night ahead of him, too.

Sunrise was delayed by dismal gray clouds. They matched Julia’s mood perfectly. Rastmoor had come pounding on her door first thing and ordered her to hurry so they could get on the road. As surprised as she had to admit she was to find him still here, she was even more surprised to see he appeared to have rested well enough.

She hadn’t, though. She’d struggled as he left her last night to hide the hurt and the hollowness inside. It was a useless effort, though, she suspected. He wouldn’t have noticed if she’d burst into childlike blubbering. He’d gotten what he wanted, then gone back to his own bed for a peaceful sleep.

She’d wept and blown her nose for the next two hours. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have let him take advantage of her like that? She knew what he was doing, that he’d simply been using her body for his own gratification. At first she’d even tried to convince herself she was doing the same thing, that being with Rastmoor again was nothing more than scratching an itch. It wasn’t, of course.

Drat and botheration, it was far, far more that that. What on earth was wrong with her? How could she possibly still harbor any of those silly, stupid emotions she used to feel for him? By God, if it wasn’t for poor Sophie out there kidnapped and needing rescue, she’d walk out of this inn and never so much as let herself think of Anthony Rastmoor again.

Of course that was a lie. She’d follow him wherever he went, if he asked her, or spend the rest of her life pining for him if he didn’t. Blast, but she was hopeless.

She ought to put her mind to more important things, like Sophie, for example. The poor girl was out there somewhere, probably being manhandled by Lindley and being dragged back to London. Fitzgelder would get the locket, and then who knew what might happen to Sophie? Oh, but how could Julia have let herself get so distracted?

She tossed cold water on her face and did her best to look manly. No good. After last night, her skin had taken on a healthy glow, and there was a decidedly feminine gleam in her eye. Dash that man! He knew she wouldn’t have been able to resist him. She never had been. She’d have to be on her guard every moment from here on out. Rastmoor might choose to make further advances, but Julia would be strong.

She’d keep her mind on Sophie, that’s what she’d do. The only thing that mattered right now was finding her. They’d get her safely away from Lindley and see that Fitzgelder never got his hands on that locket. Then things would be over. Rastmoor could go his way, and Julia could take Sophie and go meet Papa. Life would fall back into place.

At least, as much into place as it ever had been since the universe crashed around her three years ago. But she would not allow herself to think about that. She’d become adept at pushing such thoughts from her mind—Rastmoor’s betrayal, Fitzgelder’s threats, and a good friend’s sacrifice. By God, she’d made herself an expert at forgetting. Surely she’d find a way to do it again.

But she wouldn’t forget Sophie. There was enough guilt to last her a lifetime; she would not add to it by letting another person suffer due to her reckless passions. She’d go meet Rastmoor, but it would only be to head out after Sophie.

She grabbed up her coat, pulled on her heavy boots, and clomped over the floorboards out the door. Rastmoor would be waiting downstairs. No more dawdling. The quicker they could get on the road, the quicker this whole nightmare would be over.

Downstairs, the posting house was just humming into action for the day. Rastmoor didn’t bother to look up at her when she approached him. He was seated at a long table, scrawling something that looked like a map on a scrap of paper.

“I may have word on Sophie,” he said abruptly.

She dropped down onto the bench next to him. “Oh? Good word?”

“I believe so. The early mail just came through, and the coachman saw someone of her description in Warwick last night. He says a couple came to the inn there—a man and a young woman very much like Sophie—and some disturbance erupted.”

“What sort of disturbance?”

“He wasn’t sure.”

“Well, what did the man look like?”

“He wasn’t sure.”

“Were they planning to stay in Warwick?”

“He had no idea.”

“So how on earth can you believe this might be Sophie?”

“It’s the best we’ve got to go on.”

Finally he glanced at her, but his eyes held no sign of emotion. She should not have expected any, of course. She knew last night meant nothing to him, and certainly he had no particular concern for Sophie. All he cared about was getting that damn locket.

