Veiled in Blue (2 page)

His last valet wouldn’t have turned a hair, but Julius had spent years inuring him to his requests. Now, thanks to the man finding a wife and leaving his service, Julius had to start all over again. “I do not want anyone to know that I have left. I will travel as a gentleman.” He thought of something the valet would definitely understand. “It is a delicate matter concerning a lady.
Comprenez-vous?
”

Lamaire’s expression cleared. “Ah, I understand! I am most discreet,
monseigneur
. But would you not prefer a dress coat, something to impress the lady of your choice?”

Julius shook his head. “I don’t intend to announce my presence in the village.”

Lamaire nodded and bowed, the trace of a smile on his lips. “As you say.”

That would keep him quiet and on Julius’s side, even if the explanation was not completely accurate. The Frenchman would assume that Julius wanted to hide his identity so the lady would not pursue him. Julius could see that by the sidelong glances the man shot him. He could not be further from the truth.

“Pack the brown coat. I will wear the green.”

When Lamaire presented him with the emerald green brocade Julius shook his head and indicated the duller one, in plain English cloth.

“That one.” When he held his hand out, lace floated over the back of his hand. An ordinary man would not have anything so fine. He proceeded to pull away the neat running stitches and remove the Brussels lace ruffle. Then he unwound his cravat, exchanging both for plainer garments. He would be travelling incognito.

Half an hour later, Julius was on his way. With a pistol in each pocket, a sword by his side, and saddlebags full of clothes and other necessary items, he felt relatively safe. He’d exchanged his wig for a simpler one and his gold-braided cocked hat for an undecorated example. Instead of his sapphire signet ring, he wore a simple worn one of gold. Few would recognize it, but it was enough to identify him if the worst happened and he was waylaid and murdered. A man in his position must always consider that eventuality. The succession could not be put in doubt.

The vile mood engendered by his mother’s demands still simmered. Once on the road, he released it. With nobody in sight he let rip, cursing a blue streak. He kept it up for at least half a mile before he could think clearly again. Ever since he had left home to set up his own establishment, his mother had fought to control him. It would not happen now. Or ever.

Julius was no nearer discovering a way to thwart his mother’s attempted control of his life, except for one wild thought when he’d first glanced up from her letter and seen the young woman crossing the inn yard. He was tempted to follow the old legend of the king who’d promised to marry the first woman he saw.

Dusk was falling, and he had to pay attention, or the nag he’d hired would stumble in a rut on this none-too-carefully maintained road.

A slumped figure appeared ahead, someone in a shapeless heap of dark clothes. Since the person was bent over, Julius couldn’t discern who or what it was, but he went on his guard, transferring the reins to one hand. He shoved his free hand into his pocket and curved it around the comforting butt of his pistol. Footpads would often appeal to the kindness of travelers. An old trick, but not one Julius intended to fall for now. He tugged on the rein, urging his horse to give the individual a wide berth.

The person straightened and revealed itself as a woman holding a basket, probably the same female he’d seen crossing the inn yard—perhaps even his quarry. He relaxed his grip.

As he approached, she stopped again, and bent once more. When she stood up this time, she gripped the handle of her basket harder than necessary. She had gloved hands, a sign of a gentlewoman. No country wench, this, and no footpad either.

Her shoes, barely visible below her ankle-length skirts, were sturdy, the buckles catching the light of the setting sun. She faltered. She was limping.

Julius drew level with her. He slowed his horse, his chivalrous instincts balking at the notion of passing her.

She glanced around and then snapped her head back to watch the road. Her profile was lovely, her nose straight and true.

“Are you in trouble, ma’am?” he asked her. “May I be of assistance?”

“No, sir.” Her voice shook, but no discernible country accent tinged it. “I will manage. I merely caught my foot in a rut. I will be perfectly well shortly.”

Julius pulled up and dismounted. “I insist. I am of no danger to you.”

Coming to a halt, she put up her chin to glare. “I assure you, sir. I am fine.” She bit her lip. “I should warn you that I am armed and I know how to use my weapon.”

