The prince of pleasure

Chapter Eleven

Julienne began her commission as a spy much sooner than expected, for the next day brought news that eclipsed all else: Napoleon Bonaparte had abdicated.

For hours pandemonium reigned in London as crowds took to the streets in celebration. Amid the blaring trumpets and banging pots and pans came ecstatic cheers and triumphant shouts of "the Corsican Monster is vanquished!" All Europe had been ground under Napoleon's boot heel for so long that his defeat seemed almost miraculous.

The emigres could talk of nothing else, Julienne discovered when she attended the impromptu gatherings at Solange Brogard's salon over the next several days. She shared their jubilation, even though her future wasn't directly dependent on the fate of Napoleon's successor, as theirs was. When the French Senate had declared in favor of King Louis, it meant that many of the exiles would be able to return home. But Julienne had no close family remaining, and the Folmont estates had been confiscated long ago.

At week's end, however, she had little progress to report to Dare. He called at her lodgings to take her for a drive in the country.

Even though it was a beautiful spring day, Julienne felt a definite tension between them. But Dare made no mention of her revelations about her shameful past, and she was determined to keep tight control of her emotions and pretend their angry lovemaking had never occurred.

She waited until they had left London's main streets before summarizing her lack of success as a spy.

"Everyone I observed is elated that Louis will be returning to France, along with the Compte d'Artois, the Prince de Conde, and other members of the exiled court. But I found no one at all who raised my suspicions or seemed to support Bonaparte. I'm sorry."

Dare shook his head. "You needn't apologize. And I sympathize with your frustration. We've had no luck in the search for Caliban."

"You haven't been able to identify the companion's lover?"

He hesitated, making Julienne wonder if he had indeed uncovered a new lead. But all he said was, "No. It's too soon yet to expect any breakthroughs on that front."

Then he surprised her by asking an entirely unrelated question. "That is quite a fetching hat. Did you design it?"

She reached up to touch the wide-brimmed silk bonnet that was adorned with tiny roses. "Not I. Maman was the one with the creative talent."

"While you were the one with the business sense."

"I suppose," Julienne said, puzzled by his change of subject.

For years after escaping to Kent, she and her mother had lived on the charity of distant relatives, in genteel shabbiness, struggling to make ends meet-until Julienne had hit upon the idea of selling bonnets and chapeaus that her artistic but frail mother designed. Like many Frenchwomen, the comptess had an astute eye for fashion, and her creations were in great demand. The business prospered well enough to eventually allow them to open a millinery and even to employ a clerk. They were scorned by both the French and English gentry for earning their living in trade, but at least they could afford the comptess's medicines.

Julienne couldn't understand, however, why Dare would make such an oblique observation unless it was to distract her from interrogating him about Caliban.

"You shouldn't underrate your own talents," he added smoothly. "You have an amazing gift for acting."

"Thank you," she said, deciding not to press him.

"I'm looking forward to your performance tomorrow night."

"Even though you've seen the same play a half-dozen times?" The run of Richard III had been extended another week by popular demand. "I should think you would be tired of watching me by now."

"I never tire of watching you, my sweet. And I must maintain my effort to win our wager."

"But of course."

At her tart tone, Dare's eyes glimmered with wry amusement. "Speaking of our wager, I have another opportunity to offer you. I plan to attend a race meet at Newmarket the first week in May-I have two colts running in the 2000 Guineas-and I would like you to accompany me."

Julienne frowned. "I cannot leave the theater for so long. Not after spending so much time at your house party last month."

"Even if your government requires you?"

"You mean you require me."

"You agreed to act as an informant for us."

"There are few emigres in Newmarket," Julienne retorted. "You are simply manipulating matters for your own benefit."

"True," he admitted, sounding unrepentant. "I will arrange it with Drury Lane so that you will be free for the week."

"You won't ever give up, will you?" Julienne said in exasperation.

Dare flashed his notorious grin. "Certainly not. You should know me better than that by now."

"Regrettably, I do. I have no doubt you will spend the entire week trying to seduce me."

"What else? But Madame Brogard can come along to play chaperone if you feel you need protection."

