Swept Away

A servant came up to take her gloves and cloak. Julia dawdled over the tasks, reluctant to reveal her attire to Geoffrey, but fortunately, before she had to draw off her cloak, a friend of Geoffrey’s hallooed at him from the next room. Geoffrey lifted his hand in a wave and smiled. He was as convivial as he was lazy, and Julia knew that he would spend the evening drinking and conversing with his friends in endless rounds of cards, and therefore, in his careless way, would probably lose all track of her.

“Ah, there is Cornbliss. I suppose I must go to him.” He looked back at Julia. “Shall I introduce you? What is your name, by the by, or I shall make a shocking slip, I’m sure.”

“Jessica,” Julia answered quickly, having spent a good part of the afternoon cogitating on names and other matters of deception. “That way, if either of us slips and starts to say my name, we can change it quickly.”

“Clever girl.”

“Jessica Murrow,” she added. “As for who I am, it doesn’t matter.”

“I shall maintain an air of mystery, that’s always handy when one doesn’t know what one’s doing.”

Julia smiled. “Go join your friends. I shan’t mind, and I don’t need to be introduced.”

“If you are sure?”

Julia nodded. She had counted on Geoffrey’s laziness and general unconcern to keep him out of her hair, and she was happy to see that she had been right. With a brief salute of his lips against the back of Julia’s hand, he strolled away to join his compatriots. Relieved, she shrugged out of her cloak and handed it to the long-suffering footman who still stood waiting for her. Quickly she stepped into the room opposite the one her cousin had entered and moved out of sight of the wide doorway. Thus established, she took stock of her surroundings.

She had never before been in such an intensely masculine atmosphere. It must be, she thought, similar to a gentleman’s club, that inner sanctum of masculinity from which all women were excluded. Smoke rose lazily from cigars and pipes without regard to feminine sensibilities. Snifters of brandy and glasses of port or wine sat on the tables beside them. The rumble of male voices filled the air, punctuated now and then by a bark of loud laughter. Julia suspected that she would hear things tonight that would make her blush.

She wandered through the room, then out the connecting doors into the larger room beyond. This, she realized, must be a small ballroom. Here, in addition to the tables of cardplayers, were two tables centered by the popular wheels of chance and another long table where a game of dice had drawn the attention of a large number of men. A woman in her forties stood beside one of the players, seemingly observing the play, but Julia noticed that her eyes were rarely fixed on the table. Her gaze roamed the room with calm efficiency, taking in everything without seeming sharp or inquisitive. She smiled and nodded at one person or another who raised a hand in greeting, and after a moment she moved away from that table to another one. This woman, Julia decided, must be Madame Beauclaire herself, for she definitely had the air of someone in charge. Julia studied her covertly, a little amazed to find that the mistress of a gaming house moved and spoke with such an air of gentility. Her dress of olive green crepe was less revealing than Julia’s own, very much the sort of thing a middle-aged Society matron would wear to a party, and only a simple strand of pearls encircled her throat. She wore only one or two rings, including a simple gold wedding band, and a set of small diamond-and-pearl ear-bobs danced in her earlobes.

Her gaze turned to Julia, and Julia knew that she was summing up her clothes and manner in the first steps to determining exactly who and what this stranger was. When she looked straight at Julia, Julia favored her with a small smile, then turned away—without haste—and moved back out into the entry hall. A visit to the music room across the hall, where a woman vainly battled the noise with a number on the pianoforte, established that Lord Stonehaven was not in the house.

Julia took out her nerves on the lace handkerchief she carried, wringing it between her hands. What was she to do if the man did not come tonight? Even if he came, how would she occupy herself until that moment? She had felt the gazes of more than one interested man on her during her stroll through the rooms, and she felt sure that it would not be long before she began receiving invitations of a decidedly improper sort. The best thing, she thought, was to keep moving, and with that in mind, she turned and started across the hall back to the larger room. Just as she did, the front door opened, and she turned. The footman who had answered the door stepped aside with an obsequious bow.

