by Lily Maxton
A pit of dread formed in her stomach. He would seek his due, whether he still wanted it or not. But now that the payment was upon her, numbness radiated down her limbs and her stomach roiled. She felt as though she might be physically ill.
“What matter is that?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Your child is going to receive my money and the power of my name, but your part of the contract hasn’t been fulfilled.”
“Does it have to be fulfilled? Why force yourself to bed me if you have no interest in me any longer?”
He laughed at that, sardonically, like he did everything. He even moved sardonically, which Julia hadn’t known was possible. “I don’t think bedding you would be a hardship, and I think I deserve some form of payment if I’m to give your child everything you’ve asked for, don’t you?”
She licked her lower lip and his eyes traced the movement. “And if I refuse?”
“The contract will be torn up. It’s only fair.” He smiled, and it was not a friendly smile. “But if you insist on your refusal, I won’t object.”
“You would truly deprive your own child if I don’t let you bed me?”
He lifted his shoulder in an elegant, unconcerned shrug. “I thought it was your child.”
She closed her eyes wearily. “You don’t care about anyone other than yourself.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s true. I’ve given you the chance, haven’t I? I’ve done the honorable thing.”
The honorable thing—she wanted to laugh. In Riverton’s hands, honor was twisted and mutilated into something unrecognizable. He wasn’t a man of true honor. He wasn’t like Adam.
But she couldn’t think about Adam. Not now. Not with him. Because as twisted as Riverton’s honor was, it was still there. And he would keep his word. As long as she kept hers.
Her throat felt so tight she could barely manage to speak. “Just once?” she whispered. “One time and the agreement is fulfilled?” It was more than she could have hoped for. Once more and she would be free. So, why did it feel as though a noose was being slipped around her neck?
He nodded. “You have my word.”
So she sealed her fate. She sealed her child’s fate. No one else would do it for her.
With one trembling hand, she reached out to lock the door.
…
Looking back on those ten minutes, or five, or fifteen—Julia couldn’t say exactly how long it had been—it was as though her mind had detached from her body. She was like one of Sarah or Hannah’s rag dolls, bending to another person’s will, moving how they wanted it to move, doing what they wanted it to do.
She’d been fortunate with her previous lovers. Or she’d just chosen more wisely. She had genuinely liked them and they’d liked her. They’d been companions as well as lovers, and that had translated to the physical. They’d cared about her pleasure.
But Riverton…he only cared about his own. She was a vessel to him, not a true person with wants and needs. She was no better than a streetwalker he’d paid for a quick upright against an alley wall. Just a body to use and discard.
Wasn’t that exactly the sort of life she’d wanted to escape? A successful courtesan had a choice in her lovers, a degree of freedom, of control. A prostitute was at the whim of any man with a little blunt, no matter how horrible the man was, no matter how hardened and dead inside he made her.
Riverton had taken her control when he found out about the pregnancy and used his vile contract to keep her from leaving him.
He was taking it now.
It was fortunate that Riverton was only looking for a quick dalliance before he returned to London, and to Amelia’s extraordinary tongue. He didn’t ask Julia to put her mouth on his cock. He did kiss her for a few minutes, hard and relentless, his body crowding hers against the wall.
But she could barely feel it. Her lips were numb. She was cold. So cold. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see her breath painting the air with frost. But she was scarcely breathing.
The only thing she could really feel was her heart, and how it thudded so loudly against her ribs. Why was it so loud? She was worried it might burst apart. Did that happen to people? Could hearts simply explode?
She willed it to calm. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t done this dozens of times before. It wasn’t as though she’d never enjoyed it. It wasn’t even as though she’d never enjoyed it with Riverton.
There had been a few times she’d found pleasure with him, toward the beginning.
Where was that pleasure now?
Riverton’s calculating hands lifted her dress, were cool on her bare legs. His hand slid up her calf, along her knee, along the inside of her thigh. She marked its progress as analytically as an astronomer might observe the path of a comet. The higher up his hand went, the stiffer, the colder, her body felt.
He was making love to an ice sculpture. How could he not sense that?
Then his hand was between her thighs, his fingers parting her folds.
She flinched. He didn’t notice.
Then his fingers were pressing into her, pushing and invading and stinging.
Riverton made a noise of displeasure. “Dry as the desert,” he muttered angrily, as though it was completely her fault.
Her teeth dug into her lower lip, sharp enough to bring the iron tang of blood to her mouth.
Her child. She had to do this for her child. She had to.
But then his fingers were pushing harder, moving quicker, and it was no longer an invasion, it was a full scale assault. His movements were brutal. If he kept it up, she would be slick from blood instead of desire. She thought of the way Adam had touched her in the cottage, so gently, so lovingly.
She didn’t know if it was that beautiful image of Adam, or if it was the throbbing pain Riverton’s hand was inflicting, or if it was the sense that every second he touched her she was being utterly violated. Maybe it was some combination of all three. But the ice began to splinter. Panic welled from her stomach, up into her chest and throat. She realized, suddenly, why she hated Riverton so much. It was the way he looked at her, so cool, so distant, as if he was looking straight through her. As if there was nothing to recommend her. As if she was nothing.
