The Rebel Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  As he rose to ring for a lackey, he wondered idly how long she would insist upon wearing the same gown.

  The post chaise he’d procured for their trip to Switzerland was well-sprung and elegantly furnished with blue-satin squabs and warm blue-velvet rugs. But though the horses stood at over fifteen hands and were blessed with broad chests and powerful thighs, Julien found that they didn’t possess the speed of his own bays.

  He watched his new wife with some amusement as she tried valiantly not to appear interested in the French countryside. He well understood her dilemma and thought her altogether adorable. He also thought her so appealing that he had to shift position several times for the pain it brought to his groin.

  They ate their lunch in the small town of Brayville, drinking the local cider and feasting on cold chicken, cheese, and crunchy warm bread. Feeling fortified by the heady cider, Julien found himself, not long after their return to the carriage, clearing his throat to gain her attention.

  “I ask you to listen to me for a moment.”

  “Oh?” A brow went up a good inch. “Have you planned a delightful detour from our trip to Switzerland? Are we going to the Barbary Coast? Perhaps you’ll be so infuriated with me that you’ll sell me to a slaver?”

  “Good God, woman. What do you read?”

  “I read everything. I’m not ignorant, nor am I stupid.”

  “I never believed you were—well, perhaps just a bit of both of those things, but not an overabundance. Now, listen to me, for now I’m perfectly serious. My intention is to cease these meaningless hostilities between us. You thought me cruel, perhaps overbearing in my treatment of you in London. No, don’t interrupt me, let me finish. When you refused me, I was forced to admit to myself that I had rushed into the matter too quickly, that I hadn’t given you sufficient time to judge your feelings for me. I never meant to insult you. Perhaps I am overly proud—arrogant perhaps, as Harry said—but I found I simply couldn’t lose you.”

  He paused for a moment, thinking that no man had ever before so abased himself. He looked at her searchingly. His speech didn’t seem to be going as well as he had expected, but he pursued it anyway, speaking more rapidly.

  “I knew that I couldn’t continue to see you at Brandon Hall, for your father would force you to meet with me and perhaps try to beat you into submission. You must understand, Kate, I couldn’t allow you to remain under his roof any longer than necessary. That’s why I arranged for you to go to London, to Lady Bellingham. There, at least, I knew I could control the situation. You thought me cruel, hard. I tell you now that I had no other choice in the matter. My intention was and still is to do what is best for both of us. That I forced you to marry me was not a reprehensible act. I had to wed you as speedily as possible after your flight to Paris, for had I not, had I left you alone to your own devices, you would eventually have had to return to England, your reputation ruined.

  “As for my threat about the drug, I don’t know if such a drug exists. Perhaps opium, but it’s nasty stuff and I would never give you such a thing. It’s just that I couldn’t think of any other way to secure your agreement.”

  “There was no drug?” She was appalled at her own gullibility.

  “No. And I wouldn’t have you think me a licentious rake, for I would have never forcibly taken you aboard my yacht.”

  “You’re quite right, I’m both ignorant and stupid. It’s also clear that I’m a fool and that you have admirable sangfroid, my lord, for I didn’t ever doubt that you were utterly ruthless and implacable in gaining your ends. No drug! Damn you to the Devil.”

  “Perhaps it was merely that I felt compelled to use whatever tactics I needed to secure you as my wife.”

  “Nothing has changed. I told you I never wanted to marry any man, not even your magnificent self. But you wouldn’t heed me. Well, my lord, you’ve paid dear for a wife who loathes you. I swear to you that you’ll never enjoy your purchase.”

  She’d gotten to him at last, the damnable shrew. She was illogical, stubborn, ah, but passionate. “Don’t rant nonsense at me, Kate. It now does you no credit. We’re married and that is the end to it. You speak of my purchase. Let me tell you, madam, you’re now the one being arrogant and implacable.”

  “By God, you dare to criticize my actions? You pass all bounds. You exceed all probabilities, you outrank even the rankest species that now exists on this earth.”

