better plan, I will certainly be glad to hear it.” She sat back in her chair, glancing from face to face. Her brother’s servants had always been loyal, but now she asked much of them on very short notice.
Roberts grunted and put his elbows on the table. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lady, but with the master gone and all, I think you’re showin’ right good sense in tryin’ to get away from that peacock what arrived in that new-fangled French carriage. Cabree-olay his driver called it, or some such nonsense. ’Twas a small two-wheeled carriage if you ask me.”
Good. If Roberts approved of her plan, she’d have no trouble with the others.
“Me an’ George’ll keep you safe, my lady. You an’ Glynis. But I think you’re wise to nash it out of London. In Cumberland you’ll be amongst your own people, your brother’s people that is, and there’s none more loyal to a good master.” He pulled at the sleeves of his blue livery jacket. “And don’t you worry none about our clothes and such. We’ll make do. Always have.”
She smiled at the coachman. Roberts must be winded after such a long speech. The man had never before linked more than two sentences consecutively in her hearing. Weariness suddenly overtook her. “Thank you, Roberts. Do you also speak for George?” The lad, no more than fifteen, ducked his head then nodded.
“Well, then, do you know the road to take to Guinevere’s Keep?” Saying the name made her smile in spite of herself. If only she were accompanied by her knight, all her dreams would have come true.
“Aye, my lady. I’ve traveled it a time or two. And we’ve got a good ’nother six hours of daylight left. We can make a decent start even with changes.” He rose to see to the re-hitching while George, red creeping up his neck, acted as protector and escorted her and Glynis to the inn yard. A few minutes later, they were again on their way and Juliet truly relaxed for the first time since leaving Dunham House.
Less worry about their journey, unfortunately, left more time for thought, speculation, and outright longing for her earlier companion. Rather than banish these wistful pinings, she embraced them, relived the encounter this morning with Amiable Dawson. Especially his outrage at Philippe’s vulgar insinuation about them under the mistletoe. Yes, he had been infuriated at that affront to her honor.
Had part of that anger stemmed from his desire to be in the same position with her—or the one subtly hinted at by Philippe? Tingling all the way to her toes, she closed her eyes, and imagined kissing Amiable under the mistletoe at a Christmas party, then beneath the silken covers of a soft bed in a room so warm covers weren’t necessary.
They lay in bed together, naked though she did not feel embarrassed. Amiable cupped her head, guided her lips to his. Their mouths met, a sweetness of soft lips and tongues exploring tenderly. No haste. They had all the time they needed. She tugged his ribbon and his hair flowed free around his shoulders, like a pagan Norse god come to life at her touch. He pressed her down into the bed. His pleasantly heavy weight held her, cherished her. Raining kisses from her mouth, to her throat, to shoulder, to breast, he drove her mad with his silky lips. She moaned with delight and moved her hips against the hardness that urged itself between her legs. Seeking, prodding, parting her thighs…
A rough hand seized her, shook her. Philippe. Philippe had come to take her away. To make her his wife instead.
“No! No! I hate you, Philippe. I will never be yours,” she screamed with the force of a gale wind.
Juliet jerked awake, the glare of the afternoon sun blinding her. She blinked and squinted.
“Lady Juliet? My lady?” Glynis peered at her from the seat opposite, edging toward the corner. Her small hand rested tentatively on Juliet’s forearm. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, though a slick cold sweat trickled down her neck despite the heat of the closed carriage.
“You gave me such a fright. You must have been having a bad dream, my lady. About…him. That awful Frenchman. You began to moan and twitch and when I shook you to wake you up, you screamed, ‘No, no, Philippe.’ He is still a cruel man, my lady. I am glad you are now out of his reach.”
“Thank you, Glynis. Yes, I had an awful dream about Vicomte St. Cyr. I’m glad you awakened me.” Praise God she had said nothing worse. Nothing about Amiable. Her cheeks heated and she gave thanks for the fading light.
The remembrance of the beginning of her vivid dream stayed with her the rest of the afternoon—the space between her thighs aching for Amiable’s touch—until the carriage finally swept into the yard of the White Hart Inn in St. Albans, the first leg of her journey completed.
* * * *
The clock on the mantle chimed the quarter hour. After one o’clock in the morning and, despite the excitement of the day, her escape from London, her afternoon nap and its disturbing dream, Juliet still couldn’t sleep.
After almost an hour of tossing and turning in her wretched bed, she’d sent Glynis to the kitchen to see if they had kept hot water over the fire. Perhaps a bath would soothe her enough to make sleep possible. Had she brought her lavender oil? So calming. Surely that would help.
She slipped on her robe and padded to her traveling trunk at the end of the bed. She lifted the lid and pulled out the box that held her soaps and perfumes. As she checked the vials, a tentative knock sounded at the door.
“Come in, Glynis.” She uncapped a vial and sniffed the contents. Jasmine. No. Not for the bath.
The door opened.
“Are they bringing the tub? I think the lavender oil will help me relax.”
“Very good, my lady.” The deep masculine voice froze her, vial in hand.
Her head snapped up.
A towering male figure stood shadowed in the doorway.
Dear God, Philippe had found her.
“Or is it Mrs. Dawson perhaps?”
No accent. He was not Philippe. A hired thug sent to kidnap her?
Strength drained away. She dropped the box and whirled around, seeking a way out of the room that suddenly seemed to close in on her.
Chapter 5
Bottles crashed and the reek of jasmine filled the room. Juliet shrieked and stumbled back behind the bed. Trapped. Easy prey.
The man raced toward her, calling out something she couldn’t hear for the blood pounding in her ears. The candle he carried blew out. He cursed and reached for her.
“Nooo! Get away. Don’t touch me.” Slapping at his hands, she twisted to avoid him and landed with a thud, flat on her back. Air rushed out of her lungs.
He sped around the end of the bed.
She struggled to scream for Glynis, but produced only a high-pitched squeak.
The man knelt beside her.
Dear Lord, where was her rescuer now?
“Are you all right, Lady Juliet?” The concerned tone and familiar voice of Amiable Dawson answered her prayer instantly.
She slumped against the floor and blessed air raced into her lungs. He had come for her.
He clasped her in his strong arms and hoisted her into the air. Tucking her firmly against his chest, he carried her back around the bed and sat in one of the chairs before the cold fireplace. He cradled her in his lap and rocked her like a child.
She gasped in air and burrowed her face into him.
“Shhh, my lady.” He disengaged his arms from her. A candle on the table flared then he returned to shelter her. “I am so very sorry I frightened you. I thought you recognized me when I came through the door.” He pressed her head against his chest. Just like this morning.
“Captain Dawson.” Her voice wobbled but she didn’t care. “Whatever are you