Julius caught his breath. Despite the plain clothes and tight jaw, she was truly exquisite, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. The lines of her face were clean and clearly defined, her skin so pure it begged for his touch. Was he tumbling into a different kind of trap, perhaps? He was in peril of falling for his own fantasy.

Smiling, he drew his hand out of his pocket just far enough to show her that he was armed, too. When she shifted on the rough road, her shoes scraping against grit with an audible sound, he was sorry he had shown her.

He drew his hand from his pocket completely, leaving the pistol behind. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. As you can see, I have released my weapon. If you follow suit, I feel sure we shall be more comfortable.”

If she bit her lip any harder, she’d draw blood. “Please to go on, sir,” she said.

“I wouldn’t dream of abandoning a young lady so unprotected.”

He meant it. She was terrified of him, and she had good reason. Without a house in sight, they were alone together. It would be a matter of moments to overpower her.

Fortunately, Julius had no such intention, but he had no way of proving that to her. Normally he’d provide his card. Not in this case. He had no visiting cards, and if he started flaunting his wealth, his low profile would not last for long. Money didn’t just talk; sometimes it screamed.

“How far do you have to go? Will the next village suit you?” If it did not, he would travel farther. “I will not leave you to be accosted by a real ruffian. Please, ma’am, let me help.”

“Who are you, sir? What are you doing on this road? It hardly leads to anywhere important. If you are heading for Bath, I am afraid you have lost your way.”

Smiling, Julius shook his head, rapidly inventing a history for himself. “I’m a man of business, and I am travelling to see Lord Ripley. I have some papers for him to sign.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped when she breathed out. “Lady Ripley has just been brought to bed.”

“You know them?” he said quickly.

“No, that is, I have met them once, but I cannot claim acquaintanceship. Lady Ripley’s…illness precluded that.” She sighed, her bosom swelling enticingly under her plain blue gown. “Your name, sir?”

“Julius Vernon.” He would not stray too far from the truth in case he was found out. Hiding under a completely false name would make this enterprise too shady. He wanted this woman to trust him.

No recognition of the shortened version of his name shaded her eyes. She touched his hand briefly when he held it out to her. “Eve Merton. My father was the vicar here before his death.”

“I’m sorry.” Julius’s sympathy came automatically, but inside he was crowing his triumph. His luck had held. His quarry had fallen into his hands. The stars were in alignment, and the gods favored him today.

She shook her head. “I’m over the first grief of his passing. He died five years ago.”

He nodded. “Still, losing a parent is never easy. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Eve Merton. Can you ride astride?”

She gave him a derisory glance, her mouth turned down, her eyes scornful. “I can claim it as one of my skills.”

He cupped his hands. “Then please take your seat, Eve Merton.”

She placed her foot in his hands and allowed him to throw her into the saddle. Before she settled properly, he swung up behind her. She flinched, but said nothing. He would love to know what was going on in her mind. Did she know who she was? Whose daughter she was in truth?

* * * *

Apprehension clutched Eve’s insides, tightening her throat. Would he prove honorable?

She had taken a rational decision, the only practical one in the circumstances, but she had not reckoned for him riding with her.

Had it not been for tripping on that wretched rut, she would have been home by now, but her foot pained her more than she had let herself dwell on. The hedgerows were of the annoying tight-knit kind with the brittle twigs, so she could not even cut a branch to help her progress. If not for that, she would have been home before nightfall.

Dusk was falling quickly. A female alone on a country road was ripe prey for footpads and highwaymen. If this man was a villain, so be it. Better one than a gang.

Mr. Vernon felt strong and protective. He had to curve his arms around her to control the reins, giving her an unaccustomed sense of being cared for. Normally she did the protecting.

He even smelled good, of soap and something subtle, like an aromatic wood. He used cologne. She found that deeply intriguing. She did not know any men who used perfume. In this district, any that dared would be labeled effeminate, but this man was far from that. Power remained leashed in him, but the easy way he moved and the sheer strength surrounding her demonstrated his essential masculinity.

