Stormswept

by Sabrina Jeffries

  He closed his eyes against the accusation in her voice. “Especially your true love, if you think she betrayed you. Please forgive me for doubting you. I see how wrong I was.” Then his eyes shot open, and his jaw tightened. “But Northcliffe is also responsible for keeping us apart. He told me that you’d betrayed me.”

  She thought of the Darcy she knew, the one who could be infinitely kind. “I don’t understand it. He has always treated me well.”

  “Don’t you see?” Morgan stepped forward. “He’d probably been making plans to steal you from me for a long time. That’s why he got rid of me.”

  She couldn’t deny the logic of his words. Darcy had never hidden his desire for her. And he’d been right there, ready to make her his mistress after the earl had dismissed her. What she’d construed as an act of kindness had been plotted out from the beginning.

  “He was obviously in love with you,” Morgan said tersely, “so much in love he’d have done anything to get you.”

  A tear fell onto her cheek. “He has always said he loves me to desperation. It frightens me sometimes, how much.”

  Morgan clasped her shoulders. “The question is, are you in love with him?”

  She averted her face. “That hardly matters. He’s been so kind—”

  “Taking away your sweetheart, the father of your son? Is that ‘kind’?”

  She lifted her tearstained face to his. “I have trouble thinking of him that way. You say he did this terrible thing, but I’ve never seen that side of him.”

  He obviously didn’t like that answer. “If you won’t tell me what you feel for him, can you tell me what you feel for me, after all these years?”

  The question shouldn’t have taken her by surprise, but it did. And even more surprising was her inability to form a coherent answer. “I honestly don’t know.”

  His hands tightened on her. “I think you do. I think you’re merely afraid to answer. Darcy has made a comfortable place for you here, and your misguided sense of loyalty makes you think you owe him for that. But I’m not talking about loyalty or kindness. I’m talking about love.”

  She wanted to hide her raw emotions, but he caught her chin and made her look at him.

  “When you opened that door tonight,” he persisted, “in that first second when you saw me, there was joy in your face. Was it born of love? That’s all I need to know.”

  She closed her eyes, hoping to avoid the question until she could ponder her answer. Did she dare tell him the truth? And if she did, what would that mean . . . for her . . . for Edgar . . . for Darcy?

  He gave her no time to think. Before she could free herself, she felt his lips on hers, gentle, soft, and every bit as sweet as she remembered.

  He still smelled of bay rum, and his mouth still covered hers with blatant possessiveness. She started to draw back, but he clutched her head, holding her immobile as he moved his lips over hers, coaxing them apart until she opened to him, letting him plunge his tongue into her mouth.

  His kiss was utterly sensual and as exciting as a kiss ought to be. It seemed to go on forever. When he finally pulled back, her breath came hard and fast, and she was even more confused. How could he still make her blood sing, even after all the time she’d spent with Darcy?

  He stared at her, triumph in his eyes. “You do still love me. No matter what you say, I know it. I feel it in my bones.”

  She hid her face in his shirt, feeling both shame and joy at his words.

  “Come with me tonight, Lettice,” he whispered against her hair. “Let me make you my wife. Let me care for you . . . and our son.”

  It took every ounce of her will to resist the plea in his voice, the tempting comfort of his arms. But she couldn’t simply wrench Edgar away from his home without giving it careful thought. Nor could she pay Darcy back with such treachery after he’d cared for her. She owed him a chance to explain.

  “I need some time, Morgan. I need to speak to Darcy—”

  “And listen to more of his lies?”

  “At least he took care of me.”

  “If he hadn’t had me impressed,” Morgan gritted out, “I would have been the one taking care of you.”

  “I know.” What a coil this was. How could she untangle it without hurting someone? “Still, I owe him a great deal.”

  Morgan’s scowl was etched with pain. “And what of me? Am I to lose you again, because he was here when I couldn’t be?”

  “Nay! ” When his scowl was replaced by a hopeful look, she added, “Come again tomorrow. By then, I’ll have spoken to Darcy. And I’ll have made my decision.”