"She hasn't proven to be adequate protection in the past," Julienne muttered. "What sort of living arrangements did you have in mind?"

"I always hire a lodge at Newmarket each spring. It's not luxurious, but it's comfortable."

"And totally unacceptable. I am not about to live there with you, Dare. It would appear too much like you are winning our wager. Solange and I will stay at an inn instead."

"It will be nearly impossible to find rooms at an inn at this late date. The Guineas is a leading meet, and the entire racing world will be in attendance."

"Well, if you want me there, you will find a way."

Julienne gave him an arch smile of her own. "I'm certain the resourceful Marquess of Wolverton can rise to the occasion and charm a set of rooms from a Newmarket innkeeper."

"You drive a hard bargain, love, but I will do my best to satisfy you."

"Satisfying me will be quite a feat," she reminded him in dulcet tones.

Dare's frustration hadn't lessened as he watched Julienne's performance the following evening. He had sidestepped her questions about the companion's lover because he could see no point in alarming her unnecessarily.

There was no reason to tell her about finding the pearl broach in his carriage or the likelihood that Caliban had planted it there. Lady Castlereagh had confirmed that the bauble was indeed the one Alice Watson had worn, which made Dare almost positive Caliban had been taunting him.

Dare's thoughts were centered on his nemesis rather than Shakespeare's play by the time Lady Anne was supposed to be poisoned. He watched Julienne take a sip from her wineglass and launch into an impassioned speech lamenting King Richard's malevolence. It was perhaps five minutes later when her voice suddenly quavered and she touched her throat. She managed a few more words, but then her delivery faltered altogether, making Dare wonder if she had forgotten her lines.

Suddenly she swayed and slowly sank to the stage floor, as if in a faint.

Her collapse just now was not part of the script, Dare was certain.

Her fellow actors seemed bewildered by the digression. One of the "palace guards" knelt at Julienne's side, making up lines as he went. "My queen! Are you ill?"

When Julienne gave no response, fear snaked along Dare's spine. Without conscious thought, he rose from his seat and hurriedly left his box, making his way along the corridors and down to the pit.

By the time he leapt up on stage, a crowd of actors had gathered around Julienne, and there was an audible buzz from the puzzled audience.

He pushed his way through to kneel beside Julienne.

She was barely conscious, he realized. Her breathing was shallow and her pulse so weak it was almost undetectable.

"Summon a doctor!" Dare demanded, his voice rough with dread.

He chafed her wrists to no avail. When someone handed him a vial of smelling salts, he waved it under her nostrils. Her eyelids fluttered and she gave a soft moan, but her body remained limp.

Lifting Julienne in his arms, he carried her backstage to the green room, ignoring the questions directed by the anxious manager, Samuel Arnold.

Dare laid her down on the chaise and loosened the tight bodice of her gown, his gaze riveted on her pale face, her blue lips that were barely moving as she tried futilely to speak. The last time he'd seen such a bloodless visage, it was that of a dead woman.

To his relief, a man claiming to be a physician appeared almost immediately, saying he had been in the audience. Dare paced the floor during the examination of Julienne, scarcely hearing one of Kean's oratories in the distance as the play continued.

In only moments, the doctor frowned. "Perhaps the wine she drank was noxious, but it is possible… My lord, I wonder if she might have been poisoned."

"Poisoned?" Dare rasped, his chest clenching, while Arnold echoed the same shocking question.

"Yes. Ingesting wolfsbane will have this particular effect."

"Will she die?" Dare forced himself to ask.

"I doubt she drank enough to kill her, but the poison must be purged from her body, else her heart will slow too much."

Dare stared down at Julienne as she lay there so weak and helpless. His own heart had stopped beating the moment she sank to the floor, but the possibility that she might have been poisoned sent fear and rage pulsing through his veins.

"Someone fetch me some vinegar, if you have it," the doctor urged. "Or some soap and a glass of water, if vinegar cannot be found."

The manager hastened to do his bidding, returning shortly with a half-full bottle of vinegar. While the doctor made preparations, Dare drove all the onlookers but Arnold from the room so as to give the patient privacy.