He reminded her of her father.
And that might have been fine, if she’d seen it in Riverton from the beginning and avoided him, but he’d tricked her into believing he actually held some sort of fondness for her. Until he had her in his possession. And then there was no reason for him to pretend anymore.
With one hand, Riverton held her against the wall by the throat, and he fumbled with the flap of his trousers with the other, ready to release himself and stab into her.
All at once, she came back to life. The ice flew off her in glittering shards.
She lashed out. It was a moment of undiluted rage. A moment of pure, instinctual reaction. If she’d had time to think it through, she never would have done it. Never would have taken that risk. But she didn’t think. Not at all.
Her fingers curled into claws and she struck him across the face as hard as she could. Thin red lines of blood almost immediately appeared on his cheek.
His head snapped back from the force. He huffed out a breath and stared down at her, shocked and upset, as though she was an adorable kitten who’d just turned on him unexpectedly.
“You bloody bitch!” he roared.
He looked so angry. She didn’t know what violence Riverton was capable of in that moment.
She held his gaze and waited. Simply waited, tensed for a blow, or for his hand to tighten around her throat. After a long moment—entirely too long—he stepped back and she finally felt she could breathe again.
“You’ve violated the terms of the contract,” he said silkily. “Did you not understand the part about enthusiasm?”
No!
She squeezed her eyes shut. What had she done? What had she done? She swallowed down the bile in her throat. “Riverton, please—” she began, her voic
e thick and strained. “I’ll— We can try again. We can—”
“Try again?” He laughed harshly. “To give you another chance to claw my face? The contract is broken, Julia. You’ll receive nothing from me.”
Oh, God. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She tried to reach for him, tried to stop him, but he sidestepped her clumsy attempt. She felt as though she was moving underwater.
“The next time I return to Blakewood Hall you had best be gone, or I will physically remove you,” he said.
When he was gone, and her weak knees were no longer capable of holding her up, she sank down to the floor.
Her child’s life unraveled before her—her baby would be happy at first because it would be too young to realize. But eventually it would grow older. Eventually her little boy or little girl would discover the truth—he or she had no future. Nothing but a small, lonely life. And that was Julia’s fault—her original choices had closed off all other, respectable options. Her inability to act now had kept them closed.
She wouldn’t blame her child if it grew to hate her. She deserved that.
A memory flashed through her mind—of her father sitting in a chair by drawn curtains, with a bottle of gin in his hand. He’d been staring at the ceiling for an hour. Looking at nothing as his eyes had grown less focused from drink. Julia had hovered by the doorway, watching, as resentment filled her, wanting to speak, to pull him out of himself. She’d wanted to say, Papa, I miss you. I’m here, and I miss you. Please, just look at me. Just see me! But the words had strangled in her throat. Had been washed away by bitterness. Bitterness was the only thing that had kept her from shattering into a million jagged pieces.
Because it was morning and her father was already foxed, and she’d known her pleas wouldn’t make a difference. He’d never even noticed her standing there. They’d lived in the same two small rooms, but they’d been farther apart than two people at opposite ends of the earth.
Julia pressed her face into her hands, wanting nothing more than to disappear. Wanting nothing more than to sink down into numbness. Just like her father.
What kind of selfish monster was she?
She had failed her own child.
…
Adam returned to Blakewood Hall with samples of about a dozen different roses and sheet after sheet of foolscap covered in notes. He’d spent the morning at the Duke of Hawksworth’s estate, one of the few estates in the country that could rival the natural beauty of Blakewood Hall. It had been a rare privilege when the head gardener there had contacted him, saying he wanted to consult with him about his breeding techniques.
He was in the conservatory transplanting what he’d brought back with him, when he heard quick footsteps on the brick path. He glanced up. When he saw Cassandra—more specifically, when he saw Cassandra’s sallow face and pinched lips—he straightened abruptly.
“What is it?”
“It’s Julia.”
Fear seized him, so potent and terrible that his hands trembled. “What happened? Is she—”
“She’s in her chamber,” Cassandra said quickly. “I don’t know what happened, but Lord Riverton was here for a brief time. He’s gone now. I went up to talk to her, and she…she wouldn’t answer me. She just sat on the floor and stared at the wall.”
He was moving before she’d even finished speaking.
He didn’t walk to Julia’s bedchamber, he ran, uncaring of who saw him. He burst into the room, his breath gusting like he was a horse who’d been ridden too hard, and looked around frantically.
“Hello, Adam,” a quiet voice said, not very far from him.
She was sitting near the door, her back to the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her. She looked very small sitting there. Very pale. His chest throbbed with a fierce emotion. His hand lifted to reach for her, but he checked the impulse. She looked fragile just then. Too fragile to touch. He curled his hand into a fist and kept it at his side.
“Julia.” He said her name gently, as though coaxing a distrustful animal.