  He looked as if he’d argue, then clamped his mouth shut and strode for the door. But he paused there to stare her down. “Listen well, Lettice. I’m not going to disappear this time. So no matter what decision you make about Northcliffe, I shan’t give you up easily. Nor my son. I want you both, and I’ll fight for you. Because I know you want me, too. And until that changes, I’ll brave any obstacle Northcliffe throws at me to have you.”

  He went out into the night, leaving her breathless and excited. Pray God he meant what he said. Because despite her indebtedness to Darcy, despite her son’s feelings, she wanted Morgan, too.

  More than anything she’d ever wanted before.

  From where he sat in the library, Rhys heard the clock strike two, but he ignored it and poured himself another glass of brandy. His head ached, his eyes throbbed, yet he welcomed the liquor as it seared his throat.

  He should go to bed. Tomorrow he and Juliana would travel to Llynwydd, and he’d need a clear head for that. And for his next bout with his wife.

  Groaning, he stared into the flames. His wife. A curse on the witch and her delectable body! What spell had she put on him?

  He’d only meant to frighten her, to make her know she could never again ignore him. Instead she’d turned his lesson into a seduction, tempting him to make love to her, to give her pleasure and seek his own pleasure with her.

  By thunder, what had happened to him? Had he forgotten so easily all he’d suffered, thanks to her?

  An image leapt into his mind, of Juliana standing tall and proud in her nakedness, even as he’d ordered her to lie on the bed. Her soft moan of pleasure echoed in his mind. Despite her anger, he’d aroused her, and remembering it made his loins grow heavy once more.

  How could he desire her so fiercely after all she’d done? For the past year, he’d dreamed of this night, of how he would humiliate her and make her beg. Instead he’d been the one humiliated. He’d been the one to flee. Once he’d touched her, he’d been eternally lost.

  Her wanton nature made him lose all control when he was with her. He’d forgotten she wasn’t like other women. Even now, he could hear her telling him on their wedding night that she had impure blood because she found pleasure in his caresses.

  The memory brought a smile to his lips before he caught himself. Damn it all, that had been part of the trouble tonight! All those sweet memories of the first time, when she’d willingly given him her body.

  He gulped some brandy to purge his thoughts. By now, he should have lost his pleasant memories. Yet he could still remember their wedding night, and how it had felt to be inside that enveloping warmth—

  The door opened. He turned, thinking perversely that he’d conjured her up, but Morgan walked in.

  “So there you are.” Rhys returned his gaze to the leaping flames. “I wondered where you’d gone off to.”

  “I went to see Lettice.”

  Rhys glanced at him. “And how was your faithless lover?”

  Morgan’s jaw tightened as he took the other chair near the fireplace. “I found her not to be faithless, after all.”

  With a snort, Rhys pushed the brandy decanter in front of Morgan. “So being another man’s mistress isn’t a sign of faithlessness?”

  Morgan poured himself a glass of brandy. “Yes, she’s Northcliffe’s mistress. She’s also the mother of a child born eight months after we left. His name is
Edgar.”

  It suddenly occurred to Rhys that he’d never asked Juliana about children. But surely she’d have told him if their one union had produced a child. Still, he must question her on it tomorrow.

  He spoke more unsteadily. “I suppose Lettice claims this Edgar is yours.”

  “I know Edgar is mine.”

  Rhys pulled the brandy decanter back. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have any more of this. You’re clearly foxed.”

  “If you’d seen him, you’d know he was, too. He’s the very image of me, and he’s the right age. Besides, she told me he was mine.”

  “She could have lied.”

  “Why do so?” Morgan scowled. “She has let Northcliffe think the child is his all these years, which is why the bastard provides for her. In telling me the opposite she’s risking everything, since I could reveal the truth to him and ruin things for her. Why would she give me reason to do so?”

