The Rebel Bride

by Catherine Coulter

  She shook her head vehemently, and he grinned at her. “No, don’t worry you’ll fall on your face. Just one glass, not half a bottle. Trust that I wouldn’t allow you to have more than one glass, for in truth, you are no fit companion when you are drunk.”

  “Very well, one glass. I also think you’re unkind to remind me of that night.”

  Unused to the heady port, she choked on her first sip and fell into a paroxysm of coughing. She quickly downed a glass of water, drew a few sputtering breaths, and leaned back in her chair.

  He gave her a pensive look, then sighed his martyr’s sigh. “You really must learn to conduct yourself with more grace, dear wife. It befits your new station, you know.”

  Without thought, she clutched her wineglass and readied herself to hurl the contents into his face. He read her intent quite easily. “Don’t do what you’re thinking. I’ll give you another statement of fact: If you commit such a childish act, I shall retaliate and treat you as a child.”

  She clutched the glass tighter.

  “In plain words, Kate, if you throw the wine at me, I shall throw you over my knee, bare what I am certain is a lovely backside, and spank you soundly. Who knows what would follow once my hand is on your hips? Surely something quite pleasurable. Surely something you would come to enjoy, perhaps very much.”

  She set the glass on the table. She’d been made to look very much the fool. Never again would she underestimate him. She rose quickly and strode quickly toward the door.

  “Running away? I didn’t think you so craven. Come, my dear, I do apologize.”

  He sounded perfectly sincere, and she stood uncertain, her hand on the doorknob.

  Julien said, silently congratulating himself on this sudden inspiration, “I have been given to understand that you play piquet quite well. Do you care to pit your skill against mine?”

  She instantly forgot everything. A warm surge of confidence flowed through her. She would beat him into the ground. She was good, very good.

  “Perhaps I might be interested. Piquet, you say? I do play occasionally. Very well, if you wish it. It will pass the time.” Without thought, she added, “Would you care to lay a wager on the outcome? Say, perhaps a shilling a point?”

  She had no sooner spoken the words than her face fell ludicrously, for she realized she had only the pitiful amount of money left from her Paris adventure.

  He merely smiled, saying, “Rather than guineas, why don’t we set more interesting stakes?”

  “What stakes do you have in mind?”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Let us say, Kate, that if I win, you will ceremoniously dispose of the gown you are wearing and willingly wear the wardrobe I’ve provided for you.” He felt quite pleased with himself, for the gown she had insisted on wearing for the past three days was in lamentable shape. If she lost to him, which he was quite sure she would, her pride would be salvaged, for she would be merely paying a debt of honor.

  “Yes, I will accept that condition, but know that I won’t lose, Julien. I never have.” She was suddenly aware of the gravy stain that had somehow managed to appear on the bodice of her dress during dinner. “And what is my prize if I win?”

  “Have you something in mind, Kate?”

  How could she tell him that if she won, she wanted nothing more than to have him vow not to touch her, to quit frightening her in that way? Her tongue seemed to tie itself into knots, and she stood in pained silence. Finally she managed to recall something that she very much wanted. Her words poured out in a rush, “If I win, Julien, I would that you teach me to fence like a man.”

  “Ho, I was under the impression that you had already learned all men’s sports from Harry.”

  “Ah, Harry, he’s a clod with a rapier. I butchered him at the second lesson. You should have seen the look on his face. I thought he would cry there for a while. You, my lord, you are somewhat skilled, are you not?”

  “Somewhat, my dear, somewhat.”

  “You’re not exaggerating? As one of the dandy set—”

  “Corinthian,” he said very gently.

  “Are they not the same thing? You are concerned only with your own pursuits, your own pleasures.”

  “Now that you’re my wife, I’m very much concerned with your pleasure as well. But let us cry peace. If you do not mind, ring for our host for a pack of cards.”

  Once presented with a rather grimy, well-used deck of cards, Julien rose and held out a chair for Kate. She seated herself at the small table Julien had arranged near the fire and began with a good deal of skill to shuffle the deck.