The doctor forced Julienne to drink, then turned her onto her stomach. With her head hanging over the side of the chaise, he pumped on the small of her back until she emptied the contents of her stomach into a chamber pot.

"I think that should do the trick," the doctor said, his tone grave but satisfied.

After a moment he gave way to Dare, who sat beside Julienne on the chaise and gently sponged her face and lips with a moist cloth.

At length her eyes fluttered open, and she raised a hand weakly to her temple. "What… happened?"

He brushed a tendril from her damp forehead. "Something you drank disagreed with you," he said with a warning glance toward the doctor, not wanting to alarm her. "We'll talk later, love. I will have my carriage summoned and take you home to your lodgings. For now just try to rest."

A puzzled frown etched her brow, but Julienne nodded trustingly and shut her eyes.

Dare covered her with a blanket, then ushered the other men from the room, leaving Julienne in peace for the moment.

The doctor could have been mistaken about the poison, Dare knew, but he didn't believe in coincidences. He suspected, rather, that Caliban was worried he was getting too close in his investigation and that this was an attempt to warn him off.

Dare's mouth thinned with determination. He would take the warning to heart, of course. If Julienne were to die because of him… It didn't bear thinking on.

He had no intention of abandoning his search, though. But he would have to change tactics if he hoped to win the battle against a determined killer.

Dare took Julienne home and arranged for her landlady to watch over her for the night. To his relief, when he called at her rooms the next morning, she had recovered enough to sit up in bed and question him about what had happened.

Dare told her about the suspected poisoning and how the manager's inquiries after the play had lead nowhere. No one in the theater company had any notion how poison could have come to be in her wineglass. No one had seen anything suspicious.

"Do you honestly think Caliban meant to kill me?" Julienne asked.

"No," Dare answered. "I think he merely meant it as a warning for me. But I'm taking no chances. I've arranged for a footman to escort you to and from the theater and to be with you wherever else you go."

"Surely you are exaggerating the threat," she protested.

"Perhaps, but I don't want your demise on my conscience," Dare replied emphatically.

What worried him, though, was that if Caliban truly wanted Julienne dead, there might be no way to stop him.

He sent a report to Lucian in Devonshire about the attack and conferred with Lucian's assistant, Philip Barton. But they uncovered no clues of any sort during the next two weeks. Once again the treacherous Caliban had eluded any efforts to trace him.

There were no further threatening incidents in the interval, at least. Dare considered canceling the trip to Newmarket, but decided that having Julienne out of town was preferable to letting her remain in London as a target. And by leaving town, he could give the appearance that he'd abandoned the investigation, even if he had no intention of doing anything of the kind.

Caliban's taunts, however, had affected Dare more than he cared to admit. He could go nowhere without looking over his shoulder, searching the shadows for further threats. And he knew he would spend the entire time at the race meet doing the same thing.

It was late afternoon when they arrived in Newmarket. Dare had again urged Julienne and her friend to stay with him at his lodge, but Solange declined, saying that it was one thing to enjoy a house party with dozens of other guests but quite another to be quartered with a notorious bachelor with no one but servants to play chaperone, and that surely whatever madman had poisoned Julienne in London would not follow them here.

Dare reluctantly agreed. He didn't believe Caliban would pursue them here, but he would take the added precaution of arranging with the innkeeper to keep a sharp eye out for the ladies' protection.

All the inns were packed, as Dare had predicted, but for the eminent Lord Wolverton, waters parted. The Harriford Arms managed to provide two very elegant rooms for Miss Laurent and Madame Brogard and maid during the week of the race.

Solange professed to be weary after the fifty-mile drive, even with Dare's well-sprung traveling chaise, so he proposed they remain at the inn to rest before his coach returned for them at seven, when they would dine with him at his lodge.

As the ladies were settling in their rooms and being refreshed with tea, their rotund host became effusively forthcoming about Lord Wolverton and his racers.

"His lordship has winners more often as not, and I've reckoned a good bit of blunt on him this week. He is a member of the Jockey Club, too. When he wanted rooms, I gave him rooms. A canny sort don't refuse a request from him."

