Damsel in Disguise (23 page)

“No need,” Rastmoor assured her. “I’ll escort Mr. Nancini up to his room and see he’s tended to.”

Julia’s right eyebrow shot up into her forehead. Dashford seemed to find that amusing, too.

“I say, Rastmoor,” he laughed. “Perhaps we ought to simply hire a nursemaid for poor Nancini. You seem to think the man can’t be left alone.”

“I absolutely think the man
should
be left alone,” Rastmoor said. “Come, Nancini. You’ve written enough today. You’re likely to get a cramp—with any luck.”

Julia frowned at him but had the good sense to appear compliant. She gave a polite bow to the ladies and marched sedately out into the hallway. She was kind enough to wait until they were safely out of earshot of the others before she turned on him with a barely restrained hiss.

“And just what do you think you’ll be tending to once you’ve dragged me off to my lonely cell, my lord?” she asked in a tone that left no room to question her thoughts on the subject.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t look at her, either. Just how exactly was he going to keep Julia safely in her room the rest of this evening and all through the long night ahead? Unless of course he intended to remain there with her, which he did not.

He made a particular point of reminding himself that he did not.

 

 

JULIA CHOSE NOT TO ARGUE AS RASTMOOR LED HER up to her chamber. She figured it was safer that way; clearly the man was furious with her. His ominous silence chilled her while his viselike grip never released from her shoulder as they left behind the relative safety of the Dashford drawing room and headed up the wide and deserted staircase toward the first floor. Even more unnerving, Rastmoor knew exactly which bedroom to direct her toward.

He followed her inside and shut the door behind them. Her heartbeat quickened, and she fought to forget the huge, well-stuffed bed looming just behind her. The huge, comfortable, well-stuffed bed. The huge, comfortable,
lonely
, well-stuffed bed. The huge, comfortable, well-stuffed bed that would be so very warm and inviting if Rastmoor would just . . .

Oh, bother it all! What was wrong with her that even after all his lies getting her here and his dreadfully rude manner toward her she could still think of such a thing? She was certain Rastmoor wasn’t. No, clearly amorous thoughts were far from his mind.

He practically shoved her away from him and glared at her with fiery eyes. “Brava, Miss St. Clement,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your impressive performance has won you some new admirers downstairs. Penelope, especially, seems absurdly infatuated.”

“Obviously she has better taste than I was giving her credit for,” Julia replied.

She took an involuntary step backward when he moved toward her. His arms cut through the air as he gestured in anger.

“Damn it, what did you think you were doing down there?” he stormed.

No, this was definitely not amorous behavior. Still, she held her ground. “I did not give away my identity or break your silly rule about speaking. I simply found a way around it.”

“By God, this is not a game, Julia! What on earth were you doing, leading Penelope to fancy herself cow-eyed for some Italian prig who doesn’t even exist?”

“What?!”

“Don’t try to convince me you didn’t see it. She was mooning over you.”

Really? Well, that would serve the brute right if she had managed to catch the eye of his darling intended. Would serve him right indeed.

“She was mooning? I didn’t notice.”

“Like hell you didn’t.”

“What’s the matter? Are you jealous?”

“No, by God, I’m bloody furious. What made you think to use my sister this way?”

Well now, that gave her pause. “Sister?”

His fists were clenched, and he was pacing with a vengeance. “Is that what you were doing? Taking out your anger at me by toying with her? An innocent, impressionable girl? That’s reprehensible, Julia, even for you. Penelope’s barely out of the schoolroom.”

“Wait, I didn’t . . . I mean . . . Your sister?”

“Of course she’s my sister! Who in bloody Hades did you think she was?”

Well, she wasn’t in bloody Hades about to answer
that
. Oh, but how could she have been so silly? She could see it now; she’d let the green-eyed monster get the best of her and spent a full half hour purposely making Penelope fall a little bit in love because of foolish jealousy. She simply couldn’t bear the thought of the girl being any bit in love with Rastmoor. Good grief.

“You’re overreacting,” she said, hoping to end the discussion quickly. “I’m sure Penelope couldn’t care less for Mr. Nancini.”

“Penelope was worshipping Mr. Nancini!”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Oh? I watched her bat her eyelashes at you, and I saw the way you fawned over her. You ingratiated yourself with my mother! You had to have known how that would appear to a starry-eyed eighteen-year-old girl.”

“She seems a sensible sort. She would know it all meant nothing.”

“You wrote her sonnets, Julia. In French!”

“Just one. And I fail to see what difference it makes which language I used.”

“I told you to stay up here. Where it’s safe.”

“Safe? Safe from what, my lord? What horrors are stalking the halls of Lord Dashford’s fine home?”

“You know very well what horrors I’m talking about,” he said. “Unless, of course, you haven’t been entirely honest with me about your own dealings with Fitzgelder. Perhaps the man really holds no threat for you. Is that it?”

“You don’t believe that, else you’d have gone straight back to London and not bothered to bring me out here. You know I spoke the truth about my involvement with that man.”

He scowled. “I’d like to believe you, Julia, but how can I, when you show such complete and utter disregard for caution? All we need is for one gossiping servant to head to the village, babbling about a mysterious woman in men’s clothing hiding out at Hartwood. You’ve seen what Fitzgelder can do. If he indeed has as much against you as you claim, then why do you keep taking chances?”

She was taking chances, all right, just by meeting his eyes. Indeed, it was too easy to let his persistent talk of concern for her safety mislead her into believing he still cared. That smoldering heat behind his gaze could so easily be mistaken for concern—for tenderness, even. She turned away quickly and walked to the window.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to do anything to hurt your sister.”

“So what do you propose we do about it?” he said, still doubtful. “Penelope is young and sheltered. This misplaced attachment could seriously damage her.”