  “You need to close down that malicious brain of yours.” He leaned over and dropped a hand on her shoulder, gripping it for an instant. She tried to pull away, but he grasped both her shoulders, jerking her close to his face. He’d meant to give her a good yelling-at, but found instead that his body went from anger to lust. It was all of an instant, and he hated it, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. In a swift motion he cupped her face between his hands and pressed his mouth against hers. Dear God, she was so warm and sweet and he wanted her to open her mouth for him, but she didn’t, of course. She tried to twist free of him, but he simply lifted her bodily and held her firmly in the circle of his arms. His hands were on her breasts, kneading her, feeling their weight in his hands, learning her, and he thought he’d die if he couldn’t have her now, this very instant. He flattened his hand on her belly, cursing the damned cloth that kept her from him, and his hand went lower, and his breathing hitched painfully.

  At that moment the chaise lurched violently, throwing them both to the opposite seat. As they sprawled on the cushions, Julien automatically released her. She scrambled away from him, clutching desperately at the door. He grabbed her hand and pulled her upright opposite him. All desire and anger left him as he stared at her white, shocked face.

  Julien turned and looked out the chaise window. They were moving at a comfortable pace again. He methodically straightened his clothes and his cravat. He felt rather irritated at her. For God’s sake, she was still fully clothed. If he had his way, she’d be sitting there naked and white and soft and he’d be sweating and heaving with lust just looking at her. Still, he had scared the bloody hell out of her. But she was his wife, she was his and . . . “I apologize for being so enthusiastic. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He was beginning to feel the clumsy fool and thus spoke with a harshness of voice he didn’t intend. He saw her eyes darken with sudden anger. Trust her not to hold to calm and control for very long.

  He drew a deep breath and continued in a more controlled voice. “The fact is, we’re man and wife. Can you not doubt that I wish to consummate our marriage, or, for that matter, that I wish you to bear my children? Although you cannot yet bring yourself to admit it, ours is a love match and not a marriage of convenience.”

  “I would rather die than let you touch me, do you understand, my lord? Ours is no love match, for I feel none for you, and your treatment of me—well, you speak well, my lord, as fluently as the devil trying to bargain for a new soul. But you cloak your lust with words of love. You disgust me, Julien. Do you hear?”

  He curbed his fury. To match her anger would achieve naught. She was overwrought, and his sudden passion for her had made her totally unreasonable. He said with surprising gentleness, “Enough said, Kate. Believe me, though, I will make you my wife, in every way. I love you, and soon you’ll come to trust me.”

  “You dream, my lord, you believe your own fantasies. In truth, I would sooner trust any one of the Carlton House set than you, and Harry has told me that group is reprehensible, dissolute and hardened gamesters.”

  “Harry doesn’t know the half of it,” he said. “Actually, I’m not at all a hardened gamester.”

  She rearranged her bonnet, which was sitting precariously atop her hair, folded her hands primly in her lap, and looked out, unseeing, onto the French countryside.

  * * *

  They arrived in Geneva late in the afternoon three days later. Kate found she simply couldn’t restrain her appreciation when Lake Geneva came into view. Though it was early September, the mountains surrounding the lake were snowcapped, and the setti
ng sun cast a fairyland glow on the water.

  “Oh goodness, how lovely it is.”

  “Yes, it is rather beautiful. I’m delighted you’ve changed your opinion.”

  She drew back into the chaise and fastened her eyes on the cushions. “Well, perhaps it is passable.”

  She couldn’t prevent her eyes from going to his face, and she saw his brows rise in ironic amusement. She flushed, mortified at her own churlishness, and wanted to cosh him at the same time for making her so very much aware of it.

  Soon, though, she became absorbed with the endless rows of quaint shops that lined the cobblestone streets, each sporting colorful signs and displays. The Swiss themselves, no less colorfully arrayed than their shop fronts, bustled out onto the walkways, apparently hurrying to their homes for the evening.

  The Coeur de Lyon was a two-storied, gabled brick building of some antiquity, which stood back from the street, nearly hidden from view by giant elm trees. The courtyard surged with activity, and no sooner did their chaise pull to a halt than two stable lads appeared to grab the reins.