  Julien sat down across from her and found that he couldn’t help admiring her green eyes, glowing with excitement, and her auburn hair, shimmering with soft lights from the gentle light of the fire. He tore his gaze away from her face, only to find himself acutely aware of the gentle rise and fall of her breasts against the soft material of her gown. He didn’t notice the gravy stain.

  “Three rubbers, Kate? We will total points at the end to determine the winner.”

  She nodded in agreement and extended the shuffled cards toward him. “Would you care to cut for the deal, Julien?”

  “Yes, certainly.”

  In a practiced move she fanned the cards on the table toward him. He turned up the jack of hearts. She perused the cards for a moment and flipped over the king of diamonds. Her eyes sparkled. “My king wins, sir.”

  She played the first several hands carefully, making a concerted effort to assess Julien’s skill. As not a great number of points were scored, she found it difficult at the end of the first game to be certain of his abilities.

  The rubber went to her, and although there were not much more than a hundred points to her credit, she began to feel more sure of herself. It seemed to her that Julien was an overcautious player, particularly in his discards. She decided that he was much too conservative.

  During the second rubber, the luck seemed to run evenly between them, and since Julien didn’t give her overt reason to change her opinion of his play, she began to take small chances, risking a gain of substantial points by relying on her instincts. The rubber went to him, but again the points weren’t great and she consoled herself that it was only a mild setback. But as she dealt the cards, she was bothered that she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he’d won. He must have held the better cards after all. She allowed only a slight frown to pass over her forehead as she cut the deck to him.

  “A glass of claret?”

  “No, not for me. I must keep my wits about me. You’re playing well, Julien, and I just don’t understand it.”

  “I daresay you will understand very soon now.”

  During the third rubber, she found, hand after hand, that she failed to defeat his major holdings because of his careful and studied retention of some small card. She quickly changed her opinion of his skill, for he seemed to calculate odds to perfection, curse his hide. He played his cards decisively, no longer ruminating over discards, and it appeared to her that he had the disconcerting trick of summing up her hands with an accuracy that made her wonder bitterly if he could see through the cards. She threw caution to the wind and began to gamble on slim chances, discarding small cards for the chance of picking up an ace or a king. Her confidence plummeted, her nerves grew taut. It annoyed her no end that he appeared so repulsively casual and relaxed. The third rubber ended quickly when, in the final hand, Julien spread out his hand, all save one card, and said gently, “I trust my quint is good.”

  “Quite good.”

  “And the four kings and three aces?”

  “Also good.” She stared down at the impressive array of high cards and then back at the one card he still held in his hand.

  “Oh, hell and the devil,” she said. “I’ll be fleeced horribly if I don’t manage to guess this discard. Drat, I have no idea what to keep.”

  “No, I agree, there’s nothing at all to tell you.” He sat back in his chair, turning the long card first one way and then anot
her between his long fingers.

  “Very well, a spade.” She flung the card onto the table.

  “Sorry, but you must lose.” Julien turned the card toward her, and she saw that he held a small diamond.

  She gazed at the card for a long moment, unwilling to believe that she’d been trounced so thoroughly. How it galled her to lose to him when she had been so certain that she would defeat him. She fought with herself to take her loss gracefully.

  “It appears that you’ve bettered me.”

  “I had no doubt of the outcome.”

  She recoiled from his quietly spoken words, and a shadow of hurt and surprise filled her eyes. She couldn’t explain why, but it seemed very unlike him to make her feel her defeat more than necessary. “It’s not very kind of you to say that.”

  “You’re a fine player. You’re weakest in your discards. You don’t play the odds as you should. Of course I would beat you, for I have at least ten more years of experience in the game than you do. In time, if you attend carefully, your skill will equal mine.”