"What is this Jockey Club?" Solange asked.

"I believe they are the rulers of the British Turf," Julienne said wryly. "Dare will no doubt be happy to satisfy our curiosity tonight."

As she expected, Dare's hired lodge turned out to be a mansion. And as usual, his chef had prepared an excellent dinner.

The conversation proved just as fulfilling to Julienne. She had resolved to think of this outing as a holiday-to enjoy herself and try to forget the danger lurking over their heads. Since she had never attended a race meet, she found Dare's explanations about the racing of blood horses highly engrossing.

"The race this week will be run over a mile on a straight course," Dare said. "And the winner will receive a purse of two thousand guineas, thus the name."

In past centuries, grueling heats were run over distances as long as four miles, he explained. But nowadays match races were shorter and run for money, while plate and cup races were run for trophies. The 2000 Guineas on Friday was a match race, with a field of twenty-three horses. Huge sums would be wagered on side bets, Dare added, predicting that the amount for this race would reach two hundred thousand pounds.

"So much?" Solange exclaimed.

"Would you care to place a wager?" he asked.

"Not I," Julienne responded first. "I have no intention of depleting my hard-earned purse on an absurd wager like some outrageous noblemen we know."

Dare merely grinned at her jibe. "Well then, if you ladies are amenable, we will observe the training at the course tomorrow morning and tour the Jockey Club headquarters in the afternoon. And there is an assembly tomorrow night. Newmarket boasts some of the premier studs in the country, but we can save visiting them till the following day."

Solange wrinkled her nose. "Mais non, I do not care to suffer a smelly stables, but I should very much like to attend a dance."

The following morning, they rode out on hired hacks to watch the training on Newmarket Heath. The mist was just dissipating, and Julienne could see vast stretches of green sown with copses of splendid beech trees. On the landscape beyond rose the turrets and cupolas of countless stud farms and stables.

The horses looked magnificent, with their coats shining in the sunlight and powerful muscles flexing as they cantered past in warm-up laps.

"Possibly a third of the Thoroughbreds in England train here," Dare informed them.

Several dozen trainers and owners stood beside the course, studying watches and giving instructions to jockeys.

There were no special seats for spectators or booths selling food or any other amenities. As a result, there were few ladies present, for few of the fairer sex would tolerate the spartan discomfort of the Newmarket course. Most of the observers, Dare said, would watch the race from horseback or from the top of coach roofs.

"You cannot expect us to climb upon a coach!" Solange protested-to which Dare flashed an amused grin and assured her that his servants would provide his guests with every comfort.

Despite the current lack of accommodations, however, the excitement was contagious. They saw the two colts Dare had entered in the race and watched their breathtaking performance as they pounded down the heath in a surge of thundering hooves and flying manes. Afterward, Dare introduced his trainer and spoke privately with him while Julienne and Solange waited.

"My apologies," Dare said at the conclusion. "The fellow is as temperamental as any blooded mare and must be handled with care. But he's the best there is at his profession."

That, too, didn't surprise Julienne, for she suspected Dare would hire only the best.

They lunched at a public house in Newmarket and later toured the Jockey Club on High Street, the center of breeding and racing in England, where the Stud Book and Racing Calendar were kept.

That evening they attended an assembly at the home of one of the local noblemen for supper and dancing. Dare, it seemed, knew everyone. The moment his party entered the ballroom, he was surrounded by acquaintances wanting to renew old friendships and requesting his opinion on their racers.

Julienne and Solange were given little chance to feel neglected, though, for the company was lively and congenial, and both ladies found themselves much sought after by gentlemen eager to dance.

Eventually Julienne enjoyed a waltz with Dare. And they partook of the buffet supper with him. But then she was drawn away again when her next partner claimed her.

Near the end of the evening, Julienne was returning from the floor to where Solange awaited her when out of the corner of her eye she caught a sight that froze her in her tracks: a tall, dark-haired figure of a man hovering at the edge of the crowd.

Ivers.

He disappeared from view just as suddenly, but a sense of unease washed over Julienne. Her skin felt cold and clammy, and she had difficulty breathing.