She smiled, and the smile was so emotionless it sent chills up his spine. He knew it would haunt him later. Maybe for years.
“Julia. What happened?”
…
Julia stared at Adam. Wanting to hate him.
She’d lashed out at Riverton because she’d started thinking about Adam. But that had been her own fault. She couldn’t work up the strength of will to get angry at anyone else.
She pushed slowly to her feet, one hand on the wall to brace herself. “What are you doing here?”
His eyebrows drew together. “Cassandra said Riverton was here.”
“He was,” she said. “He left.”
And took all my hopes and dreams with him.
But maybe…maybe the situation wasn’t completely unsalvageable. If Adam thought the child was his…if he married her… Well, legitimate children had futures. They could hope for things. Want things. And not have their dreams smashed like glass under a rock.
She moved toward him. “He’s gone,” she repeated. “For good. There’s nothing to stop us now.”
“What?”
“Do you think I don’t see the way you look at me? The way your eyes follow me.” She laughed. It came out too sharp, too shrill, but she continued. “It’s not as though you’ve been subtle, Adam.”
His face looked pale. “You’re upset. Did he…did he hurt you?”
She ignored him and stepped closer. “You want to take me.”
He shook his head, a wordless protest. It was a lie. They both knew it.
“Here I am.” She moved close enough to breathe against his throat. “Take me.”
“Tell me what happened,” he said in a low voice.
She shook her head angrily. “What kind of man are you?” she snarled. “Take what you want.”
“Julia,” he said, his voice tight with warning.
“Fine, you coward,” she breathed. “I’ll do it for you.” She pressed her body flush to his and ground her hips against him. She could feel every inch of him, and she didn’t miss the swelling of his cock. He felt good against her body. But she couldn’t enjoy the sensation of that hard heat against her stomach, or the way her breasts pillowed against his ribs. She couldn’t enjoy what she’d wanted for so long.
She just needed to get through it.
“That’s better—you’re becoming hard for me. Now shall we—” But when she reached for his trousers, he halted her. His arms wrapped around her, and he kept his arms tight around her shoulders and used his hand to tuck her face against his chest.
Anger rushed through her, and she struggled against him. She tried to break free and strike him. She didn’t want his kindness. Didn’t want his affection. She only wanted his seed. Didn’t he understand that?
“Let go of me,” she snarled. “You want me, and I’m willing, and you’re not going to do anything? You’re not a man. You’re a coward! A miserable, pathetic—”
His arms tightened. Not enough to hurt but enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone. That he was with her. “Julia, stop.”
The fight left her all at once.
He was warm. So warm. Seeping into her from the outside in, thawing the ice around her heart. He felt like sunshine. She remembered thinking once that he was like the light that managed to filter into a darkened room through the crack underneath a door.
The world stopped, for one infinitesimal second, and she looked outside of herself. She saw what she was doing, even though it hurt to see.
He had been her light in a dark place—the only light—and she was ready to betray him in the worst possible way. She was ready to pass off another man’s child as his. To play him like a fool.
Horror filled her soul.
What had she become?
She was just as desperate as that woman in the alley so long ago—when she’d promised herself she would never, ever be like her.
He kept her cradled against him f
or long, endless moments. She drew in a tremulous breath and released it. “Adam?” she finally said, her voice shaky and small. She felt as vulnerable as a baby bird cupped in someone’s palm.
“What?” he said against her hair.
“I’m sorry.” It was a mere whisper of sound. Her arms slipped around his back and her hands gripped the fabric of his coat. She held onto him tightly, for strength, because she didn’t know if she was strong enough to stand on her own. “I’m so sorry.”
She wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—for what she’d nearly done, or the cruel words she’d spoken, or for leaving him years earlier with nothing but a quickly scrawled note like the worst sort of coward?
Maybe she was apologizing for all of it.
When he answered, he whispered against her ear so quietly and gently that even someone two feet away wouldn’t have heard him. The words were meant for her alone. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
Her breath choked, turned into a sob. She burrowed against him and pressed her face to his neck. She wouldn’t cry. It had been years since she’d cried.
But all of her silent protestations were for naught because an instant later her lips trembled against his skin and tears spilled over her lashes, soaking her face, soaking Adam’s throat, binding them together with sorrow and regret.
An instant after that, his lips pressed against her temple, soft, like the beat of a butterfly’s wing. That kiss made her feel safe and warm, but she knew it was only temporary.
Bittersweet longing burgeoned inside her—why can’t this moment, this embrace, this feeling, last forever?
And she wept harder.
For all the things she’d given up.
And for all the things she could not have.
Chapter Ten
When Julia awoke, she felt warm, wrapped in softness, and her surroundings were unfamiliar. She was in a sparsely furnished bedchamber that looked nothing like her room at Blakewood Hall. The memories of the hours before she’d fallen asleep were muddled. Someone had spoken to her in Gaelic, a soft male voice, but strong and sure. She’d recognized the language, though she hadn’t recognized the words. One phrase he’d spoken more than once, something lovely and guttural that sounded like graw-muh-cree.