  As she gathered the cards together, she became painfully aware that he was regarding her steadily. She instantly forgot her vow to beat him at cards as she felt a surge of fear sweep through her. She dropped the cards onto the table and quickly squirmed out of her chair, her eyes fixed on the door.

  “Surely you don’t wish to leave so soon. Wouldn’t you like to discuss some of the finer points of the game?” He rose leisurely as he spoke and walked to the closed door, cutting off her only avenue of escape.

  “I want to go to bed now.” Was that her voice, all thin and sickly-sounding?

  “Precisely my idea, my dear. It’s encouraging that you begin to read my wishes.”

  “That isn’t what I mean and well you know it.”

  He walked slowly over to where she stood. She felt like a fox being stalked by only one big hunter.

  “But it’s exactly what I mean. I’ve let you have your way for four nights now. A very long time. Far too long for a man to wait to bed his bride. I want you and I want you now. Will you come with me?”

  She ran behind the card table, out of his reach. Though she was a scant three feet from him, the small barrier gave her courage.

  “No, I won’t come with you. Please, don’t you understand? I don’t want you to frighten me like that.”

  He walked around the card table.

  “No. Stay away from me. I swear I’ll fight you, Julien. I’ll hurt you. I’m no weakling. I’m strong and I hurt Harry many times.”

  He found himself torn between exasperation and a physical desire that was fast dying. The situation had gone beyond absurd. He couldn’t allow it to continue another night. Damnation. He drew a steadying breath. “Listen to me, wife. I find it refreshing that in liberal times virginal modesty still exists, but you carry it to an absurd point.” He leaned over and spread his hands on the table, his eyes on a level with hers.

  “When are you going to accept the fact that I’m your husband? When are you going to face up to the fact that you and I, madam, will be together until one of us cocks up his toes and passes to the hereafter?”

  She was trembling. Not wanting him to see her fear, she quickly whisked her shaking hands behind her back. “It’s not that, truly. It’s just that—”

  He waited for her to continue, but she fell silent, her hands knotting the material of her skirt. He was baffled, no other word for it. There she was, his wife, standing there, her face as white as the collar of her gown had been four days ago.

  He’d been so certain that her refusal of him was because of her damnable pride, her anger at him for removing all choice from her. He saw fear now, stark and livid in her eyes, real fear so deep and urgent that he couldn’t begin to imagine what was the matter. He cudgeled his brain in an effort to figure out what to do, what to think about this situation.

  “Kate, help me to understand you. I know your mother died when you were quite young. In fact, you were alone at an age when a mother’s advice and teaching are very important.” He paused a moment, studying her face, but oddly, she was simply looking at him blankly, as if she hadn’t even heard him.

  “A father and a brother aren’t the same. Did your father warn you against men? Did he frighten you? Did he tell you that men would hurt you, perhaps even harm you? Did he try to make you believe that a physical love between a husband and wife was sinful?”

  A fragile image of her mother rose in Kate’s mind. She was crooning gentle words to her, somehow consoling her, stroking her hair. She felt pain, then, but it was long-ago pain that no longer existed, at least in her body. It was still there, though in her mind, somewhere, somewhere. The fleeting picture brought with it inexplicable panic.

  “Did he tell you that a husband would treat you badly? Did he try to convince you it was disgusting?”

  “Oh no, no.” She wished she hadn’t spoken, for her words dissolved her mother’s face and with it the strange memory.

  “Very well, then,” he said and straightened to his full height. “I must then assume that you’re simply thwarting me, for whatever reason I have yet to fathom. I hope you don’t choke on your pride, Kate. I am very tired of playing your adversary in a game I can’t begin to understand.” He waited a moment, sighed, then turned to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of claret.

  She looked after him, perplexed, and as he didn’t turn back to her, she picked up her skirts and walked slowly from the room.