“Well, then,” she said, pretending to yawn so he didn’t hear how her voice splintered. “I take it we are off to Warwick, then?”

“Yes,” he replied, casually going back to his scribbling. “Get yourself some breakfast, and we’ll be on our way.”

And that was that. Clearly he had nothing more to say to her. She left him there and went to find the innkeeper. Warwick wasn’t far, but she’d best get something to eat before they set out. Rastmoor was not likely to entertain any complaints of discomfort or starvation along the way.

At least she didn’t have the ruddy mustache to struggle with anymore. Whatever she got onto her spoon she’d be able to get into her mouth. Small comfort, though. Any appetite she’d had for food was long gone. It was replaced by a deep, yearning hunger for something else—something she didn’t dare sample again.

 

 

WARWICK WAS A BUSY, BUSTLING TOWN. IT ALSO, INCONVENIENTLY, had two prominent inns. Julia sat quietly as Rastmoor cursed himself for not getting adequate details from the mail coach back at their posting house in Geydon this morning.

“We’ll just have to ask at both of them,” she said.

“Obviously,” he replied. “But let’s not draw unnecessary attention to ourselves, shall we?”

“Then perhaps we ought to split up. You talk to someone at that establishment,” she began, pointing to the building on the left. “And I’ll talk to someone over there.”

“No.”

“I am capable of asking a few questions, you know.”

“I don’t care. We go together.”

“I thought you didn’t want to draw attention.”

“We go together. Come, let’s start over here.”

There was little else she could do but sigh and let him yank the reins from her hands and direct her horse toward the inn on the right. He’d been surly all morning, and she knew it would be pointless to argue. If he thought she was so very incompetent, fine. Let him do all the work. Let him think her completely useless today.

He hadn’t thought her useless last night, had he? The bounder.

She tethered her own horse and hurried to keep pace with him as he strode under a large swinging sign. The Guilded Barrow. It looked respectable enough.

It didn’t take long for Rastmoor to learn nothing. The place was nearly deserted, and the proprietor claimed to have no recollection of any patrons arriving late last night or causing any sort of turmoil. This was not
that
sort of establishment, he claimed. Perhaps they should go across the way and introduce themselves to the proprietor of the Steward’s Brake.

They did, walking their horses and finding the innkeeper. This gentleman was no more forthcoming than the first, until Rastmoor produced half a crown. Indeed, that brought a marked change in the man’s memory. Ah, but of course he recalled just such an incident. At first, Julia was disinclined to believe him, but then he offered a convincing description of Sophie.

So the girl
had
been here. Thank heavens! And she’d been quite well, it seemed.

“Ay, the gentleman with her booked a good room for them,” the innkeeper said. “He talked right nice to the girl; she seemed well happy enough to be with him, she did.”

That was a good sign, Julia decided. She knew Sophie’s feelings about Fitzgelder. If she had any notion the man with her was in league with her former employer, she would likely not have appeared “well happy,” that was for certain. So who on earth was she with?

The man’s description of Sophie’s companion was a bit more vague. Apparently Sophie had left a much more memorable impression on the proprietor than her male counterpart had. Not surprising. Julia had seen firsthand the way men looked at Sophie; the way their eyes followed her as she moved, focusing with approval on her trim young frame and perky smile. Indeed, Sophie would have been far more interesting to this innkeeper than another of his kind.

“You say the man was slight of build?” Rastmoor asked after listening carefully to what little description the man could produce. “Was he near my height?”

“Oh, no sir,” the man insisted. “The fellow was much smaller and wiry, not nearly yer size. And somewhat unkempt, if I do say.”

Well, that clearly left Lindley out. Julia had only seen the man twice in her life, but no way could she imagine Lord Lindley ever appearing unkempt. Nor did she believe anyone could mistake him for “slight.” Indeed, Lindley and Rastmoor were both quite tall. Rastmoor was broader and more athletic, of course, and his appearance was never so fussy as Lindley’s, but comparison between the two would have been easy. The innkeeper’s description left no room for doubt—Sophie had not been with Lindley.