"Are you unwell, mon amie?" Solange asked solicitously. "You look quite pale."

"No, I am fine," she lied, telling herself she had only imagined him. Ivers was nothing but a remnant of a particularly unpleasant nightmare.

She hadn't seen him for seven years and had hoped never to see him again. Anthony Gale, the Earl of Ivers, had been a neighbor of Dare's grandfather-a wild young buck who'd developed a not-so-friendly rivalry with Dare over the course of that infamous summer.

They were both considered rakes and both stunningly handsome, but Ivers's coloring was as dark as Dare's was fair, while his suave charm had always seemed too calculating for Julienne's taste. Even she, however, hadn't realized just how despicable a cad Ivers was- to her everlasting regret.

With a shudder, she fixed a smile on her lips and greeted Solange's latest dance partner. But she was glad when the assembly ended and they drove back to the Harriford Arms in the quiet of Dare's luxuriously appointed coach.

He escorted them inside the inn, reminded Julienne that he would collect her at ten in the morning for her tour of the local stud farms, and then left them with a bow.

She had started to follow Solange up the stairs when the innkeeper spied her from the taproom and hurried to catch up to her. It puzzled her when he handed her a note.

"Go ahead, Solange," Julienne told the Frenchwoman absently as she tried to peruse the writing in the dim light. "I will meet you for breakfast in the morning."

Unable to make out the message, though, she mounted the stairs after a moment and moved down the corridor toward a wall sconce. It was quieter here away from the noise of the crowded taproom, so quiet she could hear the thudding of her heart as she began to read.

My dear Miss Laurent,

I believe we have much to discuss. Meet me at dawn tomorrow behind the inn.

It was signed with a bold scrawl: Ivers.

Prickles crawled along her spine at the same moment she heard the stealthy fall of footsteps behind her.

Whirling, she stared, her heart in her throat as the Earl of Ivers came sauntering toward her.

He stopped barely a few feet from her. He seemed to have changed little in the past seven years, Julienne thought. Except there were more lines of dissipation etching his noble features, and his eyes were a trifle bloodshot.

"Mademoiselle Laurent."

His knowing smile chilled her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. Help was only a shout away, but she was too shocked to move.

"How fortuitous that I find you alone. I thought I would have to wait till the morrow."

"What…?" The word came out a croak. Swallowing, Julienne tried again. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, I wish to speak to you."

Knotting her fists, she struggled for a semblance of composure. If he smelled her fear, he would only be more dangerous. "I am listening."

"I believe you can help me. I find myself in rather straitened circumstances at the moment. Debts of honor, you see. The Turf has proved my weakness, alas. I may have to flee the country if I cannot raise the necessary funds."

"What could that possibly have to do with me?"

"I was in London recently, and yours was the name on everyone's lips. You've become renowned as an actress. And you have several rich patrons at your beck and call… including Wolverton, I understand. It seems you've come full circle if he is your lover again. It shouldn't be difficult for you to wrest some of his wealth from him."

"You must be mad," Julienne said through gritted teeth, "if you think I would give you so much as a shilling for any reason."

"Not mad. Merely desperate." His eyelids drooped in speculation. "The Jewel of London… How long would your fame last if your past nefarious activities were made public? If it was revealed that you committed treason?"

"You know very well those accusations were false!"

"But you should have no doubt that I can unearth any amount of evidence against you if I choose."

Julienne felt her stomach knot. Ivers could doubtless fabricate more lies, but she wouldn't bow to his threats this time. "I have no intention of succumbing to your blackmail again."

"It would be foolish to ignore my request."

"Then I will simply be foolish. My answer is no."

He took another step toward her. "I can see I will have to attempt to persuade you."

Julienne cast a wild glance over her shoulder, finding the corridor deserted. She could scarcely believe Ivers would be brazen enough to accost her at a crowded inn. But he was a villain with few scruples, one who followed his own sinister rules.

When he reached out and grasped her shoulder, she flinched in revulsion; his mere touch filled her with dread.

Yet she was no longer the young innocent he had tormented seven years ago. She knew how to fight back.

