Velvet Embrace

Finally, though, Brie realized her silence was becoming obvious. Bestirring herself to contribute to the discussion, she asked Julian when they could expect to arrive home.

"We'll reach Dieppe by this evening," he replied, "and we should be able to sail tomorrow. They will be expecting us at La Belle Fleur, since I reserved rooms when we stayed there last week."

Brie listened to Julian elaborate their travel plans, but when she heard a squeak in the hall that resembled a creaking floorboard, she jumped and glanced wildly over her shoulder. The parlor door had been left partially open by one of the maidservants, and Brie stared at it as if she expected a ghost to waltz into the room.

Watching her, Julian frowned. He hadn't wanted to distress her further by being overly solicitous, but when her gaze remained riveted on the door, he grew concerned. "What is the matter, Brie? Dominic isn't coming. He's at least a day behind us since he intended to see Durham properly buried."

"Must we speak of that?" Katherine murmured, while Brie tore her gaze from the door to glare at Julian.

"Honestly, Julian. I wasn't even thinking of Dominic."

"Brie, I hope. . . . Well, no matter," he added with a shrug. "Your experience was far from pleasant, but it's over. You needn't ever see Dom again if you don't wish to."

When Brie heard the gentle consideration in his tone, a lump formed in her throat. Not wanting to make a fool of herself by crying, she rose from the table and began to gather up her cloak and gloves and reticule. Katherine and Julian shared a look of concern, then wordlessly followed her example.

They reached Dieppe just as the last lingering rays of sunlight faded. Even though it was twilight, the yard of La Belle Fleur was teeming with carriages and horses, and as their coach drew to a halt, several ostlers leaped forward to provide the excellent service for which the posting house was famous.

The landlord was just as solicitous. He sent a lackey to see to their baggage and then personally showed them upstairs to their rooms. Brie, noting her companion's weariness, told Julian she would help Katherine lie down. He nodded in reply, saying he would meet her in the private parlor in an hour for dinner.

Brie was just coming out of Katherine's room when she heard a voice call to her in a harsh whisper. She turned, searching the shadows in the corridor. When a man stepped forward into the flickering lamplight, Brie's hand flew to her throat. She had no trouble recognizing the slender, fair-haired stranger from the inn where they had stopped for lunch—and he had the same paralyzing effect on her now as he had had then.

He reached her in three strides, moving with deceptive speed, then grasped her arm as if to prevent her escape. His action was unnecessary, though. Brie could not have moved had her life depended on it.

"Mademoiselle," he repeated in that same urgent whisper. "You are a friend of Dominic Serrault, Lord Stanton?" He spoke in French, but when Brie didn't utter a sound, he switched to English. "Come, answer me. Are you Miss Carringdon? Do you know Stanton?"

When she managed to nod, the stranger relaxed. His eyes darted once around the hall, then returned to Brie as he spoke again.

Brie had trouble following what he was saying, but her heart lurched when she realized there had been an accident. Dominic had been badly injured and had called for her, the man said. She must come at once.

Brie swayed, feeling suddenly faint. She made no protest when the stranger's grip tightened on her arm, but allowed him to lead her downstairs and out into the crowded yard. A closed carriage was waiting for them. The stranger urged Brie into its dark interior, then climbed in after her and slammed the door.

The coach was moving rapidly away from the inn before Briebelatedly came to her senses. She should have discovered their destination, she realized. At the very least she should have told Julian she was leaving.

She was about to ask that the coach be stopped when the fair- haired man spoke from the opposite seat, saying that Dominic would be grateful for her presence. Although Brie couldn't see his face well in the darkness, she caugh

t a note in his voice that sounded oddly like amusement.

Realizing suddenly that she had been duped, Brie silently cursed herself for being a fool. There had been no accident. Dominic was in no danger. This was some kind of abduction, and she had let herself be led away like a sheep to slaughter.

She opened her mouth to give her abductor a scathing denunciation, but then thought better of giving herself away and clamped her lips shut. Perhaps if he thought he were dealing with a distressed female, she would stand a greater chance of escape.

Cautiously, she felt for her reticule with its hidden pistol. When she discovered the strings were no longer looped around her wrist, she realized the stranger had somehow taken it from her. Repressing a feeling of panic, she told herself to wait for her chance, then bit down hard on her lower lip till she could taste blood, hoping that the pain would keep her more alert.

The stranger must have sensed a change in her, however, for he let out his breath in a slow chuckle. "I was wondering when you would catch on. I had heard that you were clever, Miss Carringdon, but I assumed Martin was mistaken when you were so naive as to come without a struggle."

Brie didn't answer. She didn't trust herself to speak without her voice trembling.

"Of course, I already had reason to doubt Martin's report," the stranger continued. "Stanton never has held cleverness as a prerequisite for his . . . women, if you will forgive me for saying so."

Goaded by his insult, Brie found her tongue. "You can hardly expect forgiveness, sir! And certainly not before you tell me who you are and what you want of me." She could feel his eyes raking her in the darkness. His reply, when it came, repelled her but really didn't surprise her.

"Surely you have guessed, Miss Carringdon. I am Charles Germain. I expect you recognize the name, even though we have never met before. As for what I want . . . I want Dominic Serrault. And, now that I have made your charming acquaintance, I would be less than a man if I did not want you as well."

He chuckled at her silence, and his soft laughter sent a shudder up Brie's spine. "The next few hours should be rather pleasant," he said mildly, "for me, if not for you. And if you are particularly obedient, I may reconsider handing you over to Martin. You do remember Martin, do you not? He and his brother Freddie paid your stables a visit once. He wasn't at all pleased by his brother's death and is quite anxious to make your acquaintance. When he reported to me in London, all he could talk about was the revenge he would exact on you and your lover. I have first claim, however."

Germain paused, as if he were measuring the impact of his words had on her, and Brie dug her nails into her palms, trying to keep her fear under control. When he spoke again, she could hear the gloating triumph in his voice.

"I can just imagine Dominic's rage when he discovers he has shared you with his most hated enemy. But then I could be speaking prematurely. After you get a taste of my lovemaking, you may not wish to return to him. Nor would he want you, I suspect. He was rather angry when I stole his last mistress from him, beneath his very nose." Germain clucked his tongue. "Poor Cassandra. Dominic killed her, you know—for her faithlessness. But don't be concerned. He won't be able to harm you when he is dead."