Lord Stonehaven stepped into the hall.

Julia stopped short. Suddenly she could not breathe. Nor could she tear her eyes away from the figure standing at the other end of the hall. He was tall, with the wide shoulders and long, muscled legs of a sportsman. Elegantly attired in black evening wear, a starched cravat tied perfectly at his neck, he was the picture of a well-to-do gentleman. Diamond studs winked at his cuffs.

He looked up, and his eyes met hers. For a moment they were frozen in time, staring at each other. Stonehaven was, Julia had to admit, the most handsome man she had ever seen. Thick black hair, cut fashionably short, framed a square-jawed face of perfect proportions. His mouth was wide and mobile, his nose straight, and two black slashes of brows accented eyes as dark as his hair and sinfully long-lashed. A stubborn chin with a deep cleft and a small slash of a scar on his cheekbone gave his face a firmly masculine set.

Hate spurted up in Julia, hot and tasting of bile, and her heart pounded crazily. She detested this man with a fury that threatened to swamp her. And tonight she had to make him want her more than he had ever wanted any other woman.

2

Julia broke her paralysis and looked away from Stonehaven. Slowly, affecting an air of unconcern, she continued on her path into the large gaming room. Her heart was pounding like a drum, and it was all she could do to keep herself from turning to glance back at him. Was he still watching her? Would he follow?

She knew that she could not look, could not seem interested in him. Ever since she had come up with the idea of luring Lord Stonehaven into her feminine web, she had thought carefully about how to do it. He had been a friend of her brother’s for years, albeit not one of his closest, and Selby had spoken of him now and then, usually in the context of some sort of sport—hunting, boxing, marksmanship. He was, she knew, a man who thrived on competition, who liked a challenge. So she had determined that the best way to attract his interest was to appear disinterested herself. Let him be the hunter. Let him come to her and try to win her favors—that was the way to fix his desire on her.

Still, it took all her willpower to refrain from looking. She strolled into the gaming room and down the length of it, moving as far from him as she could get. She paused behind a table of players and idly observed them for a few moments. She could not have said what they were playing, and she did not even notice the inviting smile that one of the men sent her way. All her attention, all her thoughts, were on the room behind her and the question of whether or not Lord Stonehaven had entered it. She was about to turn away toward another table when a masculine voice spoke behind her.

“Are you fond of piquet?”

A thrill shot down her nerves, but she made herself turn casually to look at the speaker. Lord Stonehaven was standing only a foot away from her, a smile that she could classify only as supercilious touching his mouth. He was watching her, his dark eyes faintly amused. He was even more handsome up close, she thought, the sort of man who would set young women to giggling and smirking. Julia, however, had no desire to do either one; the urge she felt rushing up inside her was a strong desire to launch into him, fists flying. This man had ruined her brother! Her anger was so deep and bitter, she could almost taste it. It was going to require all her self-possession, she realized, to pretend to calm indifference.

“Were you addressing me, sir?” she asked in as cool a voice as she could muster.

“Why, yes, I was.” The amusement in his eyes deepened. “Sorry—I realize that we are not acquainted, but I presumed upon a common interest.” He made a vague gesture toward the room.

“Indeed.” Julia gave him a small smile, letting a hint of the dimple appear in her cheek. She had, after all, to give him some encouragement even as she pretended to elude him.

He returned the smile, and Julia felt her stomach turn a little flip. Who would have thought that a man such as he could have so much warmth in his eyes? She glanced away quickly, then worried that she had been too demure for the part she was playing.

“Have you played here before?” he asked, and she turned her attention back to him. “I have not seen you.”

“No. This is my first evening here. I came with a friend.”

“A good friend?” he asked in a slow, rich voice, and she realized that he was subtly asking if she was some other man’s mistress.

“No,” she replied, hoping that her cheeks did not betray her by reddening. “Not a good friend.”

“How nice for me. Then I am hopeful he will not mind if I get you a glass of punch.”

“It does not matter. You see, it is I you must ask about such things, not any man.”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Ah. An independent woman, I see.”