Frantically Julienne fumbled in her reticule and gripped the handle of her knife. Drawing the blade from its sheath, she brandished the sharp steel in his face.

"I don't think you will persuade me to anything, Lord Ivers," she said, her voice low and fierce. "I've learned how to defend myself from vermin like you."

His smile turned grim yet taunting. "You won't use that."

"No?"

Schooling her features, she let her contemptuous gaze flicker over his face, noting the faint scars on his jaw just below his left ear. Scars that her nails had made years ago. "You still have the marks I gave you, my lord. But I assure you, they will be nothing to the ones I will carve in you if you dare touch me again."

His amusement faded, his gaze narrowing in doubt.

"Back away," Julienne demanded. "Unless you want me to slit your gullet."

A wild laugh almost escaped her. She had abundant theatrical experience making such melodramatic declarations, but no lines from a play had ever given her as much satisfaction as now. And she wasn't acting. She would kill Ivers before she allowed him to hurt her again.

He seemed to believe her. "You will regret this, Miss Laurent," he warned.

"Not as much as I regret letting you go unscathed all these years. If you threaten me again, I promise I will remedy my error."

He stood in indecision for an endless moment while Julienne's heart drummed in her ears. Finally backed away, then spun on his heel and stalked off, disappearing down the stairs in an irate clatter.

When her knees began to buckle, Julienne leaned weakly against the wall. She was shaking with reaction and the aftershock of confronting her nemesis again.

Dear heaven…

A dry sob escaped her, and she curled a fist into her stomach to try to ease the churning nausea. She hated feeling so vulnerable, so helpless.

She forced herself to take deep, steadying breaths, but her hands shook deplorably as she returned her knife to its sheath. She might have to keep it strapped to her wrist for protection from now on, Julienne realized.

The reminder that she wasn't entirely defenseless gave her comfort. She refused to let Ivers take any more from her than he already had. Then another thought struck her, renewing her alarm. Could he make good his threat to expose her as a traitor?

Her mind whirled. It was possible he could bring more fabricated charges against her… But she was no longer a helpless girl. She had resources now, powerful friends… Dare.

A faint sense of relief washed over her. She had Dare. He would believe her, surely. He would protect her from an unscrupulous beast like Ivers.

She needed to find Dare. There was no place where she would feel safe except for his arms…

Blindly she turned to seek him out-and halted abruptly.

Dare stood at the end of the corridor, watching her.

"I thought to return the gloves Madame Brogard left in my carriage," he said finally. "Imagine my surprise to see the Earl of Ivers descending the stairway."

"It isn't what you think…"

"Isn't it?" Dare remained where he was, casually slapping the gloves against his thigh, but the glint in his eyes was as hard as steel. "I was a gullible fool once, never realizing that you were plotting with your lover behind my back. I'm not about to be taken in again, darling."

"No, Dare, it isn't like that."

His cold, penetrating gaze bored into her as he moved toward her. "You aren't lovers?"

The allegation hung between them, a keen reminder of their bitter past.

"No," Julienne repeated in a raw voice as Dare came to stand before her. "Ivers is not my lover. I haven't even seen him in years."

"So what was he doing here? Trying to get you back in his bed?"

"No."

His beautiful mouth curled in a twisted sneer. "You expect me to believe you?"

"Yes," she insisted. "I would never have him for my lover. I consider him no better than vermin. He makes my skin crawl."

Dare's face showed no signs of softening, though.

Julienne felt her heart sink at the accusation in his blazing eyes. She averted her gaze, knowing it was futile to plead further. Dare would never believe her after her betrayal seven years ago.

A savage ache clawed deep in her chest as desolation swept over her. She couldn't face his condemnation tonight. She wasn't strong enough to bear it.

She turned to go, but he reached out to grasp her wrist. When she recoiled instinctively, he pulled her hard against him, wrapping her in an unyielding embrace.

"Dare, no!"

He paid her no mind. His grip tightened to iron intensity as he bent his head to kiss her. The contact of his hard mouth was jarring, sending heat and lust and despair exploding through her. His kiss ravished without ardor; he was a man bent on punishing, intent on claiming what was his.

