She shifted her weight slightly beneath his body.
He’d believed his need for her sated, but at her movement, he felt himself grow hard within her once more. “I have a solution that both of us, I hope, will approve.” He slipped his hands beneath her back and in a swift motion pulled her over on top of him. Cascades of auburn hair buried his face. He smoothed her hair back and was tenderly amused to see a flush of embarrassment on her face.
He grinned. “Here I am giving you the upper hand, so to speak. It doesn’t please you?”
She tried to slip away from him, but he gripped her shoulders. “By all the laws of God, if I were to let you go now, I would have myself hanged from the nearest elm branch. Don’t you know how you feel to me? Sit up, sweetheart, I would look at you.”
She seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before she slowly pulled her legs up to straddle him, as he settled her atop him, penetrating very slowly until he was high and deep inside her.
“Do I hurt you?” He lifted up her hips slightly with his hands as she tried to shift her position. “Tell me, did I hurt you? I’m very deep.”
Masses of hair swirled about her face as she slowly shook her head.
Suddenly she paled, her eyes darkened. “Oh, Julien, I must tell you—” Her voice broke off, strangled, and she stared at him numbly, naked misery in her eyes.
He couldn’t allow her to speak, not yet. He could picture the horror in her eyes at what she would think his betrayal of her, his animal lust. No, not yet.
He pushed her hard down against him, and she moaned, whether in pain or pleasure, he wasn’t certain. He wound his hands in her thick masses of hair and pulled her face to his and captured her mouth. There were no more words between them. He possessed her body, as completely as if she were a part of him. With infinite patience he brought her again to pleasure, willing her, for the moment at least, to forget.
36
When Julien awoke the next morning, he reached out for Kate. She wasn’t there. He was alone. For a brief instant he wondered if he had dreamed her coming to him, dreamed her standing there, looking at him, shrugging out of her nightgown, letting him love her and caress her—yes, a dream, a fantasy woven from his deep need for her.
Then he smiled a deep, satisfied smile, stretched to his full length, and brought his arms up behind his head. No dream. It had happened, all of it, and he’d given her pleasure, twice he’d given her exquisite pleasure. And now he wasn’t overly concerned that she’d left him before he’d awakened. It was quite likely that she felt deeply embarrassed after having initiated their lovemaking. Just thinking of her now, naked in his bed, with him over her, made him hard, made his heart speed up. He quickly rose and rang for Timmens.
He took a long drink of hot black coffee and stared out of the morning-room windows onto the gray winter day. If only it wouldn’t rain, today of all days. There was much to be done. There was a light tap on the door, and Mrs. Cradshaw eased through the doorway.
“A good morning to you, my lord,” she said, all bright cheeriness. He watched her gently lay several covered dishes on the sideboard.
“Such quantities of food would certainly make Sir Percy’s eyes light up, Emma,” he remarked, as he buttered a slice of hot toast.
She chuckled. “I daresay it would, my lord. Do you know that Cook has never enjoyed herself more? Despite the presence of the Frenchman, of course.” She hovered near the table, as if she were unwilling to leave the room. Julien granted her the privilege of an old retainer and did not dismiss her, sensing that she wished to speak to him of other matters.
“The countess will be down presently,” he said. Although she hadn’t stayed with him, she wasn’t a coward, and he didn’t believe it in her character to purposely avoid his company. Well, perhaps he wasn’t completely certain about that.
“Oh, that’s natural, my lord, that she be a trifle late in the mornings.”
Julien momentarily forgot the slice of crisp bacon on his fork and looked intently at Mrs. Cradshaw. She looked back at him comfortably and smiled, saying, “But another two or three weeks and her ladyship will be enjoying an early breakfast again with you.” Her look was placid, then she beamed at him like a damned mother who knew something he didn’t know.
He forced a smile. She’d been fussing over him since yesterday, he thought, and that sentimental look—Dear God, she knew last evening.
He didn’t know how he got the words out, but he did. “I suppose you have been giving her ladyship all sorts of good advice and time-honored remedies.”