  22

  Julien sat alone in the private parlor the following morning, his hands curled around a warm cup of coffee, waiting for his bride of nearly a week now who wasn’t yet his wife. He wondered idly if she would honor her lost wager and appear in a gown he’d bought for her. He had not long to dwell on this question, for soon the landlord opened the door and she swept past poor old Perchon into the room, dressed in the height of fashion and wearing a militant expression. He silently applauded his taste, for the lavender muslin, secured below her bosom with rosebud lace, became her to perfection. He rose lazily from his chair and proffered her a deep bow. “How charming you are this morning, my dear.”

  “I’m gratified you think so highly of your own taste.” She seated herself at the breakfast table. Secretly she was quite pleased with the picture she presented, and impressed with the style and cut of the gown. She wished only that it had been she who’d chosen it and not Julien.

  “Very well. How did you know my size?”

  “Would you like a cup of tea before the inquisition begins? No, I see that you want an answer now. Very well. It was a lucky guess. The top of your head comes to my chin. I held out my hands like this and decided your breasts would fill them nicely. I’ve clasped you about your waist and found it about so.” He made his hands into a nearly touching circle, to which she snorted. “As to your hips, I’m fortunate that I’ve seen you in breeches. Do you wish to know anything else?”

  “I don’t believe you. Perhaps you bribed my maid for the measurements.”

  His eyes twinkled. “As you will. Odd that you don’t believe the truth when you hear it.”

  “It’s rubbish. I’m not a fool, Julien. It’s obvious you gained such knowledge by purchasing such garments for your mistresses.” She drew back, flushed, for she hadn’t meant to say anything of the sort and was appalled at her shrew’s voice. If she thought he’d be a gentleman and ignore her unfortunate lapse, she was sadly mistaken.

  “Ho, my dear, do I detect a note of jealousy? Perhaps a quiver of resentment? Don’t worry, since my marriage I’ve given all my mistresses a permanent congé.”

  “You might very well change your mind about that. It’s quite possible you’ll soon find yourself wishing for their amiable company.”

  “Please don’t hold yourself in low esteem. You will be all that I could ever desire in a woman. It appears it will just take me a while to bring you to the sticking point.”

  “I’m not hungry and you look as if you’ve eaten an entire cache of eg
gs and drunk an urn of coffee. Shall we continue our journey?”

  “Our wedding trip,” he said in his best nobleman’s drawl.

  They bowled out of the courtyard of the Coeur de Lyon not long thereafter, and as Julien wished to reach the villa by late afternoon, they maintained a smart pace throughout the morning, halting only once to change horses. To Kate’s relief, she was relieved of his company for the better part of the afternoon, as he decided to take the reins.

  “We’ve a sluggish leader who needs a firm hand. I hope you don’t mind being alone, wife.”

  She raised her brows at him. As he stepped from the chaise, he remarked over his shoulder, “It’s a sad trial. It appears my firm hand is needed in so many things. From my bride’s clothes to my rented horses.”

  Her attention was suddenly claimed by a very interesting rock formation by the side of the road. But it wasn’t long before she found that she was grinning despite herself, forced to admit that he was very good with the horses—rot his eyes—for the chaise was moving at a smoother pace, with fewer jolts and lurches.

  She settled back and enjoyed the beautiful Swiss countryside that unfolded outside her window, trying to forget that she’d condemned it so shortly before. Such a short time before that, it would never have occurred to her even to think so a stupid thing, but so much had changed since the day she had first met the earl of March. As she recalled the shocked look on his face when he realized that his duelist was a girl, her lips curled into a smile. How very pleasant too were the early days she’d spent in his company. She’d been so very comfortable with him, speaking her mind, never mincing words. He’d been the most delightful of companions. She’d trusted him, as a friend, never really seeing him as a man, as a man who would want her.

  She sighed and leaned back against the squabs, closing her eyes. He had destroyed those halcyon days and had robbed her of all comfort and peace of mind. She remembered unwillingly the day he’d asked her to wed him, the suffocating fear that had risen unbidden to choke her. She understood her fear not one whit better than she had then. She knew only that it was deep within her, a part of her from which she could not seem to free herself.