  She allowed Julien to assist her from the chaise and was thankful that she had done so, for her legs were weak from their long-cramped position. She looked up to see a very rotund, quite bald little man emerge from the auberge to greet them.

  “My lord March. What a long time it has been. A pleasure to see you again, my lord, a pleasure indeed.” He bowed, all gracious compliance and deference.

  “Good evening, Perchon. Your establishment prospers, I see. This is my wife, and it is her first visit to your beautiful country.”

  Monsieur Perchon beamed, bowed, and turned to give instructions in rapid French to two of his henchmen.

  “Now, my lord, my lady, if you will please to follow me. Your accommodations, I assure you, are quite in order.”

  She was somewhat surprised that Monsieur Perchon spoke English so well. She was soon to discover that he spoke French, German, and Italian with equal ease.

  A slender, brown-eyed maid, who reminded Kate of a small, timid doe, was assigned to see to her comfort, and as she prepared to follow the maid up the winding wooden stairs to her chamber, Julien called to her, “Put on a warm cloak, Kate, and we’ll explore before dinner.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she had no such warm cloak, when Julien, apparently guessing her objection, added smoothly, “You’ll find such a cloak in your large trunk, my dear. It is, I believe, of blue velvet and lined with ermine.”

  Ha, he’d bought it for her. She’d see him in hell before she’d wear any of the clothes he’d bought her. “The pelisse I’m wearing will be perfectly adequate, thank you, sir.”

  She felt rather deflated when he turned away from her and said over his shoulder, “As you wish. Surely you know best. I will appreciate having a hot-blooded woman for my wife. I’ll expect you in the parlor in five minutes.”

  She untied the strings on her pelisse and tossed it, not without some violence, onto the bed. She moved to the small, blazing fire and warmed her hands for a moment before flinging herself down into a chair. Orders, nothing but orders from his lordship. She gnawed at her thumbnail and tried to cool her anger, for she had learned through painful and humiliating experience that such violent emotion dulled her wits and slowed her tongue. She forced herself to relax and settle back into the chair. She looked dispassionately at her chewed nail and thought, not without satisfaction, that the last three days had been more of a trial to Julien than to her, for after their brief and violent scene in the chaise, she’d treated him with a kind of indifferent courtesy. Instinctively she knew it was her best weapon against him. It had, at least, kept him in check.

  “Excuse me, my lady, can I help you change?”

  Kate jerked her head up, thinking that she had dawdled a sufficient length of time, and rather proudly smoothed her travel-stained gown. She rose, grinning. “No, thank you. I believe I look fine as a five pence. Ah, yes, please give me my pelisse.”

  There was a rather dubious look in the maid’s soft brown eyes, for she’d unpacked many of the lovely gowns. She bobbed a curtsy and handed Kate her worn pelisse.

  As Kate swept past the smiling landlord into the private parlor, she rather hoped that Julien would be irritated, since a good half-hour had passed. She pulled up short in the middle of the room to find him seated comfortably before a blazing fire, engrossed in reading a paper.

  Julien finally raised his eyes from the paper and said with some surprise, “Good heavens, that was indeed a short five minutes. How very impolite of me. My pardon, my dear. Have you been waiting for me long?”

  “You are the most—” She caught herself just in time. She yawned and quickly changed her tone. “If you wish to continue with your paper, it would be quite shabby of me to take you away to what one might consider a boring pastime.”

  “Ah, but it would surely be ill-bred of me to prefer the company of a newspaper over that of my charming bride. Do allow me a few minutes to put on my greatcoat and we’ll be off.”

  He rose and drew on his coat and gloves in a leisurely manner. He sauntered over to her and murmured ironically, “Do forgive me for making you wait, my dear. It takes such a damnably long time to pull on one’s gloves. Shall we go?”

  As they stepped from the auberge, a gust of cold evening wind whipped through Kate’s thin pelisse and chilled her to the bone.

  “How selfish of me. If not precisely selfish, then inconsiderate and thoughtless. Perhaps it’s too chilly for a stroll.”