Julienne began to struggle as dark memories assaulted her. Panic hovering at the edges of her mind, she struck out at her attacker with her fists. "Stop!" Desperately fighting to be free, she tried to push him away. "Don't touch me!"

Her cry must have broken through his rage, for Dare suddenly released her.

She almost fell. Backing away, she slumped against the wall.

For a long moment Julienne remained there trembling, staring at his angry, unforgiving features. Then with a sob, she turned and stumbled down the corridor to her room.

Dare watched her flee, heard the slamming door, then the bolt being driven home as she locked herself away from him. He cursed. Vividly. He was still seething with jealousy, yet shaken by the knowledge of his violence.

He had frightened Julienne. He'd felt her cringe in his arms, had seen the flash of fear in her eyes when she fought him off.

God, what had he done?

Never before had he ever touched a woman who was less than eager. It was no excuse that the thought of Julienne betraying him a second time brought out the savage male in him. No excuse that he was terrified Ivers would take her from him again. No defense that he'd reacted with sheer primal instinct, his heart crying out in denial, pounding with the cloying dread that he might lose her once more.

Dare squeezed his eyes shut, remembering seven years of pain. He couldn't bear to endure that torment anew. He refused to endure it. He wouldn't let that bastard Ivers near Julienne again if he had his way.

And he bloody damned sure would make certain he had his way, Dare vowed harshly.

Julienne was eating breakfast in the public room with Solange the next morning when Dare came to fetch her. She eyed him warily, wondering if he meant to ignore last night's angry incident between them, but his enigmatic expression gave no clue as to his mood.

His farewell to Madame Brogard, however, was all charm as he promised to take good care of his charge.

When he escorted Julienne to the inn yard, she found herself glancing over her shoulder, nervously looking for Ivers. She was glad to have Dare beside her, even if he didn't seem to be speaking to her at the moment. Given his silence, she assumed he had no intention of apologizing for his brutal kiss. She would just as soon forget it herself.

When they settled in his traveling chaise, Julienne sank back against the squabs gratefully. She had slept badly, with Ivers figuring prominently in her nightmares. She would be glad for the distraction of visiting Newmarket's prime breeding stables.

It was some little while after the coach got underway before she noticed they were moving at a speed that was hardly in keeping with the usual leisurely pace for touring the countryside.

She sat up to peer out the window, realizing that the road resembled the major thoroughfare they'd taken from London.

"You might as well make yourself comfortable," Dare said in response to her unspoken question. "We have a long drive ahead of us."

Julienne's gaze flew to his. She could read grim determination there, but for a moment she was too surprised to speak.

"Is this an abduction?" she asked finally.

He didn't give her a direct answer. "There are five days left of our week. I don't intend to share any of them with Ivers."

"Nor do I." By willpower alone she fixed a cool smile on her face. "Does Solange know what you've planned?"

"I told her last night. In fact she gave me her blessing. I had your bags packed and loaded while you were breakfasting."

Solange had acted oddly this morning, almost apologetically. Julienne had thought it was because the Frenchwoman hadn't wanted to spend the day touring stables. "She actually agreed to let you carry me off?"

"I convinced her you were in danger from a madman who was stalking you-which, after your poisoning, she had no trouble believing. She thought you would be safer with me."

"Where are you taking me?

"I have a house in Berkshire. A very private house."

"A love nest for your paramours, I presume."

"Precisely."

Julienne pressed her lips together. She should be furious at Dare's high-handedness, but the truth was, she would be glad to leave Newmarket. She couldn't bear the thought of encountering Ivers again. Thus she made no protest other than to say, "You are taking a great deal for granted."

She almost flinched at the jewel-hard clarity of Dare's gaze.

"I want you all to myself. Alone. And I don't want there to be any mistake about who your lover is."

His implication burned her. Defensively she crossed her arms over her chest, shielding herself against his mockery. "I don't intend to discuss Ivers with you."

"Good. I don't intend for you to. I don't even want you thinking about him. During the next few days I mean to make you forget him entirely."

His tone was dispassionate, Julienne observed, but she knew he was deadly serious.

"And if I refuse to accompany you? Do you mean to hold me prisoner?"