“Look, if there is any misplaced attachment, it will be easy enough to snuff,” Julia assured him. “Just tell everyone I’m married. I have a wife back in Italy, and I’m devoted to her. Surely that will keep your sister from fancying any great affection, right?”

“You believe affections are so easily cast off?”

She’d had her back to Rastmoor but turned to face him now. He’d come up close behind her, closer than she’d expected. Oh, she hoped he might not see the hurt his words had caused her.

“No, I don’t,” she replied. “But circumstance cares little for affection, does it? Penelope might as well learn that sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, I suppose that is one of life’s harsh lessons she’s bound to learn at some point,” he agreed. “I just wonder why you felt the need to educate her yourself.”

“I told you, it never crossed my mind that the girl might take a fancy to Mr. Nancini. I was simply enjoying their entertaining company after you so rudely trussed me up in here without so much as the ability to call for a fresh chamber pot!”

“And apparently I was the subject of your entertainment,” he said.

As if he had any reason to be so offended. He was not the cross-gendered, wounded mute.

“And why not?” she snipped. “I thought it a topic that might amuse them.”

“Oh?” he asked with a cocked brow. “Why should you have thought that? You just told me you had no idea who Penelope was. Why should a stranger be so amused by a discussion of my personal tics and endearing little quirks?”

“I don’t recall anyone mentioning that they are endearing.”

“Admit it. You did know Penelope was my sister.”

“No, I did not. I thought . . .” She was fortunate to stop herself, but it was apparently too late. Rastmoor’s interest was piqued. He reached to touch her cheek, brushing a stray hair back into its expected position.

“You thought what? Who did you think she was?”

Oh, bother. What was the way out of this? It would seem there was none.

“I thought she was your fiancée.” There. She’d given him the answer he wanted. Perhaps he would not laugh too long at her.

He didn’t quite laugh, in fact, but he did smile. Hugely. “My fiancée?”

“Introductions were a bit irregular, what with me being mute and Italian, and all.”

Now he slid one hand around to the small of her back and tugged her gently toward him. For pity’s sake, she couldn’t seem to find the strength to resist. And how very tantalizing his breath was when he leaned in and breathed against her neck.

“And you were jealous, weren’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

Her quavering voice negated her words, especially as she melted into him and tipped her head, allowing him to slowly unfasten her pitiful cravat. He dragged it from her, the fabric brushing against her and leaving her nerves tingling for attention. The cravat hit the floor, and Rastmoor pushed her ill-fitted coat from her shoulders. Unrestricted, her shirt fell open nearly to her navel.

“You thought to steal her from me, didn’t you?”

His words were a low growl, and his lips teased their way along her collarbone.

“Er, you do recall I’m not really a man?”

“Yes, I do happen to recall that, as a matter of fact,” he said, and the dusky warmth in his voice convinced her he was every bit as aware of their difference in gender as she was. She shuddered at the little tingles running up and down her spine.

“Admit it, Julia. You were jealous, weren’t you?” he asked.

Of course, it wasn’t really a question. His voice already held the triumph of knowing the answer full well. He knew she’d been jealous as hell. She thought Penelope was his fiancée, and she’d been determined to put herself between them out of sheer feminine envy. It really wasn’t very nice of her, she did have to admit, and certainly not very smart. He was going to make her regret it now, in the most delightful ways possible.

“You know,” he began after covering her with kisses, “it disturbs me how much I enjoy looking at you in these infernal men’s clothes.”

“Then why are you going to so much effort to get me out of them?”

He chuckled, ripping her shirt from where she tucked it so carefully into her breeches and pulling it swiftly up over her head. “Because I’m not at all disturbed to look at you naked.”

With that, he grabbed the loose bit of the binding fabric she used to conceal her ample bosom. Clearly frustrated that it did not slide away so easily as the cravat, he gave a rough tug. As the fabric was wrapped twice around her body, this sent Julia spinning away from him. She couldn’t help but laugh as she tumbled onto the bed. Likely he planned that, the devious letch.

Not that she was doing anything to slow his progress. Her trousers were unfastened half a second before his, and he was pinning her into the luxurious counterpane. She wrapped herself around him and gave up trying to pretend this wasn’t exactly what she wanted.

His hands explored her, slipping inside her trousers to ignite the desire that seemed to perpetually smolder there. She happily returned the favor, although she had to admit his trousers were not nearly so accommodating as hers. Things were a bit more, er, crowded in his.

“Damn it, let’s just dispense with the bloody things,” he said, moving himself away from her long enough to see both sets of boots and unmentionables cast into a pile with the rest of their apparel.

Lord, now they were stark naked in the middle of the day! Julia was quite certain this had not occurred before. My, but how the daylight accentuated certain aspects of the man’s personal, er, appendage. Not that things didn’t appear remarkable enough by candlelight, but somehow the illicit nature of this mid-afternoon romp made everything just a bit more pronounced.

How wonderful.

She grabbed that delightful appendage and pulled it—and Rastmoor with it—closer to her. He did not seem to mind and obediently resumed his tactile exploration. She knotted her fingers into his hair and held him close, succumbing quickly to his deepening kiss.

She succumbed to everything rather quickly, as a matter of fact. Rastmoor overwhelmed her with the power of his passion, and before she knew it, she was panting, begging him to come into her and satisfy the yearning that two full nights of sharing his bed had not seemed to extinguish. He kindly obliged.

They lay there, tangled with each other and the tousled bedclothes. Julia basked in the warmth of his nearness and the glow of his loving. Sunshine beamed through the window, making Rastmoor’s skin glitter with the tiny droplets of sweat his efforts had produced. It was beautiful—the whole world was beautiful.

At least it was until Rastmoor rolled over and spoke.