  She stuck her face into the wind. “On the contrary, it’s a beautiful evening for a walk. I have always maintained that it’s quite ridiculous to curb one’s activities when the weather isn’t exactly what one would wish. There is but a small nip in the air.”

  She drew her pelisse closely about her and strode ahead of him like an Amazon going into battle.

  He grinned at her back. He hoped she wouldn’t catch a chill.

  She soon found that she had to suffer another inconvenience. The uneven cobblestones cut into her feet through the soft kid shoes, and she was forced to stop for a moment to pick out an errant pebble that had worked its way to the sole of her foot.

  He stopped beside her, but appeared quite unconcerned with her difficulty, seemingly engrossed in his contemplation of Lake Geneva. She threw the pebble at him instead, but missed.

  By the time they reached the water’s edge, her teeth were chattering.

  “Look over there, Kate.” He tugged at her sleeve and pointed her toward the mountains on the other side of the lake.

  “That is Mont Blanc—White Mountain. Out of the ordinary, isn’t it?”

  “Only the top of it is white. The name isn’t right. It’s obvious the Swiss have no imagination.” She would have most willingly traded the view of that awesome snowcapped peak for a pair of stout walking shoes and a warm cloak.

  He turned to her in some surprise. “Why, I was under the impression that the racket of towns didn’t find favor with you, that you much preferred the openness and solitude of nature.”

  “That is perfectly true. But as you see, I am to be denied solitude.”

  He smiled as fervently at her as a priest bent upon saving a soul. “My dearest wife, since you and I have entered the blessed state of matrimony, we must be considered as one in spirit and in all things.”

  “It must be obvious to you, Julien, that these considerations of marriage don’t apply to us. I do wish you’d stop beggaring the question.”

  “I’m beggaring nothing. These, ah, considerations will apply, you’ll see. Do you grow impatient?”

  “The only thing I’m impatient for is my dinner. I only hope the damned Swiss know how to cook proper English fare.”

  He didn’t answer her, just leaned down and sought out a smooth pebble. Having selected a stone of the quality he desired, he flicked his wrist and sent the pebble jumping and careening wildly over the placid water. Seemingly satisfied with the number of skips he ac
hieved, he turned to her, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “Impatient only for your dinner, my dear? I can and I will give you much greater pleasure than a simple meal.”

  21

  Thank God they were in the open, in a very public place. If she’d been alone with him, she knew, just knew deep down, that she’d have felt unreasoning fear at his words. As it was, all she felt was wonderful anger. “Don’t you dare taunt me with your man’s threats, my lord.”

  “Man’s threats? I don’t recall having threatened you, leastwise in the past few minutes. When you come to know me better, you’ll discover that I don’t make threats. I make but statements of fact.”

  “They are one and the same thing coming from you, Julien. I’ve told you that I don’t like you. I can’t believe you so unintelligent as to have so quickly forgotten my words.”

  She’d hoped to provoke him, to put at least a small dent in his armor, but she hadn’t. He gazed at her impassively, a gleam of amusement lighting his eyes, and she saw that gleam and was sorely tried by it.

  He was finding himself hard to maintain the calm amusement she found so annoying. He’d failed miserably with his carefully thought-out speech to her in the carriage the morning after their marriage, had succeeded only in providing her with more ammunition for her skirmishes against him. He wondered, somewhat pensively, what the devil he was going to do now.

  “Come,” he said after a moment, “it’s time we returned. It will be dark in but a few minutes.”

  She gave him a clipped nod and, he saw that she was shivering with cold. “Just a moment, my dear,” he said.

  She stopped and looked at him questioningly, brows raised. He shrugged out of his greatcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders. She drew back, uncertain whether or not to protest.

  “No,” he said. “Don’t. Come now.”

  Throughout their evening meal in the cozy private parlor, he spoke to her hardly at all, and it seemed to Kate that he appeared rather distracted. She wondered if he was employing a new stratagem. She was soon disabused of this notion, when, after their meal, as the landlord poured him a glass of port, Julien asked, “Would you care to join me?”