“I cannot remarry, and you know this, Grandmama.” Juliana stood and paced. “At least…not until this matter is settled.”
Lady Traveston sighed. “Well, we shall see about that.”
Arik moved to stand behind her. The steadiness in his expression was a promise of his protection. Though he remained silent, she saw that he had no intention of abandoning her—even though she’d demanded that he do so.
Her husband had been the sort of man to walk away when responsibility called. He’d visited her at Hawthorne House when it was convenient for him, but he’d left her alone before he’d learned of her pregnancy.
Juliana suspected that Arik Thorgrim would cut down any man who dared to harm her or her son. Something within her warmed to it, especially when he touched his palm to her back.
At that moment, the butler arrived to announce dinner, and Arik escorted her inside.
“Do you know,” Lady Traveston continued, “in spite of your disheveled appearance, I like you, Thorgraham. You appear to be a man of honor, though a trifle stoic.” She took his other arm. “And a man who knows when to keep silent is one who truly listens.”
Arik sent her grandmother a devastating smile, which made the older woman blush.
“Yes,” Lady Traveston said to him. “I like you very much indeed.”
Arik didn’t recognize half the foods placed before him. There was a green stew, which was some sort of vegetable, and a round piece of bread. He picked up the chicken and bit into it, only to notice that Juliana was shaking her head at him. Lady Traveston wasn’t watching either of them but had closed her eyes, savoring the first bite of food. “Ah, it is wonderful to have sustenance after a long day of traveling.” She turned her back to Arik, asking her granddaughter more questions, but he hardly understood any of their conversation.
While he tore off another piece of chicken, he saw Juliana gesturing toward a strange metal object with tines. He had seen it once before at Juliana’s house, but had not known what it was for.
It was then that he realized they were using knives and the strange metal tool to eat. Though he was unaccustomed to it, he supposed he could use the blade. He sliced off a bit of the chicken breast and stabbed it with the tip of his knife. While he ate, he noticed Juliana staring at him with dismay.
She lifted up the metal tool with tines, demonstrating its use. Arik didn’t see a reason why it mattered, but he wiped his hands upon the cloth covering the table and reached for it.
“Juliana, are you quite well?” her grandmother was asking. “You look positively wretched.”
“I—I’m fine, Grandmama. The food is very good. Nicer than I’ve had in months.”
The matron’s face darkened. “If you had come to live with me, instead of being so obstinate, you would have dined like a baroness. But I suppose you preferred fish.” She spoke the word as if it were a poison. Juliana brought her attention back to the plate, biting her lip as if to stop herself from speaking.
After that, Lady Traveston talked unceasingly. From the strained expression on Juliana’s face, it was undoubtedly advice she didn’t want to hear. Arik tried eating with the tool that he learned was a fork, and in the meantime, he listened to a conversation that he didn’t really understand. Something about runners and investigations and marriage registries. Then, too, it seemed that the Anglo-Saxon tongue was easier to comprehend when he let his thoughts drift. He nodded and smiled on occasion but volunteered nothing on his own.
“Regardless of your disastrous choices, you must consider your son in all of this,” the old woman informed her granddaughter. “Think of Harry’s needs, not your own.” Lady Traveston dabbed at her lips with a white cloth. “He’s a boy who needs to be in school. I could hire tutors for him, and when he’s of age, he will attend Eton.”
Juliana lowered her eyes. “And what if they accuse him of being a bastard, Grandmama? How can he hold his head up among the others?”
“We will solve that dilemma when it comes to that.” But the look on Lady Traveston’s face held concern. She turned back to Arik. “Will you use your influence to help my granddaughter?”
He had no idea what she wanted from him, but he nodded.
“Good.” The matron nodded with satisfaction before continuing, “I know that there is a great deal the pair of you haven’t told me. For someone who returned from his journey so recently, I find it very intriguing that you chose to spend your first evening home with my granddaughter instead of your father.” Her pointed look held a silent warning.
Arik suspected that his days with Juliana would end at the next full moon, as her maid had predicted. These last moments were meant to be savored, lived to the fullest until they ended. There was a reason why the gods had healed his wounds, though he knew it not. He had been given a second chance at life, but he had to fight with honor, to prove himself worthy of Valhalla.
“Am I correct in assuming that you were friends before this?” Lady Traveston prompted.
“We were, yes,” he answered. He studied the young woman’s face, and Juliana’s gray eyes suddenly locked with his, pleading with him not to say more. It was clear that the older woman’s presence was weighing heavily upon her. And he sensed that Lady Traveston would become an enemy or an ally, depending on his actions.
“Lady Traveston, I should return to my father now,” he lied. “I offer you my thanks for the food.”
“It was my pleasure,” she answered. “We will be sure to pay a call upon you and His Grace, the Duke of Somerford, in the near future. Perhaps after we’ve finished our business in London.” Lady Traveston gave a slight wave of her hand in dismissal.
Juliana stood and said, “I will walk out with you, Lord Thorgraham.”
He waited for her to join him, and she reached out to take his arm. The touch of her hand against him was light, but he could see that she was nervous around him.
