"I imagine you can guess."
He could indeed guess when she secured his right wrist, then knelt to tie scarves around each of his ankles.
"You once told me had a fantasy about bondage," she murmured, bending over him. "Well, I am satisfying my own fantasy. I want you entirely at my mercy."
"I'm more than delighted to oblige, my sweet," he said hoarsely in return.
He held his breath as she pressed her lips lightly against his chest while her fingers danced over his skin, ending in a light, circling tease on his abdomen.
Dare felt desire curling, flaring, twisting inside him at the wicked sensation of her fingers.
Then he realized she had a scarf clutched in her hand. He sucked in a sharp, involuntary breath as she drew it along his body. In a moment she was stroking his rigid erection with the sensuous silk, curling the scarf around his swollen shaft, touching him with her lips.
It was one of the most erotic sensations he had ever experienced. She made him shudder, made his heart pound out of control. Dare arched his hips, his body white-hot with desire as Julienne continued her provocative ministrations, and clenched his teeth against the burning in his loins.
Then suddenly she stopped. Leaving the scarf draped over his arousal to form a tent, she rose from the bed. He thought she intended to undress, but instead she picked up his clothing that he'd left strewn on a chair and stepped back.
Her expression, which had been so ardently beguiling a moment before, was now impassive, almost blank.
"Julienne?"
Her sad smile pierced his heart. Delaying her answer, she went to the door and opened it.
"I want there to be no question that you have lost our wager, Dare, and for that we need witnesses. Your friends Riddingham and Sir Stephen Ormsby will soon be here to rescue you, along with several of your other Hellfire colleagues. I promised them a delicious spectacle."
Dare stared in shock as she turned to go.
"Good-bye, Dare," Julienne said in low, trembling whisper.
Then, with barely a fleeting backward glance, she slipped from the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
The hackney Julienne had waiting took her to a posting inn, where she caught the afternoon stage for York. The interior was crowded with a variety of passengers, several of whom recognized her.
Acknowledging their accolades with a faint smile, Julienne squeezed farther into her corner and turned her face to the window. Yet she saw nothing of the passing countryside. The keening sense of loss was like a knife wound inside her; the sense of being cut into parts wouldn't leave her.
She missed Dare with every breath, every jostle and jolt of the swaying coach. Thinking of him was excruciating. But she would not weep. She had cried those tears out long ago.
Then she made the mistake of fishing in her reticule for a handkerchief. She found the one she had saved from Dare's clothing as a remembrance, and when she held it to her face, she discovered that the linen carried the faint scent of his cologne.
Despair rose higher, shoving at her throat, making her vision blur. It was all she could do to force back the scalding tears.
Somehow she had to forget her agonizing thoughts of Dare. Somehow she had to find the courage to continue.
* * *
He had to control the flare of panic inside him, Dare thought nearly two hours later. Julienne had disappeared, and none of the rakehells she had invited to witness his defeat knew where she had gone.
If the stakes weren't so high, if his own involvement was less personal, perhaps he could have felt a spark of admiration for her daring. It was a prank worthy of his former days-to strip him and steal his clothes and tie him to the bed while she absconded, leaving him helpless for his friends to discover. But he could find absolutely no humor in the situation.
The experience had been embarrassing in the extreme. His Hellfire colleagues thought it uproarious that after all the years of his tormenting them with practical jokes, the Prince of Pleasure had finally received justice in kind. Worse, they had all come on horseback, so that he was forced to hail a hackney with only a sheet to cover hims
elf.
He managed to persuade the driver that he was indeed the Marquess of Wolverton and to return him to his home in Mayfair, but Dare spent the entire journey gritting his teeth and vowing severe retribution when he caught up with Julienne. Anger helped cloak his stark fear that he had lost her once more, without even telling her of his love for her.
His servants were too well-trained to show surprise when he came traipsing in, garbed like a Greek senator. And he felt better when he was dressed again in his own exquisitely tailored clothing. But as he called for his carriage, Dare couldn't rid himself of the sick feeling squeezing his heart. He had every intention of following Julienne. And he had at least two good places to begin his search-her friend Solange and the Drury Lane Theater.
What filled him with dread, however, was not knowing why Julienne had run-or what he would do about it when he found her.