  “You’re going soft on me—ready to forgive her because she’s given you a son. Have you forgotten what happened to us? Will you let her insinuate herself into your good graces, now that she has tired of Northcliffe?”

  Morgan jerked his gaze from Rhys. “You’re a cynical son of a bitch, you know that?”

  “Aye, ’tis what kept me alive. And you, as I recall.”

  “ ’Tis also what’s made you so blind with vengeance that you can’t see the truth.” Morgan shot to his feet. “Lettice is innocent of involvement in our impressment. And perhaps Juliana is, too. Perhaps Northcliffe concocted the scheme to separate not only me from the woman he coveted, but also his sister from an unworthy Welshman.”

  Rhys set down his glass. “I see it took little to erase your memory of the night we were impressed. Someone betrayed us—at least one of the women did, and probably both. I may be a cynic, but at least I’m not a besotted fool. I didn’t fall for Juliana’s tearful protestations of innocence.”

  Morgan began pacing. “I’d believe Lettice over the lies of that twisted sot Northcliffe. And you should believe Juliana over him, as well.”

  “It’s hard not to believe him when he repeats the accusations to her face.” Bitterness surged in Rhys anew. “Despite her calling him a liar, he was adamant about Juliana’s participation. So even if—and I do mean if—your Lettice is innocent, Juliana is not.”

  “He still claims she got cold feet, and had us impressed to get out of the marriage?”

  “Aye, claims it staunchly.” He clenched his fist around the decanter. “So does his brother. And the innkeeper.”

  “Well, his brother would support anything he says. But the innkeeper—what did she say to his accusation?”

  Rhys scowled. “Nothing. She ‘didn’t know’ why he would lie. Just as she ‘didn’t know’ who summoned her brothers to the inn in the middle of the night when no one knew where we were.” He slid the decanter aside. “And she certainly ‘didn’t know’ I was alive, which is why she was marrying her precious marquess.”

  “She denied that you’d sent her letters?”

  “She claims Northcliffe never gave them to her.”

  “It’s possible, isn’t it, if his is a household where he gets the mail first?”

  “Aye, it’s possible her brother invented everything.” Rhys jumped up from his chair. “But it’s equally possible she’s just trying to get out of things, as she always used to do.”

  “She was awfully young then.”

  Rhys stared into the fire. “She never trusted me. The night I proposed, she accused me of wanting to marry her to get Llynwydd.”

  “You can see how she might have thought that.”

  “But going behind my back to act on it? I don’t blame her for her vacillations, nor even her fickle character. I blame her for letting me go through hell because she was too cowardly to attempt getting out of the marriage some honorable way.”

  “That’s not all you blame her for, is it? I daresay your anger would be much reduced if you’d returned to find her unmarried.”

  Rhys shot Morgan a furious glance. “Are you implying that I’m jealous?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No. I’m angry that she planned to use my estate to buy that English noble for a husband. If she’d been innocent, she wouldn’t have taken up with that damned marquess. She wouldn’t have kept our marriage secret! ”

  “Did you ask her why she did?”

  “She claims that some hired man of Northcliffe’s found out I was dead. As for why she kept our marriage secret in the first place . . . she didn’t say why, but she probably has a tale for that, too. It doesn’t matter. Eventually I’ll make her admit the truth.”

  “What if she has a valid explanation for everything? I wouldn’t have believed Lettice was innocent, either, until she explained how she’d had to choose between starvation for her and Edgar, or an alliance with Northcliffe. I can’t blame her for that.”

  Rhys stared into the fire. “Juliana’s situation is different. I have the word of three people, two of them her damned brothers! Tell me, why in God’s name would her own brothers lie about it when they know I would punish her for it?”

  “Do you intend to punish her? All you said before was that you would take back Llynwydd and your wife. But what will you do with her now that you’ve got her? What kind of marriage can you have when you trust her so little?”

  “What I do with Juliana is my business,” he snapped.

  “True. But let me give you some unsolicited advice. If, after maligning her character, you discover she’s indeed innocent, you may find that after showing her so little faith, she has lost complete faith in you. What will you do then?”

