Stormswept

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “Yes, thank God,” Rhys said. “The reaping probably flushed him out.” Releasing her, he bent to point out some faint markings on the snake’s head. “You can clearly tell it’s an adder.”

  Mr. Newcome nodded sagely. Vipers were rare in Wales, so he’d probably never seen one. And in the fading light, he wouldn’t be able to tell much anyway.

  Another man bent to examine the snake. “One bite from this and milady would have been dead in an instant.”

  Juliana reminded herself that their trick was for a good cause.

  Rhys straightened. “For this, Newcome, your son deserves a reward.”

  Mr. Newcome’s face brightened. “He does?”

  “I am forever in his debt for saving my beloved wife.” Rhys clapped his arm about Evan’s shoulder. “Juliana tells me you’re an intelligent boy, that you could make your mark in any school. How would you like to go to Eton, if your father will allow it?”

  The stunned expression on Mr. Newcome’s face was matched by Juliana’s. Eton? That was exceedingly generous, far better than she’d dreamed.

  Evan stared up at Rhys in wonder. “You’d send me to school, sir? Do you mean it?”

  “Aye. ’Tis the least I can do.”

  “But isn’t Eton that grand school for the sons of rich men and lords? Are you sure I could manage there?”

  “If my wife thinks you’re ready, I’m sure you are. But if you’re worried, she would no doubt be willing to tutor you for the rest of the summer, so you won’t be lacking.”

  “Hold on here,” Mr. Newcome burst out. “The rest of the summer? Send him away to this Eton place? The boy has to work the farm. He can’t be going off to some bloody English school! ”

  The frosty gaze Rhys leveled on Mr. Newcome was so quintessentially aristocratic, it would have made any English nobleman proud. “Are you refusing to let me repay your son for what he has just done?”

  Mr. Newcome paled. “N-No, sir, but what about my farm?”

  “You have another son, don’t you? Surely you can spare the younger.”

  It was clear from the other men’s scornful looks that they thought Mr. Newcome a fool for not snapping up the squire’s offer.

  “Or perhaps the way I’ve chosen to show my gratitude is not to your liking,” Rhys added coldly. “I didn’t realize you wouldn’t want your son to be educated. I’ll just send someone back to the house for my purse.”

  “Oh, no, sir! ” Mr. Newcome broke in as the men began to mutter about “stupid fools” and “those who looked a gift horse in the mouth.” “Whatever you see fit to do is . . . is fine. I’m very grateful you would honor my son this way.”

  Evan and Juliana both let out a breath.

  “Good,” Rhys said. “Then Evan shall start spending half a day at the house until it’s time for the Michaelmas term. I will, of course, pay for all his expenses.” He softened his tone. “And you might consider, Mr. Newcome, that if your son succeeds at Eton, he’ll one day bring the family a far greater income than he could ever bring as a farmhand.”

  Mr. Newcome cast a startled glance at Juliana. “Do you think he’s really that bright, milady?”

  She smiled. “Evan is the most brilliant child I’ve ever seen. He will do you proud.”

  “So it’s settled.” Rhys thrust his hand out to the older Welshman.

  Juliana held her breath until Mr. Newcome took it. “Aye, sir. It’s settled.”

  The poor man wore a look of dazed confusion. Tomorrow he’d be much more unhappy about all this. But if he was as proud as he’d always seemed, he wouldn’t go back on the agreement he’d made before his neighbors.

  As Rhys led the man off to discuss the details, she went to Evan’s side. He was looking a bit dazed himself. Perhaps they should have given him more warning about what they intended to do.

  She laid her hand on his shoulder. “You do want to go to Eton, don’t you?”

  He shook himself. “More than anything.”

  “You know it means you’ll be living away from home most of the year.”

  “Aye. I don’t know how Da will manage.”

  “Let the squire take care of your father. And don’t forget what I told you. If you ever need me for anything—” She drew a sharp breath. “If your father should try to punish you for this, you tell me, all right?”

  “I will, thank you.”