“Indeed I am.”

“Then may I escort you to the refreshment tables?” He offered her his arm.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “That would be very nice.”

There was something quite freeing about acting this way, Julia thought as she walked with him into the hall. She had never before in her life been in a place like this, where there were no matrons watching, no expectations on everyone’s part of how a young woman should act and what she should say. Though Julia considered herself a free thinker, she had been raised to act as a young lady should, and she had always been aware of the need to act in such a way as not to bring any embarrassment to her family.

Like any other young woman, she was careful not to dance more than twice with the same man and not to flirt too much with any one man, lest she be said to be forward. She had always to pay her respects to the old ladies who lined the walls at the county cotillions, looking like a group of well-fed buzzards in their invariably black dresses, and to be careful not to say something to offend them. If a man wanted to escort her down to dine at a ball, he had first to request permission of her chaperon. These were the sorts of restrictions that chafed at her, but which she knew she could not flout without bringing down local censure not only on herself but on poor Phoebe, and before that her mother, for their perceived laxity in training her.

But here there were no duennas, no women who could enumerate her family lineage back to Queen Elizabeth, if not beyond. There was no one to gossip or to care how she acted, no conventions to flout. No one even knew who she was, so her family name could not be called into shame. There was not the least likelihood that anyone would be shocked by her behavior, unless perhaps she decided to take it into her head to get up on a table and remove all her clothes—and from what she had seen of many of the avid cardplayers here tonight, most of them would be concerned only because she was wasting one of their card tables. She could, she thought, say exactly what she wanted and act precisely how she pleased, and no one would give it a second thought.

“I hope your thoughts concern me,” her companion said, and Julia turned to look at him, startled.

“What?”

“Your smile was one of such happiness, I was hopeful that I figured in your thoughts.”

“Oh.” Julia chuckled. “Now you have me, sir, for if I say they were of you, then I am over bold, and if I say they were not, I am insulting.”

“I suspect that you are a woman who does not care particularly if either is said of you.”

Julia gave him an enigmatic smile. “I would say that would depend on who was speaking.”

“Ah. Well, I am not so foolishly brave as to ask whether I would be one whose opinion would matter to you.” They had reached the rear-most room of the first floor, where a long sideboard held not only a punch bowl but a number of platters of cheeses, meats, breads and cakes. “No, pray, do not answer. Tell me instead what to put on your plate.”

He picked up a glass plate and began to fill it with various delicacies, though Julia doubted that her nerves would allow her to eat much, if any, of them. She would have protested that she did not want to eat, but she knew that being alone with him in the dining area was far better for her purposes than returning to the card rooms. Once he had filled two plates and added cups of punch to them, Stonehaven led her back into the entryway and up the stairs to the second floor. Julia followed him, surprised.

“But where are we going?”

“Only a quieter place to talk and eat.” He gestured toward a low velvet sofa against the wall at the side of the stairs. A potted palm shielded it partially from view, and it offered a comfortable, quiet place to sit.

Julia sat down, taking her plate, and he sat down beside her, much closer than was proper. It was odd to have a strange man this close to her. She was very aware of the heat of his body, the breadth of his shoulders, the faint scent of his masculine cologne. She had never thought about his smelling this good, she thought. Impatiently, she called back her errant thoughts; she had to concentrate on her purpose.

“Are there gaming rooms up here?” she asked, more to keep her thoughts on track than to satisfy any real curiosity.

“Yes, these rooms are where you find those who like to dip deep.” He gestured toward the two closed doors that lay in front of the stairs. “That room over there, where the door is open, is simply a sort of sitting room, where one can pause to collect oneself between games. I don’t believe that I have ever seen anyone in it.”