  “That is indeed ‘unsolicited advice,’ ” Rhys growled. “And unwelcome.”

  Morgan gave him a hard stare. “I only hope you’re not making an irreparable mistake.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Rhys cursed. “I’m not making a mistake.”

  So why did he wonder if Morgan might be right?

  11

  Despite what good comes from holding land,

  World’s a treacherous dwelling

  —PERYF AP CEDIFOR, “THE KILLING OF HYWEL”

  A persistent clicking resonated through Juliana’s dream, then dragged her from a deep sleep. With a groan, she opened her eyes and stared at the wall opposite her.

  Where was she? This wasn’t Northcliffe, or even Llynwydd.

  Then memory flooded her. This was Rhys’s town house.

  Last night she’d decided the only way to continue was to turn this mad battle of wills into a civil marriage. That was the best she could hope for, with him hating her so. And much as she dreaded living like strangers, that was preferable to fighting him.

  She was tired of battles. For years she’d battled her fears, then her grief over what had happened to Rhys. She’d fought her family to keep her place at Llynwydd, and she’d fought the creditors to get the estate on its feet. When she’d decided to marry Stephen, she’d thought the battles would finally be over.

  But thanks to her blasted brothers and their betrayal, she was now in the worst battle of all.

  Closing her eyes, she willed back the hurt inside her. She could understand why Darcy lied to Rhys the first time—to keep Rhys away from her. She could even understand why he’d lied to her about Rhys’s death, since he’d wanted her to marry Stephen. But why continue after Rhys’s return?

  None of what had happened the night of Rhys’s impressment made sense. Darcy and Overton had clearly come to the inn earlier. But how had they known where to find her? Some faint memory of that night struggled to surface, but she couldn’t bring it to mind.

  Her brothers’ betrayal made no sense, either. Darcy had always been ambitious and strict, but he’d also had moments of kindness. When she was five she’d drawn flowers all over Papa’s legal papers with his best ink pen, and while Papa had ranted and sworn, Darcy had hidden her in his closet. He’d always looked after her.

  Last night,
he hadn’t been looking after her. Not at all. She must find out why.

  Feeling better now that she had a course of action, she pushed herself into a sitting position—and saw Rhys.

  He was just inside the door, his gaze on her. Barefoot and wearing only an open-throated shirt and tight breeches, he looked more like a pirate than a squire, especially when he watched her with a dangerously hooded gaze.

  “I came to see if you were up. Your mother sent your clothes this morning. I’ll have them brought to you. We’ll be leaving soon, and you’ll probably want breakfast.” His words were crisp as his gaze drifted down.

  Too late she realized she was wearing only her shift, which hung low over her bosom.

  With a blush, she dragged the sheet up to her chest. “How long have you been standing there? And why didn’t you knock?”

  “Why would I knock at my own bedchamber?”

  “To be polite, perhaps? You do remember courtesy, don’t you?”

  Her boldness seemed to startle him. Then a dark smile crossed his lips. “I remember lots of things. One of them is how enticing you used to look, all curled up in your bed at Northcliffe. I wanted to see if my memory served me correctly.”

  His soft words took her off guard. The thought of Rhys watching her sleep made her feel trembly and warm inside. “And did it?”

  “No.” He stepped forward. “You’re much more enticing than I remembered.”

  His hot gaze alarmed her. She didn’t want a repeat of last night. Best to get him off the dangerous subject of his desire for her. “I heard voices in the hallway late last night. Did you have a visitor?”

  His expression grew shuttered. “Morgan came to tell me about his visit to Lettice.”

  “He returned with you? That’s wonderful! Lettice must be thrilled.” Then she remembered Lettice’s circumstances. “I mean, she must be happy he survived the navy. Though I suppose everything’s different between them now.”

  “Morgan doesn’t think so.” Rhys snorted. “He means to continue where they left off, if she’ll have him. That damned child of hers instantly grabbed his sympathies.”