She kept the pace slow, and when a footman waited near the door, she gave him a silent command to leave them alone.
“You’re upset,” he said in Norwegian, keeping his voice just above a whisper.
“I don’t know what I am,” she whispered back. “But it is becoming clearer that you are not the duke’s son.” She stopped in front of the staircase, resting her arm against the post.
“I told you this already, kjære.”
She lowered her gaze, as if she was too afraid to say anything else. Arik leaned in. “I will go to the chamber you told me about. We will talk more when we are alone.” He stole a kiss and took the stairs, turning the corner.
When he reached the top of the stairs, he glanced down the hall to ensure that no one was watching. Then he overheard Juliana opening and closing the front door, as if he’d gone. He counted the doorways until he reached the one Juliana had told him about. He was about to open it, when suddenly he realized that she was unlikely to come and speak with him there.
It was better to await her within the bedchamber that adjoined her room, the one that had belonged to her husband.
He remembered which room it was and found that the interior was dark, with no fire upon the hearth. Arik listened for the sound of any servants who might intrude. When there was no one, he moved toward the hearth and built a fire within it. A small blaze illuminated the space, and he opened the door that led to Juliana’s room. Inside, she had a vast bed of her own with a canopy and long curtains.
He lay down and spread out his arms and legs, reveling in the softness of her mattress. This was a luxury he’d never imagined, and he preferred it to any pallet he had tried.
The hours crept on, and he closed his eyes. Likely Lady Traveston was here with the intention of taking Juliana and her son away from their home. Given the woman’s jewels and her strong manner of speaking, he was certain she was a woman of wealth. But even if Juliana and Harry were safe and cared for, their land was still in the hands of an enemy. He had to find out how to get it back.
Juliana was worried about her future, but she was en
tirely too soft about the matter. If someone had taken this home from her, she needed to take it back with force of her own. And yet, he did not understand this world. It seemed that men fought with words instead of weapons. And even if he did successfully conquer these lands, he might not be here to ensure that Juliana kept them.
A pang of frustration tightened inside him. He liked this woman’s courage and the way she had stood up to him. She had honor and loyalty. If she had belonged to him, he would enjoy awakening beside her or even giving her more children. Her blond hair would spill over her shoulders, tangling against him, if they slept together.
She should have another man to protect her—someone whose life wasn’t going to disappear when the moon grew full in the sky. The thought sent a dark fury through Arik, for he didn’t want another man to have that right.
The raw frustration continued to brew within his veins, minute by minute, until at last Juliana entered her room. She didn’t appear to notice him until he sat up on the bed.
“Arik,” she breathed. “What are you doing here?”
He crossed the room and answered her words with a kiss. Her startled mouth was open, and he claimed her, lifting her into his arms. She let out a slight cry of surprise, but he continued to kiss her.
Tonight, he intended to mark her, to brand her with the memory of him. If he had to leave when the moon turned, he wanted her to think of him with longing.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, as he pressed her back upon her bed. “Someone might find you.”
A knock sounded at the door, and Juliana leaped up, drawing the bed curtains closed to hide him. He stared at the fabric with amusement, wondering why Juliana had not simply sent the servant away. But a moment later, the maid entered. It soon became clear that the girl had come to undress Juliana for bed. From behind the heavy curtains, he caught a clear glimpse of Juliana’s nape and the complicated ties that bound her underclothing. The serving girl unlaced her, until she stood in a white garment.
He grew aroused watching, knowing that she was aware of his presence. The maid continued to undress Juliana, and Arik glimpsed her bare back before the maid lowered a creamy linen gown over her.
“Shall I turn down the bed, my lady?” the maid asked.
“No!” Juliana protested. “That is, no, thank you. I intend to sit by the fire for a while. Just leave it, if you please.”
She dismissed the maid and sat upon the chair. Wearing only the white garment, she appeared vulnerable. As if she knew what could happen between them.
Arik opened the bed curtains and eyed her. “Come here,” he commanded in a low voice.
She stood facing him, and the delicate fabric shadowed her lithe body. For endless minutes, she didn’t move, but her gray eyes locked with his. “I have to travel to my son in the morning,” she told him. “My grandmother is taking us to stay with her in London.”
“I will accompany you as your guard,” he said, but she shook her head.
“After tonight, you must go your way. As I must go mine.” She stood and crossed the room to stand before him. “And when you’ve gone, I’ll wonder if I only dreamed of you.”
He traced the edge of her jaw, moving his hand over her throat. In the moonlight, she appeared like a goddess. Her hair was now unbound, and he stole a lock, bringing it to rest over her breasts.
“I was sent to you for a reason,” he said. “You know this.”
She faced him with those quiet gray eyes, and there was a softness around her. “I tell myself all the explanations, but none of them make any sense. Except the one that is impossible.”
Her hands moved upon his heart, her eyes downcast. He sensed that she desired him in the same way, but there was only farewell in her posture.
He moved his hands to her waist. “It may be impossible, but can you not see what is before you?”
“I see a stranger.”