“The gamesters here do seem preoccupied with their cards,” Julia admitted, taking a bit of cheese on a cracker and finding it quite tasty. Perhaps she was hungrier than she had thought.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Julia glanced at him. He was watching her eat, his own food untouched on the plate, and the heat in his eyes sent a shiver straight through her. His gaze slid down from her mouth, taking in the long curve of her white throat, and came to rest upon the swell of her breasts above the dress. Julia resisted the impulse to tug the dress higher. She had more than once surprised a hot, secret look on the face of one of her admirers, but none of them had ever looked at her like this—as if they had a right to do so, as if they were picturing her without any clothes on at all. And certainly none of their love-struck gazes had ever made her feel this strange combination of shivers and heat inside.

She swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. She tried to think what a woman of the sort she was playing would do, but her mind was curiously sluggish. He reached over and ran his forefinger down her cheek and across her jawline to her chin.

“You are a beautiful woman.”

“Th-thank you.” His skin felt like fire upon hers, and Julia had the sudden, awful feeling that she was in over her head.

“I noticed you as soon as I walked in.”

“Indeed?” Now his finger was tracing the line of her throat down to the ridge of her collarbone.

“Indeed. I believe you noticed me, too. Am I right?”

“I saw you, yes.” Julia struggled to pull her thoughts together. She could not let herself be distracted. She had achieved her goal of catching Lord Stonehaven’s interest. Now she had to use it to her advantage. She could not sit here like a mannequin, saying only yes and no.

What would a woman such as she was supposed to be do? A crafty, experienced sort. The first thing, she thought, was that she had to be in control. It would never do to let a man like Stonehaven think that he could win this easily, that he could disturb her thoughts or monopolize her time or expect her to give in to him. For one thing, she suspected that he would lose interest more quickly. For another, it was essential for her purposes that she retain control of the situation.

Accordingly, she slid as far to the side of the sofa as she could, moving away from his hand, and whipped open the furled fan she carried. She wafted it a time or two in front of her, looking at him across the top.

“Or, at least,” she continued in as bored a voice as she could muster, “I believe that it was you. I barely glanced at the door, you see.”

“I see.” Oddly enough, he seemed amused by her answer. Julia decided that she had made the right move. He must be pleased that she was planning to provide him with something of a chase. No doubt, with his looks and wealth, women fell all too easily at his feet.

She stood up. “Thank you for showing me about a little and for getting me a plate of food. I confess I was feeling a trifle peckish. Now I am ready to return to the tables.”

“Of course.” He rose, too and, taking her half-finished plate from her, set both their dishes down on the small occasional table nearby. “Allow me to escort you to a table. What is your game? I believe you were observing a table of piquet.”

“Actually, I am most fond of loo,” she replied. “Do you play, Mr.—I am sorry, I am afraid that I don’t know your name. Most improper, I’m sure, to be conversing with you, not even knowing your name.” She cast up a twinkling sideways glance at him, as though to say that improper behavior was not unknown to her.

“Deverel Grey, ma’am. And yours?”

She was so startled at his calling himself by his name and not his title that she forgot for an instant what name she had chosen for herself. “What? Oh, excuse me…” She affected a little chuckle. “I fear my mind was wandering.” She hoped he would be piqued by her inattention, not suspicious that she was making up a name. “Jessica Nunnelly.” She knew that she had said the wrong last name, but it had been the only thing she could think of. A moment afterward she remembered that she had told her cousin that she would use Murrow. Ah, well, hopefully Geoffrey and Lord Stonehaven would never discuss the matter.

She took his arm, and they went downstairs. She was somewhat uncertain of his interest when he left her and chose to play at a game in the smaller connecting room, but she was reassured when she saw that he had taken a seat from which he had a direct line of sight of her. More than once, as she played, she felt his gaze upon her. It was a little difficult to keep her mind on her cards. She had never in her life played with a table of only men, let alone for stakes as high as these. Nor was she accustomed to hearing men talk with little regard for her presence. She lost, but, then, she had expected to do so; she had brought an ample amount of money with her. It was more of a problem dealing with one or two of the men, who behaved with a freedom and familiarity that she was not accustomed to. In retrospect, she was faintly surprised to realize that Lord Stonehaven had acted with a great deal more gentility.