“Oh, yes, indeed, my lord. I’m so happy she’s told you. Made me promise, her ladyship did, not to say a word to you, wanted to tell you herself. Such wonderful news it is, my lord. Fancy, opening up the nursery again.”
He cursed himself silently for a blind idiot. That was why she’d come to him last night. Her motive wasn’t to finally enjoy her husband because she wanted him, oh, no. He could imagine the hours she’d spent arriving at such a desperate and daring solution. But he realized he couldn’t allow her to discover just yet that he too knew. He cleared his brow and his throat. “Emma, the countess doesn’t need your assistance. Indeed, I expect her momentarily. I would much prefer that you meet with Nurse and inspect the nursery.” He spoke firmly, and she at once responded to the authority in his voice.
She brightened. “What a wonderful idea. Old Nanny is getting on in years now—so long it’s been since you needed her—but her brain’s sharp as a floor tack. Ah, she’ll be so excited, my lord, so pleased.” And she was gone even before he could nod dismissal.
He rose slowly and walked to the windows. Poor Kate. How could she have been so naive as to believe she could deceive him into believing the child was his? Did she not even realize that a man could tell whether or not a woman was a virgin? Evidently not, but why and how should she know?
He turned abruptly as the door to the morning room opened and his wife walked in as slowly as a person being forced to the gallows. With a palpable effort he said calmly, “Good morning, my dear. Do come and have your breakfast. Cook must have threatened the chickens, for there are mountains of eggs. As for the pigs, I dread to contemplate their fate. The bacon is crisp, as you like it.”
He realized he was rambling on, but he wished to give her no clues as to his own thoughts, and to lessen her nervous embarrassment at seeing him.
Her eyes didn’t quite meet his, and she mumbled an unintelligible greeting as she slipped into a chair.
He continued, all cheerful as a choirboy, “When you have finished, I would that we ride this morning. I don’t think it will rain, and the fresh air will be invigorating.”
He saw agreement register on her face before she spoke. Riding, she wouldn’t be obliged to speak much with him. He wasn’t a threat to her riding. “Yes, I’d like that, Julien.”
“I’ll leave you to your breakfast, then, my dear, and see to having the horses saddled. Would an hour be sufficient for you to finish your breakfast and change?”
“Oh yes, thank you, my lord.” She couldn’t prevent the look of relief that swept her features as he left the room.
* * *
Dressed warmly, a thick, lined velvet cloak buttoned to her throat, Kate ventured past Mannering out onto the front steps, where Julien held Astarte and his own powerful stallion.
“Stay, Thunderer.” He released the stallion’s reins to toss her into the saddle.
“They’re restless and ready for a gallop,” he said over his shoulder as he mounted. “Take care that Astarte doesn’t get away from you.” Although he didn’t think riding at a sedate pace could harm her in her condition, he had felt a moment’s hesitation about their outing on horseback.
“I suggest, my lord, that you see to your own horse,” she said, eyeing the sidling and prancing Thunderer. “Astarte is far too much a lady to give me a moment’s worry.”
“Just so,” he said mildly, and reined in his horse beside her to canter side by side down the
graveled drive.
He was relieved that she wasn’t paying any particular attention to the direction they took. It wasn’t until their horses broke through the woods into the small meadow bordering the copse that she suddenly reined in Astarte. “Julien, whatever are we doing here? I don’t want to be here. Let’s go to the lake, all right?”
He pulled up beside her, and before she knew what he was about, he grabbed Astarte’s reins from her gloved hands. He looked at her steadily. “It’s time to bury old ghosts, Kate, past time.”
“Whatever does that mean? Old ghosts? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, let’s leave here now.”
“Look around you. The copse, Kate. We must go there. That’s where the old ghosts are, and this morning we will bury them. Trust me, please.” He whipped the reins over Astarte’s head and urged Thunderer forward.
“No, damn you, no!” She tugged furiously at the reins, trying to pull them from his closed fist. He quickened their pace, and she had to grab the pommel to retain her balance.