“You see a man who desires you.” He caressed her hips, drawing her close so that she could not deny the truth. “And you know what it feels like when I touch you.”
She closed her eyes, and he spied the rise of gooseflesh upon her skin. “I’m afraid,” she admitted.
“My life and yours are intertwined, though your world is not mine. I have seen mysteries that I cannot understand.” His hands slid up her torso, resting alongside her breasts. He wanted to strip away this garment, to bare her skin and taste it. “I understand what a man feels with a beautiful woman, and I want to savor whatever moments I have left.”
She remained quiet but didn’t ask him to leave. He wanted to lie beside her this night, to touch her. The thought of not seeing her again brought a strange sense of loss.
“I worry about my son,” she whispered. “I know that my grandmother will give us a place to stay. But in London, they will label him a bastard. He’ll be shunned by other boys his age.”
When she pressed her cheek against his heart, he brought his arms around her. Her hair smelled faintly of flowers, and he stroked it back. “If anyone spoke ill of my son, I would confront the boys’ fathers. Or I would teach my boy how to defend himself.”
“You’d give him a knife,” she remarked, and he detected a note of disapproval in her voice.
“Or teach him to use his fists.” He drew his hand down her spine, keeping her close. “Let him fight his own battles, and he will win the respect of others.”
“Harry isn’t a bastard,” she insisted. “I married William. And even if there is no register to prove it, I meant the vows I spoke.”
He understood that this was a matter of honor to her. “And do you wish your husband was here with you now?”
She let out a rough sigh. “No. I wish I could prove that Harry is his legal heir. But I would rather be his widow than his wife.” Pulling back, her gray eyes stared into his. “Is that wrong of me?”
“He is dead,” Arik insisted. “Or he would have returned to you.” He pulled her arms around his neck, bringing her so close, he could feel every curve of her body. “And I do not intend to let you go to London alone, Juliana.”
“My grandmother won’t allow you to come with us. Especially not after I said you were the duke’s son.” She moved her hips against his, as if trying to pull back, but the motion was even more arousing. “You will have to stay here.”
“Try and stop me.” He lifted her into his arms and held her tightly. She started to protest, but then he pressed her down upon the bed. “I take what I want, Juliana. I don’t ask.”
CHAPTER SIX
Being at this Viking’s mercy was both terrifying and provocative. She knew he wanted to lie in her arms and join with her again. The memory of this man made her ache, craving the pleasure he’d given her before.
Arik Thorgrim confused her. He was hard-headed and arrogant, but he was far more intelligent than other men she’d met. He was a man of strategy, one who knew how to read people. And God help her, he seemed to see beneath her protests.
She did want him, despite all the reasons this was wrong. He was more alive than any other man she’d met. None of the gentlemen of the ton would behave in this way. They would court a woman by dancing with her or asking permission to call upon her.
Arik Thorgrim would never ask. It was not only his primitive mannerisms or his clothing. Everything about this man spoke of a warrior. And yet, he had never once harmed her. He was strong enough to overpower her at any moment, but he had not done so. He possessed the honor William had lacked.
When his mouth descended to her throat, her body cried out to steal a selfish moment with him. To take the pleasure he offered and give it in return.
He moved to sit beside her, before he guided her to stand up. “Take off the gown.”
A shiver of anticipation rippled through her at the thought of surrendering to him. Yes, her body cried out, while her brain refused to yield.
You could still be married, her conscience protested. She didn’t know for certain if William was dead. And despite her body’s
reckless needs, she did not want to be an adulteress.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “If I do this, it’s a betrayal of my husband.”
“In my land, if a wife is abandoned, she may divorce him and take another husband. The freedom is hers.”
“Here, a wife is treated as her husband’s property,” Juliana countered. “And the choices I make will affect my son.” If anyone discovered them together, it would lend credence to Marcus’s insistence that she had only been William’s mistress. She was not an immoral woman, nor could she surrender to desires that would bring about her ruin.
“Do you believe your husband is dead?” Arik asked.
She wanted to believe it. After so many years, the courts had declared Marcus as the guardian of the estates. Her husband’s brother was now, for all practical purposes, the Viscount Hawthorne.
“I think he must be,” she answered at last. “But it doesn’t mean I can allow myself to be seduced.” Even if William was dead, she had to be a model of propriety for Harry’s sake so that no one could point an accusing finger at her. But more than that, she was afraid of unlocking her own desires and reaching for the man she truly wanted.
Arik twisted a lock of her hair, touching it as if it were spun from silk. The look in his eyes held the promise of a sinful night, one she would never forget.
“Do you wish I had never touched you?” he asked, his voice low and deep.
His words were like a physical caress, luring her into temptation. “No.” She forced herself to meet his brown eyes. “I enjoyed being with you, though it was wrong.” The intensity in his gaze unnerved her. He looked as if he wanted to remove every barrier between them.
She reached out to touch his rough wool tunic. Arik guided her hand beneath it to his bare skin. She traced the scars of battle that edged his ribs.
Viking, her instincts warned.
“Are you real?” she whispered. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m going mad.”
“Do I feel real to you?”
A Viking For The Viscountess Page 10