  “ ’Tis the least I owe to the boy who saved my life,” she teased him.

  But he looked solemn. “ ’Tis you and the squire who have saved me, my lady. I will always remember that.”

  “Evan! ” shouted his father. “Come on, m’boy, we’re going home.”

  “Go on,” she murmured, chucking him under the chin.

  As he walked off, a smile spreading over his face, she called out, “I’ll give you a day’s respite, but I expect you to be ready to go right to work day after tomorrow, you hear?”

  “Aye, my lady! ” he called back.

  As the Newcomes left, Rhys picked up the snake with a stick and tossed it into the fire. “We don’t want anyone examining that too closely.”

  “I suppose not.” She laughed. “What you did just now was wonderful.”

  He slung his arm about her shoulders. “I told you I’d take care of it.”

  “Yes, but Eton?” She stared up at him as he led her back to the cart. “Aside from the expense, I’m surprised you chose an English school.”

  He was silent a long moment. Someone had brought out a fiddle and was playing a dance as couples rose, flushed with ale and ready to extend the celebration into the night.

  When he spoke, he had to raise his voice over the music. “Much as I hate to admit it, there are no schools in Wales that can prepare someone as gifted as Evan.” He looked back at the dancing couples, whose fire-lit shadows made them appear larger than life. “But perhaps one day . . .”

  She stood with him, watching a man caper here, a woman twirl there, their bodies extensions of the leaping flames. “ ’Tis better for him to go to England anyway, where his father can’t hurt him.”

  “There are worse things than physical pain,” he murmured, and she knew he meant his years of exile. Then he shook off his brief melancholy. “Well, wife, now that you’ve been saved from certain death, shall we celebrate the harvest with our friends?”

  She grinned. “I’d like that. Nothing builds a woman’s hunger so much as playing the damsel in distress.”

  20

  My breast is pained with passion,

  Pining for love of a girl.

  —SION PHYLIP, “THE SEAGULL”

  The celebration at the field ended an hour later when the rain came down in a torrent. Amid laughter and shouting, Rhys grabbed Juliana and dashed to the cart. With rain half-blinding them, he drove home, and by the time he pulled up under the eaves of the stable they were soaked to the skin.

  But he didn’t feel the least bit cold, having drunk enough ale to fend off the chill. He jumped down and helped Juliana out, hands lingering on her waist as the groom emerged to pull the cart into the stables. They stood where it was warm and dry under the eaves, and Rhys kissed her hair, damp and rich with the scent of rain and lavender.

  “Thank you again for what you did for Evan,” she said. “You’ve saved him from a cruel father.”

  He hesitated, wondering if he should tell her that life at Eton would probably be harder for Evan than it had been at home. Canings and other harsh punishments were still routinely given, although it wasn’t as bad as it had been in his day.

  But it was still better for a brilliant child like Evan to be at Eton than serving a wasted life as farm help.

  “Also,” she continued, “thank you for taking me tonight. I enjoyed it very much.”

  “You’re welcome.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  She toyed with the buttons on his waistcoat. “I only hope I didn’t make a complete fool of myself, dancing out there with the others like a ten-year-old girl.”


  He thought of how she’d looked whirling in the circle, her hair a nimbus of fire and her green eyes glowing like cut jade, and desire uncurled in him. “Nay, you were wonderful.” He coaxed her lips open with a finger. “Only one thing could make this night more enjoyable.”

  “And what might that be?” She caught his finger in her teeth, swirling her tongue around it with a mischievous smile.

  He pressed her against the stable wall to let her feel the hard ridge of flesh in his breeches. “I’ll give you three guesses.” He drew his finger from her mouth to run it down her collarbone into the hollow between her breasts.

  “Hmm,” she said. “A nice hot cup of tea by the fireplace?”

  “No.” He slid his finger beneath her sodden bodice until he found her nipple.

  As he rubbed the hard tip, her breath quickened. “Perhaps a . . . quiet game of chess?”