“Stop now!” He heard the rising hysteria in her voice, but held firm. Jesus, he prayed he was right in what he was doing. He drew in at the edge of the copse, jumped from Thunderer’s back, and walked quickly to her side. She tried to pull away from him, but he grabbed her arms and pulled her down to the ground, holding her for a moment hard against his chest. He shook her lightly. Her face was growing more pale by the moment. She was beginning to look afraid. “Listen to me, please. You can no longer live in dread of this place. Haven’t you guessed that your nightmare had its beginning here? Look about you. There is nothing for you to fear here, not now, not any longer. And you’re not alone. I’m with you. There’s nothing here. Do you remember the small girl who played in this copse? It was her fairy kingdom, her private world, a place of security, until that day when the men came upon her. Look, Kate, damn you, open your eyes. Look! Do you remember?” He gently pushed her away from him, into the depths of the copse. Her hands twisted at the folds of her cloak and she stared ahead of her, unseeing.
“Was it summer that day?” He asked quietly, moving to stand beside her.
She didn’t answer him, and he saw that she was looking fixedly at an old tree trunk that was very nearly covered with thick ivy. She raised a gloved finger. “That was my throne,” she said softly. “How overgrown it has become.” She walked quickly toward the tree stump and gazed down at it, frowning.
He stood motionless and watched her in silence. She fluttered her hands about her, and she seemed to move more lightly, her step shortened.
“The mushrooms still flourish, that’s good, and they’re so very lush. The palace guards picked them for the queen. They should be flogged, the floor of the throne room is such a mess. All those brambles and that wretched encroaching ivy. And the queen’s musicians, playing soft music through the green swaying leaves.”
She sank down to her knees, her cloak billowing about her, and slowly began pulling away the tangled masses of ivy. She began to hum in a faraway voice, a child’s lilting song, as she brushed away the dead leaves from the top of the tree stump.
“The men came, Kate?”
She became suddenly quiet and crouched over, turning on her heels to gaze through him. “Oh, no! Be quiet, all of you. Do you not hear the sounds, the strange noises? Heavy, wooden boots, strangers coming here. Quickly, stop your playing, your music will attract their notice.”
She put a finger to her mouth and looked furtively about her. “Oh, no, they’re here. Hide, all of you, quickly. Yes, that’s right. Oh, I’m still to be seen.” A hard, proud look froze her eyes into bright slits, and her mouth was a straight, tight line. “I’m the queen, I will be safe. Look, here they come.” A spasm of uncertainty, then open fear, crumpled her features. She swayed back and forth on her heels, gazing mutely ahead of her.
“Kate, do you remember what happened? The men burst in upon you. They approached you, didn’t they?” He moved silently to her and went down on his knees beside her swaying form. She shook her head slowly back and forth, as if willing herself not to remember. She closed her eyes tightly and averted her head, willing herself not to see.
“What did the men do? Did they hurt you? Did they laugh and mock and admire themselves for finding you?”
Her eyes flew open, and she thrust her hands out in front of her to ward off something he couldn’t see. “No, no!” Her voice was a child’s, shrill and loud. She was shaking her head violently from side to side. She tried to scramble away from him, but Julien clasped her shoulders and held her firmly. “What do you want here? This is Brandon land. You must go, do you hear me?” The fear in her voice, the pathetic defiance, made gooseflesh rise on his arms. Through her eyes, he could picture the men, rough, perhaps drunk, coming upon the beautiful child, their dirty hands clutching at her long hair, ripping at her clothing, savagely exposing her.
She stiffened suddenly, pain suffusing her pale face, and cried out, a shrill, terrified cry that rent the silent woodland. She crumpled forward, and he caught her against his chest. Julien was beyond words, helpless and impotent in a fury that grated on his very soul. No retribution, no reckoning; and now it was too late, years too late.
With shaking hands he pressed her against him, trying somehow to make her feel his understanding, his compassion. Over and over he whispered her name.
He was long aware of the damp, chill air creeping through his greatcoat before she stirred in his arms, pushed against his chest and raised her white, tearstained face.
“It’s over now, love. There’s nothing more for you to fear. Do you understand?”
