Matilda’s own hold tightened on Justine as a small smile edged onto her lips. “Then you will call me Matilda in turn?”
Justine grinned. “Yes. I will.”
Matilda’s smile widened, her blue eyes spark ling.
“Do uh…you ladies plan on holding each other all night like that?” Radcliff drawled from across the table. He smirked and gestured toward them with his now-filled glass, causing the wine within it to sway. “I cannot help but feel excluded.”
Justine rolled her eyes as she steered Matilda out of the dining room. Yes, he would feel excluded. “Good night, Bradford,” she called out over her shoulder. “Try not to drink too much more. It appears to be affecting your sense of humor.”
“I didn’t realize I even had a sense of humor,” he teasingly called back. “Cheers and a very good night, dearest. Dream of me, will you? Only be sure it’s something good. For I certainly deserve as much.”
Justine bit back a smile. Dream of him, indeed. He really was full of himself.
With arms interwoven and their skirts rustling against each other’s, she and Matilda made their way toward the east end of the house. Nothing more was said between them. Though Justine wanted to ask Matilda more about her situation and why she had chosen Radcliff for assistance, she knew that she needed to give the woman a bit more time to settle in.
When they reached the bedchamber, Justine pushed open the door, then guided Matilda toward the canopy bed covered with a plush coverlet and pillows. Once she eased Matilda upon the edge of the mattress, she took a step back and sighed. “There. How is that?”
Matilda drew in a slow, deep breath and let it out, patting the bed with a hand. “I confess it’s been weeks since I’ve had a bed to myself.”
Justine could not help but note the genuine satisfaction in that tone and pitied the woman knowing the sort of treatment she endured at the hands of men, given her occupation. It was a savage world Justine had first glimpsed at the age of twelve within some of the villages in the Kloof, when women from rivaling tribes were seized and treated worse than the oxen utilized for travel. Her father had reluctantly explained the ways of men after she had repeatedly demanded to know why women were being forced to sleep on dirt outside of huts, being roped and were only occasionally brought inside those huts only to emerge sobbing.
It was the only thing about the Bushmen and Hottentots she had despised whilst growing up and one of the many reasons why she had insisted on protecting Matilda. She hadn’t been able to do anything for those brutalized women in the Kloof, except offer food when no one was looking and cut the grass ropes binding their hands and feet, only to discover they refused to leave out of fear. But Justine knew she could right this.
“Should you require anything, ring for the servants. Don’t be all too startled when a French man comes to your door. Henri is very lovely. I myself will only be a few doors away.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
Justine smiled. “You are most welcome, Matilda. I will see you in the morning. Rest well.” She turned and swept toward the door.
“Justine? Might I…say something?”
Justine paused and turned. “But of course. What is it?”
Matilda rubbed the coverlet with both hands back and forth, back and forth, and eyed her. “I hope that my presence does not lead you to believe that the duke and I are involved. Because we are not.”
Justine couldn’t help but feel touched by the assurance. “I would have never offered you a room if I were in any way concerned with your presence. Your respectful demeanor allows me to trust you.”
Matilda shifted on the bed and wet her lips. “Trust is something to be earned. And I confess I have yet to earn it. To be sure, I am unworthy of the kindness you have shown me today. Whilst I did come for five pounds, I also came to beg your husband for any form of protection. Even that of mistress, if need be. It wasn’t until my eyes met yours that I realized what a horrid person I am to think I could ever impose myself in such a manner.”
Justine swallowed and whisked toward her, affected by the woman’s honesty. She lowered herself onto the bed, took hold of Matilda’s hand and brought it into her own lap. She squeezed it assuredly. “You are merely trying to survive. I may very well have done the same. One cannot judge another in these circumstances.”
Matilda glanced down at the hand Justine continued to hold. She drew in a shaky breath and lifted her blue eyes to hers. Stroking Justine’s fingers ever so softly and tenderly, she leaned in and whispered, “In moments like these, do you know what I wish for? More than anything?”
Feeling as though she were acquiring a new friend, Justine closed the remaining distance between them, almost making their noses touch. “What? What do you wish for?”
Matilda paused and searched her face for a long moment, then whispered in a choked tone, “I wish I were a man. I wish I could do the sort of things I really want to do. Without the burden of shame. Without the burden of regret. That is what I wish.”
Justine raised a brow at her and leaned away. “You don’t need to be a man to do the things you want to do. You simply have to be more creative. Which is why we women shall always be superior. Because we aren’t given the sort of pathetic excuses they are.”
Matilda let out a small laugh, sliding her hand from Justine’s, and shook her head. “I do believe I have finally found a kindred soul.”
“That is my hope.”
Matilda gasped and grabbed hold of her belly.
Justine’s heart jumped. “What? What is it? You aren’t—”
Matilda laughed, shook her head and grabbed Justine’s hand, placing it against the side of her large stomach. Something pushed playfully against the palm of her hand.
Justine’s eyes widened as she stared down in wonder at the quick movements still nudging her hand.
“The baby says thank you,” Matilda whispered softly.