Why had he not used his title? Was he afraid that it would make her chase him for his money? It was possible, she supposed, that he was displaying a certain modesty, even courtesy, so that a low-born sort such as she must appear to be would not be intimidated by his stature—but that seemed unlikely. He was far too arrogant a man for something like that.

She grew tired of playing cards, and her nerves were beginning to fray. Julia decided that it was time for her to leave. It was a gamble, for once she was gone, he might forget her, but she was hoping that her departure would, instead, leave him wanting more. If nothing else, it should demonstrate to him that she was not overly interested in him, that she did not care to stay to see if he would talk to her again. She scribbled a note to Cousin Geoffrey, saying that she was taking a hackney home and not to worry about her, and gave it to one of the waiters to take to him in the other room.

Then she rose to her feet, saying, “I am sorry, gentlemen, I fear I am somewhat tired. I believe I will call it a night.”

It had not occurred to her that one of the other players, a man who had directed several overly warm comments to her tonight, would rise, also. “Allow me to escort you home, ma’am.”

Julia shook her head quickly. “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary, although it was most kind of you to offer.”

She turned away dismissively and started toward the door, but her admirer did not take the hint. He followed her, saying, “You must allow me to. It is not safe for a woman alone on the streets this late.”

“I shall take a hackney,” Julia countered. “Please stay and enjoy your game.”

“There is other game that I find much more interesting,” he said with a wolfish grin.

Julia did not reply, merely turned away coolly and asked the footman to fetch her cloak and gloves. She had to wait for the footman to return from the cloakroom with her things, and her suitor waited with her. Would this importunate fellow follow her into the street?

When the footman returned with her cloak and held it out for her, the man seized it and held it up for her. Julia cast him a freezing look. There was a movement behind her, and as she turned to see what it was, a male voice said, “Sorry, sir, the lady is already committed to me for escort home.”

She looked up into Stonehaven’s face. He was gazing at the other man with a cold stare, his hands outstretched to take the cloak. For a moment her swain did not move, his face set in obdurate lines. Then, with ill grace, he handed over the cloak to his rival.

“Of course, Lord Stonehaven,” he said with a trace of bitterness. “I did not realize that this bird of paradise belonged to you.”

Julia could not suppress a gasp of astonished anger. Stonehaven’s jaw tightened.

“Since she is a woman,” Stonehaven said, “not a cat or a piece of jewelry, I would hardly say that she ‘belongs’ to me. However, Miss Nunnelly has favored me by allowing me to take her home this evening.”

“Of course. Women of her sort always prefer a greater income.”

“I shall choose to ignore that insult this time,” Stonehaven said in clipped tones. “However, if you offer another to me or to Miss Nunnelly, you shall find that I am not so lenient.”

Stonehaven turned without waiting for a reply and draped the cloak around Julia’s shoulders.

“Thank you.” Julia kept her voice cool and calm. She was not about to let it show that the man’s insult had jolted her. Instead she turned toward the persistent suitor and said, “I think you will find that what women of any station prefer is courtesy.”

She swung around, taking her gloves from the footman, and walked out the door, which the footman jumped to open for her. She heard Lord Stonehaven’s chuckle behind her as he followed her, pulling on his own gloves.

“A wicked riposte, Miss Nunnelly.”

“And quite true, my lord.” She was glad that the obnoxious fellow, for all his other faults, had at least spoken Stonehaven’s title. Now she would not have to worry about slipping up. “I wonder how it was that the plain Mr. Grey became Lord Stonehaven.”

“I was Mr. Grey a number of years before I was Stonehaven,” he replied easily, coming up beside her and taking her elbow in his hand. “Though I do hope that no one referred to me as plain Mr. Grey.”

Julia could not hold back a smile at his words. “I am sure that they did not, my lord.”

“It was precisely for that reason that I said nothing about Stonehaven—to avoid all this ‘my lord’-ing. My friends call me Deverel, or Dev.”

“I would not think we have known each other long enough to count as friends.”

“But surely rescuing you from that fellow should make you deem me a friend.”