"I don't think you will refuse. You want the same thing I do."

She arched an eyebrow. "And what is that?"

"Pleasure." His faint smile held a predatory edge, even as his voice dropped to a seductive murmur. "Four days and nights of intense, mind-numbing pleasure. Carnal delights so hot, so raw, so wild, it will make you scream."

Against her will Julienne felt the muscles of her inner thighs contract at his sensual promise. Four days of intimacy with Dare. Something they had never had together, even during their tender summer of being lovers.

It would be torment.

It would be ecstasy.

"The decision is yours," he said.

So he wouldn't hold her captive, Julienne reflected. Dare would let her go if she demanded it. He was making the choice hers.

Without answering, she turned her head to stare out the window, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she wanted to accept his proposition.

It was indeed a long drive. They spoke little for the next several hours, even when they stopped to change horses and eat a light luncheon.

Julienne fell asleep afterward. Dare watched her, feeling a strange mix of regret and tension. It bothered him to see her withdraw so totally after the progress they'd recently seemed to be making in their relationship. But he wasn't about to turn away from his chosen course.

He was determined to force the merest thought of any other man from Julienne's mind. She wouldn't, Dare promised himself, want any other lover but him when he was done.

He was driven by a primitive passion as old as time-the need to possess his woman and make her his alone. For a few days Julienne would be his.

A powerful satisfaction filled Dare as he listened to her quiet breathing. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Julienne sleep. She looked so incredibly appealing like this… her defenses down, beautiful enough to make his heart ache… her dark lashes fanning against her ivory complexion, her rose-tinted lips slightly parted.

Unable to resist, he reached for her and carefully drew her into his arms. She curled against him with a faint sigh.

A fierce feeling of protectiveness surged over him to mingle with his longing. There was an added benefit in bringing her to his secluded pleasure house in the Berkshire hills, Dare reflected as he held her. He would be taking Julienne away from the danger Caliban posed. He could better protect her there, for no one would know where to look for them. Ivers included.

Last night Dare had sent a message to Lucian, asking that Ivers be investigated, believing it simply too strange a coincidence that his old nemesis should appear in Newmarket at just that particular moment.

He wanted Julienne safe, although down deep he knew his prime reason for arranging this trip was more selfish than merely her protection.

Dare shut his eyes, relishing the softness of her body, her fragrant scent. The thought of having Julienne alone for the better part of a week made his loins clench in anticipation, while the feel of her nearly drove him over the edge.

He could arouse her now, he didn't doubt. All he needed was to stroke her lush breasts, to raise her skirts and slide his fingers inside her sleek warmth, and she would come alive in his arms…

Dare muttered a low oath. It was all he could do to steel his body against his raging desires and not take her right here while she slept. But he would force himself to wait. He wasn't going to behave like the brute he'd been last night.

And if Julienne refused his offer of mad, passionate, carnal pleasure?

In that case he would simply have to convince her to change her mind.

It was midafternoon when the coach drew to a halt. Julienne came awake with a start. She felt so warm and cherished-

Flushing, she pushed away from Dare and sat up.

Beyond the window, she could see an immense chateau of honey-colored stone, glowing like a jewel in its secluded setting of a beechwood forest.

To her surprise, Dare made no move to leave the carriage.

"Is this where you hold your Hellfire gatherings?" she asked.

"Some of them."

"A den of debauchery, no doubt."

"Are you willing to brave the experience?" His bright gaze held hers, searing her with heat. "Do we stay, or do I return you to London?"

Julienne looked away. Ivers might be planning to return to London, she reflected. But here she would be safe. Here she would be alone with Dare, experiencing his passion, free from gossips and rumormongers and jealous suitors and deadly traitors.

When she hesitated, he took her hand and drew it to his groin, pressing her palm against the bulge in his pantaloons. "Feel my cock and then tell me you don't want to stay."

Julienne felt a rush of fire spear through her. It really was no choice at all.

Accepting to his challenge, she met his gaze evenly. "I do intend to stay, Lord Wolverton. I want what you promised. Pleasure so raw and wild it makes me scream."