Justine’s eyes welled with tears at the very thought of the little life within that belly. A poor little life that had no idea how trying it was going to be once it found its way to the outside world.
Justine smiled tremulously, pulling back her hand. Rising, she quickly headed back toward the door, not wanting to cry in front of her guest. “Good night. May you both sleep well.”
Matilda breathed out a soft sigh. “Fare thee well, Justine, and a very good night to you, too.”
WHERE ON EARTH WAS Radcliff?
He was not in the dining room, nor the drawing room, nor his bedchamber, nor hers. So where had he gone? She didn’t know why she desperately wanted and needed to see him before she went to sleep. Perhaps because she already missed him and wanted to tell him how proud she was of him. He’d endured a lot in a single day and had graciously taken it all, even though he clearly required copious quantities of port to do so.
Justine paused outside the open doors of the study and was disappointed to find that it, too, was dark. She surveyed the shadows of the room and blinked, remembering Radcliff’s earlier lists which had been crumpled and left on the floor. Her heart skipped. She doubted they would still be there, but curiosity lured her all the same.
Reaching up toward one of the sconces, where a half melted candle burned, she carefully wedged it out, turned and moved into the quiet study. She squinted as she made her way around the room, making out the shapes of furniture.
She eventually paused in the middle of the room and searched the Axminster carpet only to find the crumpled papers had already long been collected. Drat. She didn’t even get a chance to see a single one of them.
“Are you lost?” a deep voice asked from one of the darkened corners.
Justine screeched, her heart skidding as the candle jumped from her hand and thudded onto the carpet. It rolled away, the flame flickering sideways, creating a smoldering, smoking path. Her heart pounded as she frantically yanked up the front of her skirts above her ankles and proceeded to stomp at the wick with her slippered foot, hoping the house wasn’t ab
out to go up in flames.
After a few more stomps, she eventually managed to extinguish the candle—thank goodness. She paused, realizing she had officially sentenced herself to complete and utter darkness.
With Radcliff.
He rumbled out a laugh from somewhere behind and clapped rather enthusiastically, causing the sound to echo all around them. “My carpet thanks you for your noble rescue.”
Justine let out a laugh, too, and clutched her skirts as she whipped toward the direction of his voice. “Radcliff?”
“No. The devil. I’ve come for your soul. And from what I hear, it’s a damn good one.”
Justine laughed again and wandered toward the direction of his voice. She edged closer until she was finally able to make out the shadowy outline of his large frame which sat on the outer edge of his writing desk.
Imagine. He’d been sitting there all along, watching her in complete silence as she had wandered about the room making a dolt of herself. “Might I ask why you are sitting on your desk in the dark?”
“Good question. I don’t know.” He let out a throaty laugh. “Might I…ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Am I allowed to admit I was just thinking about you in bed? And how I know I could never be able to fuck another woman? Not ever? Because I’d only find myself comparing them all to you?”
Justine was more than grateful her burning face was hidden in the darkness. She’d certainly heard blunt language, having grown up with her father, but surely this was not appropriate, even between husband and wife. “Your uh…compliments know no bounds, Your Grace.”
“With a body as luscious as yours, Justine, my compliments should never have any bounds.”
She choked. “Are you…inebriated? Or have you lost the last of your mind?”
“Both, actually.”
She rolled her eyes. “Lovely.”
He cleared his throat. “I should apologize.”
“Yes. You should.”
“I humbly beg for your pardon. I won’t do it again. My mind. It’s muddled.”
“Thank you. Now I suggest you retire before you have to apologize for anything else.”
He was quiet for a moment, then blurted, “You know…page twenty-four states that it’s never fashionable for a lady to become inebriated. I understand all that and why, but this is probably where I should admit that I was never really all that fashionable to begin with and that I can only follow so many rules.”
Justine laughed, unable to hide her surprise. “Why, Radcliff. You’ve been reading.”
“That is all I did today.”
She grinned. “I’m very proud of you.”
“At least one of us is.”
She laughed again and eyed his shadow, which still sat on the edge of the desk barely a few feet away from her. “You may not consider yourself fashionable, Radcliff, but I have always considered you to be.”
“Imagine that. So. Were you looking for me?”
Although she wanted to tell him that yes, she certainly was, she didn’t want to excite the poor man and create another misunderstanding between them. “Not to disappoint you, Radcliff, but no. I was looking for your list.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed all the same.
He rose, the desk he’d been sitting on creaking, and made his way toward her. Although she couldn’t readily see him, she could feel him drawing closer. Her hands grew sweaty, and she wondered whether she should flee. After all, with him being inebriated, she highly doubted he would exhibit much self-control. And yet…she couldn’t move. It was as if her skirts had been stitched to the carpet she stood on.
He paused before her, bringing with him the tangy sweet scent of cigars. After a long moment, he finally said, “Children.”
She blinked. “Pardon?”
“Children was number five on my list.”
Well, that was certainly unexpected.
“Tell me I am right and that one of the things you want from me and this marriage is children.” There was a huskiness to his tone that caused her stomach to flutter way too much. “Tell me it is my children you want.”
She took a large step back. “Well, yes. Of course. Eventually. When you and I are prepared to make such a commitment.”