  “Definitely not.” He pushed the wet gingham material of her bodice down to free her breast, then lowered his head to suck at the damp skin.

  “Rhys! ” she protested, pushing his head away. “What if someone should come along?”

  His eyes gleamed. “Wouldn’t they get a show?”

  She drew up her bodice and shoved him away. “Not here, my lusty husband.”

  The rain still came down in sheets, but she ran out into it laughing. She raced toward the house and danced up the wide steps as he followed at a more leisurely pace, letting the rain beat the grime of a day’s work from him. At the top she paused to blow him a kiss, then opened the door and slipped inside, giggling as she closed it.

  “God save me from teasing wenches.” Shoving the wet hair from his face, he hurried up the stairs. If it was a game she wanted, she’d best make it quick. That one taste of her hadn’t been near enough.

  But when he opened the door and walked in, she was standing stock-still in the hall, holding a sealed envelope, with Mrs. Roberts at her side.

  Mrs. Roberts glanced over. “Oh, there you are, sir. Don’t you look a sight, the two of you. I was telling milady that you’d best get out of those wet clothes before you—”

  “Who’s the letter from?” Rhys interrupted, alarmed by Juliana’s pale cheeks.

  “Oh,” said Mrs. Roberts. “It came from Northcliffe Hall while you were at the harvest.”

  A sudden vise clamped down on his heart. The last time someone had brought a message from Northcliffe Hall—

  “Darcy sent it,” Juliana whispered.

  The vise tightened. “How do you know?”

  “ ’Tis his handwriting.” She stared at it a moment longer, then ripped it open to draw out a letter. She read it quickly, then gazed off into space.

  Rhys fought the urge to snatch the letter and toss it into the nearest fire. “What does it say?”

  She stiffened and nodded at the housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Roberts. That will be all this evening.”

  As the woman left, her eyes bright with curiosity, Juliana handed him the letter, then headed for the stairs.

  He started reading. It was indeed from Northcliffe. Apparently her brother and Devon had been involved in some investment together, and now Devon was threatening to back out if Northcliffe or St. Albans didn’t arrange a meeting between him and Juliana. “One final meeting,” it said, “to satisfy Lord Devon that Vaughan is not holding you in the marriage against your will.”

  Against your will. Damn them all! How dared they!

  Worse yet, Northcliffe had apparently responded to Devon’s blackmail by setting up the meeting. The marquess was invited for dinner at Northcliffe Hall two days hence, and Northcliffe was commanding his sister to attend.

  It didn’t help that the bastard included Rhys in the invitation. Not one bit.

  Rhys shoved the letter into his pocket. The audacity of the man!

  Juliana was already halfway up the stairs, and he hurried up to fall into step at her side. “Where are you going? We must talk about this.”

  “Yes, but not here.”

  He gritted his teeth as he followed her to their bedchamber. She was right. This was definitely not something to be discussed in front of the servants. Because he suspected that she planned to go.

  And there was no way in hell he’d allow it.

  As soon as they were inside their bedchamber, he closed the door and tore off his drenched coat. “You want to attend, don’t you?”

  “No. But I have to.” She undressed, letting her wet clothes fall into a puddle, then donned a shift and her silk wrapper. “I must settle this matter once and for all.”

  “It was settled when I told Devon you were married and he bowed out of the engagement. He has no damned right to come back asking for you.”

  She sat down on the bed. “Are you ordering me not to go?”

  He clenched his fists, fighting down the fear twisting inside him. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He held his breath, waiting for her to explode. He could deal with anger. He could fight her when she was shouting at him much better than he could battle this quiet acquiescence that increased his fear.

  But she stared calmly at him, as if she knew his weakness. “Why? What are you afraid will happen?”

  The rational question took him aback. He raked his fingers through his hair. “That should be obvious. I don’t want you anywhere near that damned marquess.”

  “That’s not what I asked. What do you think will happen if I go ‘near that damned marquess’?”

  You’ll leave me. You’ll realize what you’re missing and you’ll run away, as you did before.