The naked pain in her eyes made his belly cramp. “Listen to me. You’ve got to face it now. It’s been over now, over for years upon years. The child’s pain can no longer be your pain. You must banish it from you. The ghosts are dead, Kate. All of them. Put them in the past where they belong. Let them go.”
“Ghosts . . . bury the ghosts. That’s what you said when you forced me here, isn’t it?”
“Yes. They’re no longer part of you, no longer a part of us. Let them go.” He gently brushed the tears away with his gloved fingers.
She gave her head a tiny shake, her eyes narrowed in confusion. “But I don’t understand, Julien. How did you know, for I did not. How?”
“The nightmare. You remembered and spoke in your sleep. To be certain, I spoke with your father.”
To his surprise, she flung away from him and rose shakily to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you force me through all this? Damn you. Why, Julien?”
“I wanted to, but I thought that if I told you, simply recounted what I knew, I couldn’t be sure you would remember, or understand. There was so much that—”
“Well, now you have your confession, my lord. Did Sir Oliver give you every sordid detail? Did he tell you all about his slut of a daughter? Did he tell you how he would beat me for really no reason at all, just to purify me, how he’d yell as he wielded that damned whip of his, just to save me. Well, did he gloat and laugh and tell you everything?”
He rose to his feet. “Oh, no, sweetheart, you don’t understand. All this drama, if you wish to call it that, I did it for you, to help you, to help you remember, so you could banish the past, so you could be free of it.”
She sneered at him, her hands balled into fists on her hips. “For me? Dear God, how you lie to yourself, just as you’ve always lied. There weren’t any nightmares until you forced me to wed you. There weren’t any ghosts until you resurrected them. Did I play my part well, my lord?”
“Damnation, you’re being ridiculous. You know I love you. You will listen to me.”
“No, I won’t. I have your full measure now, my lord. Do you intend a second visit to my father to tell him he was correct about his harlot of a daughter? Don’t think he’ll take me back. Or do you still believe my innocence? Do but recall how very passionate and abandoned I was in your bed last night. Come, Julien, was your precious Sarah ever more eager
for your mouth caressing her body than I was?”
“That’s quite enough. By God, you will stop this damned nonsense.” He moved quickly forward to grab her, to shake some sense into her, but she evaded his outstretched arms and rushed to Astarte. She tugged the reins from the withered branch and threw herself onto her horse’s back.
“Stop! Damnation, don’t be a fool!” He yelled even as he was running toward her. He lunged forward to grab the bridle, but Kate jerked up on the reins and Astarte snorted in surprise and plunged backward. Kate wheeled the startled horse about and dug in her heels.
Cold, desperate fear gripped him. The child, dear God, she had to remember the child.
Astarte was galloping erratically, crashing through the undergrowth of the woods, naked winter branches ripping at both horse and rider. Kate’s riding hat was torn from her head, drifting gently earthward, buoyed by the vivid blue ostrich feather, until it lay stark and helpless on the mossy floor of the woods, ground but an instant later into bright shreds by Thunderer’s pounding hooves.
The woods ended, and both horses cannoned onto a narrow lane, beset with deep, treacherous ruts, gaping wide, an arm’s length, many of them. Astarte veered off the road, as if sensing herself the dangers of those yawning holes, into a barren field.
Agonizing minutes passed as Thunderer strained to close the distance.
A long, low stone wall, for many years a meaningless boundary between properties, cut across the field to either side, its cold gray edges stark against the clouded sky. Surely now Kate would stop, she must stop.
“Kate, no! Astarte doesn’t jump without command!” His yell filled the empty space. He made a last desperate attempt to reach her, but she evaded his outstretched arm.
37
“Astarte, over!”
The futile command hung about him, muting his hearing, a command shouted too late, perhaps a command Astarte wouldn’t have obeyed in any case, for Astarte had been her horse since the moment she’d patted her nose and crooned words to her that he hadn’t begun to understand. He watched in helpless despair as Astarte reached the stone wall, gave a frightened snort, and veered sharply, grazing the jagged stone edges.
The Rebel Bride Page 33