He took back the step she had placed between them. “At three and thirty, you doubt I’m prepared for such a commitment?”
“Age is not what determines whether one is prepared.”
He sighed. “Will I ever be able to earn your trust again after what I did?”
“It will take time. You must demonstrate that you are earnest and in control.”
“I am demonstrating control right now,” he whispered. “Do you think I want to stand here, in the dark, and merely discuss the many ways I should avoid scandal? Is that what you think?”
She bit back a laugh, despite herself. “I am proud of the efforts you are making, Radcliff. I am also proud of the generosity you have shown Miss Thurlow today.”
“I want you to be proud of me. I need you to be.” He paused. “Can I…hold you?”
Her heart beat faster. She shook her head. “No. Not whilst you are inebriated. Tomorrow. When you are more aware of what it is you are doing.”
“Then let me kiss you. I want to kiss you.”
“No. Not as you are.” She held up her hands, readying to push away his chest and his arms. But surprisingly, and thankfully, they did not come. “What can I do, then?” he growled from her right, circling close enough for her to hear the intake of his steady breath and smell the port. “Tell me,” he insisted from behind and then from her left. “Tell me. So that I may do it.”
Justine let out a shaky breath, willing herself to say exactly what was in her heart. “You can profess your love for me.”
He paused directly before her and leaned in. “And why would I do that?”
The man certainly knew how to make a woman swoon. “Because I want more than lust from you, Radcliff. We’re going to be together for the rest of our lives. Has that not ever occurred to you? Do you think you could ever learn to love me? Ever?”
He snorted. “Justine. Love is a mere…myth. You know that, dearest, don’t you? ’Tis nothing but a stupid myth perpetuated by society to make everyone think someone cares. When in fact no one cares.” He paused. “So what about you?”
Her brows rose. “What about me?”
“Do you love me?”
She snorted. “You seem to be missing your own point.”
He huffed out a breath. “I suppose I am. But…let us say if you could genuinely put true emotion into the word love without any deception whatsoever, could you love me?”
She clenched her fists. It was as if he expected her to give him everything even whilst he in turn offered nothing. “No, Radcliff. I could not.”
“Why not? I am your husband. It is your duty to love me.”
He really was hopeless. And even more so when he was foxed. “You haven’t really given me anything to love. Have you?”
“Oh, well, now. Allow me to change that.” He grabbed hold of her hands, snapping them down hard between them, and dipped toward her throat, sliding his hot tongue down the side of her exposed neck, causing her to choke with surprise. “Do you love me now? Or shall I offer you more of my tongue?”
A gasp of a breath escaped her as she struggled to break free from his pinching grasp. “Radcliff!”
He released her and let out a booming laugh, stumbling backward, his heavy steps echoing within the study, and caught himself on the desk, still laughing. “Imagine. I have two beautiful women staying in my house. Two. And I can’t have either one!”
He kept right on guffawing.
As if it were, in fact, amusing.
Justine scrambled back, breathing heavily. For the sake of his life, not to mention hers, and for the sake of their marriage, she had to make him believe—and make herself believe—that he was worth saving. That he could conquer whatever was consuming his soul
. “The fact that you do not realize how dire your situation is worries me to no end, Radcliff. I can only do so much. You do realize that?”
His laughter ended abruptly as his shadow shifted toward her. “My dearest Justine,” he said hoarsely through the darkness. “You needn’t worry about me. Hell, you needn’t even care. I, Radcliff Edwin Morton, have been duke since the age of fourteen. I have been overseeing everyone’s life, from servant to tenant to my own brother, never once—not once—depending upon anyone for anything. I know how to take care of myself.” He nodded, his shadowed outline staggering against the desk. “What I need right now is time away from you. I cannot function when I’m around you. I…can’t.”
He staggered again, his boots echoing from his movements, and suddenly his shadow slipped from sight with a resounding thud that landed somewhere on the darkened floor.
Justine stumbled toward him, her heart pounding so fast she couldn’t catch her breath. “Radcliff!”
She fell onto her knees beside him and fumbled to find his head, blindly trailing her hands across the length of his buttons and up toward his silk cravat and shoulders which were still encased in his evening coat. Her fingers grazed his warm, stubbled face and the wide, smooth welt of his scar. At least he was still breathing. But dear God, he wasn’t moving. Nor was he responding to her touch.
A helpless sob escaped her, but she somehow willed strength into her voice. “Jefferson!” she yelled over her shoulder back toward the dimly lit entryway. “Jefferson!”
Hands jumped to her arms, and her heart skidded to a momentary halt. Radcliff’s strong fingers dug into the material of her gown. “No. I don’t need anyone. Not you. Not him. Leave. I need to be alone. It is what I know.”
“Oh, Radcliff,” she whispered, feeling a tear tracing its way down her heated cheek. Why did she have to love him so much? And why did she want to believe that he could change? When he himself didn’t even believe it?
She leaned closer toward him, cupping his face with her hands. “You are not alone anymore. You have me. You will always have me. You know that, don’t you?”
Prelude to a Scandal Page 17