  He concentrated on peeling off his wet clothes to keep from saying things he’d regret.

  As he jerked on his drawers and dressing gown, Juliana rose and came toward him. “Are you afraid Stephen will kidnap me and carry me off to his estate? I hardly think even my brothers would allow that. Do you fear he’ll pre-sent proof of a legal claim to me? There is none. So what is turning you into a beast at the very idea of my meeting him over dinner? There will be other guests present—you, for one, since you were invited.”

  “I was present at your engagement party, too, yet that didn’t keep you from choosing him over me. If I’d released you from your vows that night, you’d have gone with him. You wanted a divorce then. You said so.”

  “That’s true. I was very angry.” She tilted her chin up. “And I think I had a right to be. But a great deal has changed between us. Surely you realize I’ve been more than content to be your wife these past two weeks.”

  “Then why must you see Devon again?” he snapped.

  She laid her hand on his chest. “Can’t you understand how he must feel? To have his betrothed leave him at his own engagement party, and not know what has happened to her?”

  “He can’t feel any worse than I did to have my wife leave me on my wedding night.”

  Paling, she dropped her hand. “You still believe I betrayed you. You’re afraid I’ll run off with Lord Devon, and betray you again.”

  The terror churned in him more fiercely. “Nay,” he protested.

  Thunder cracked the air outside, as if to echo his fears.

  She gazed steadily at him. “If you trusted me, you wouldn’t be afraid to let me go to this. You’d have faith in me to handle whatever Lord Devon requests.”

  She didn’t understand the irrational clutch of fear in his heart at the very thought of her speaking with Devon. He’d nearly lost her to the bastard, and only by force had he gained her back. How could he ever endure losing her for good?

  Or . . . would he lose her if he refused to trust her?

  “It’s not that simple.” He turned away, unable to bear the look in her eyes.

  “Oh, but it is.” She came up behind him to encircle his waist and lay her head against his back. “It’s as simple as deciding to trust me or not.”

  He could feel the damp from her hair soaking through his dressing gown, could see her hands linked over his belly. Two weeks ago she wouldn’t have held him so easily, nor touched him
with the casual intimacy of a wife.

  He didn’t want to lose that. “It’s not you I don’t trust,” he said, striving for a calm tone. “It’s those treacherous brothers of yours . . . and Devon.”

  She sighed. “What are they going to do? Have me impressed? If you’re so worried about what will happen, come with me. The invitation included you.”

  He twisted around to face her. “Aye, doesn’t that surprise you? Your brother is furious over what I did at the council meeting, so why invite me to his home? This could be a trap. Perhaps your brother is doing this on purpose, to lure you—and me—to Northcliffe Hall, so he can . . . can . . .”

  “Can what? He can’t have you impressed again, for your powerful friends would protest and he’d find himself in trouble. He can’t kill you. If he’d wanted to, he’d have done it before now. These are all just excuses, and you know it.”

  He did, but how else could he keep her away from her former betrothed and her devious brothers?

  “Rhys, listen to me.” She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek with a tenderness that made him ache. “I told you I didn’t love Lord Devon.” She dragged in a deep breath. “I love you. So why would I toss aside a marriage with the man I love for a man I don’t?”

  He froze. I love you. He’d waited so long for her to say those words again, even though he’d been unwilling to say them himself and allow her that hold on his heart. But what if she were saying them only because she wanted him to give in?

  He caught her hand. “If you love me, you’ll stay here and not give those bastards the chance to separate us again.”

  He knew he’d said the wrong thing when the blood drained from her face. “I bare my heart to you, and that’s all you can do? Use my love as a lever to get what you want?”

  He closed his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I do know.” Her face was drawn now. “I’m asking you to trust me. And it’s clear that you can’t.”

  The air in the room grew arctic, despite the closed window and the fire blazing in the hearth. Juliana’s expression of pain drove icicles through his heart. Damn it, he was losing her—he could feel it. Despite everything, he was losing her.