“Are you staying with Lord Ripley?” she asked.

A pause followed before he laughed. “No indeed. I was hoping I could find somewhere to stay. Do you know of a respectable inn?”

“I do.” The nearest stood opposite her house on the village green. “I can direct you to one, if you wish.”

“I would appreciate it. I confess I’m not used to sleeping in the open.”

“Oh!” She couldn’t allow him to do that.

She felt churlish for not complimenting him on his excellent horsemanship, but she was on edge. His proximity was sending prickles along the length of her spine. She had to lean back, because she would unbalance them and mar his vision if she tried leaning away from him. At least, that was what she told herself when the horse stumbled and she was jolted back against him.

Had she imagined the hum of appreciation rumbling in his throat?

Oh, no, no. She would not succumb to such idiocy. She was far too old for that kind of foolishness, after all. Having attained the advanced age of seven-and-twenty, she should have been long past flirtation and foolish imaginings. Besides, her foot hurt, though she had to admit, not half so much as it had before.

She clutched the handle of her basket to stop herself reaching for his arms to test their strength. The urge to touch him grew unbearable. Before she could stop herself, Eve asked, “Do you own your own business, sir?”

He sucked in a breath, the sound loud in her ear. “In a small way. What made you ask?”

“You have no assistant with you. Men of business often travel with clerks.”

“I have a special relationship with Lord Ripley,” he said promptly. “The matter is fairly trivial, but he will wish to know of it.” He huffed a laugh. “You are very perceptive, Miss Merton.”

“Thank you,” she said primly. “And you have an excellent way with a horse.”

“Thus indicating that not all city men have the same facility. Neatly done.” He shifted in the saddle.

That was when she felt it. She was not the only person affected by their unusual proximity. Knowing she would be walking home, Eve had left off her hoops and wore but a softly padded roll to give her skirt some fullness. Consequently, she felt it. Felt
him
.

A hard ridge, like a rod under his breeches, pressed against the curves of her bottom. Mr. Vernon was sporting an erection. A considerable one, by the feel of it. Eve had never, ever been so close to a man in a state of excitement, at least not knowingly.

She should be shocked, move away, or insist he put her down. He must know his body was misbehaving. What did that mean? She had no idea. Men responded with a physical immediacy foreign to women, or that was what Eve understood.

She did the only thing she could. She pretended not to notice. Holding her body rigid, not moving cost her a great deal of effort, but it was worth it.

Perhaps if she talked about something that might help him. Searching frantically in her mind for something to distract him, she fell on the one sure-fire subject—the weather. “They say this will be a fine summer.”

“Do they? I am beginning to think it will be.” The horizon glowed, the redness of the setting sun coloring the undersides of the clouds scattered over the rapidly darkening sky. “So tell me, Miss Merton, why are you walking alone at dusk? You’re evidently a respectable woman. Surely you should have an attendant with you?”

She laughed. “The maid has better things to do than taking me to and from town. If I had not hurt my ankle, I would have been home hours ago.”

“It can’t be right,” he said.

That was true. Her mother was always criticizing her for taking too many liberties with her person. “One day,” she would say and then launch into a number of blood-curdling and totally imaginary situations.

Her body heated when she thought of this man laying her on the hard ground and taking her. Knowing she would probably never have a man in such a situation, Eve had treated such possibilities as harmless fantasies, but now they appeared all too real. She must not turn and press her mouth to his, as the fantasy Eve might.

He had firm, warm lips. They were most likely warm, though how could she know? She never would, and she would not try to find out. But if she had not imagined it, she would not be in this predicament, feeling a man’s member hard against her and knowing what it meant. His body wanted hers. Perhaps he hadn’t had a woman for some time, or she had given him thoughts he should not have. Then shame on her for thinking them.

Mr. Vernon slowed the horse and picked his way carefully along the uneven road in the growing gloom.

“I am not of marriageable age,” she said. “I am of the age when I should be reading to old ladies.”