The Wedding Night of an English Rogue

by Jillian Hunter

  “Russell.”

  “How nice. You still recognize me.”

  It seemed that he wouldn’t make this easy on either of them. She had not expected it, not deep inside, but all of a sudden she wished she’d taken Heath up on his promise to handle this. “I don’t know what to say.”

  His voice lashed her. “I risked my life to save Heath years ago, and I would have done so to protect you. I left you with him because I trusted you both. How could you do this to me? Don’t you care what people will say?”

  She glanced out the window. Heath stood at the marble fountain in the courtyard, his broad shoulders and back toward her. His hair shone blue-black in the sunlight. Alone. He seemed so alone. She ached to join him, to lift the darkness from his expression.

  What had he once confessed to her? That he thought he was destined to be alone? It wasn’t true. She would walk through the flames of hell to be at his side.

  She heard Russell move behind her, his voice imperious, urgent. He did not like to lose. He shoved a brass telescope out of his way. “Did you hear me, damnit?”

  She hadn’t really heard him. Heath had turned, distracting her. She studied his hawkish profile in the sunlight. Standing here with another man made her ache for her lover. What a wicked boy he’d been last night. She felt tender all over, a woman well seduced, indeed. She decided she might sneak back to Audrey for a few more lessons. Heath seemed to appreciate her knowledge. “Did you say something, Russell?”

  “I know that the two of you have been lovers. Don’t deny it.”

  He waved a paper in her face, blocking her view of the rogue she adored. Heavens above, it was the satirical cartoon of a naked Heath Boscastle mounted on a flaming chariot. That sketch refused to die.

  “I would wager a guess,” Russell said in an ugly voice, “that the pair of you had a good laugh at my expense over this. Can you explain it?”

  She took the pamphlet out of his hand. “No. I can’t.”

  “But it is your work?”

  She stared down at the sketch, at Heath’s magnificent body, all that sculpted muscle and sinew. “He’s God’s work,” she said with an admiring sigh. “Magnificent, isn’t he?”

  “Magnificent?” A muscle jumped in Russell’s jaw. “So you admit that you actually drew this disgusting thing?”

  She smiled a little mysteriously but did not answer him. Her focus had returned to Heath. He had begun to walk toward the house with that lean-hipped, agile horseman’s grace that made her breath catch. She knew exactly what he could do with those hips. She wanted him to do it to her now. She’d lost so many years of his love that she resented wasting even the time it took to properly end her engagement.

  “Look at me, Julia,” Russell commanded her in his terrifying soldier’s tone.

  She did. He was an attractive man, an ambitious man, not entirely bad. Or not bad enough. Julia certainly found herself drawn to devilish men. But Russell wasn’t her devil. He never had been. Thank goodness she had been saved from marrying him.

  He raised his brow, apparently satisfied that he had reached her. “That’s better. Now I have your attention.” He took her chin in his calloused hand. “The Boscastles are a seductive family. I know the rogue tempted you. I know how hard it is to resist the lot of them. Growing up I wished to be part of their world more than anything.”

  She swallowed, feeling sympathy for him against her will. Russell had been raised by an uncaring aunt, his parents dying while he was an infant. He had done well for himself, considering his circumstances. Ruthless ambition and hard work had carried him far. But he would never be satisfied with what he had gained. He would never amass enough wealth, enough acclaim, enough women to appease his restless nature. She had agreed to marry him for all the wrong reasons. Because she was alone, grateful for his support. She had not known, had not dreamed that Heath would wait for her.

  “You were mine first,” he said, a note of desperation in his voice.

  “No.” Heath walked into the room. There wasn’t a trace of understanding or forgiveness on his face. “She was mine first.” He leaned back against the door with his arms folded across his chest. “And you betrayed her. You have only yourself to blame. You asked me to protect her, and I have. From you.”

  Russell’s gaze darted to her in disdain. “Is that how he lured you to his bed?”

  “Do not be such an insulting idiot, Russell,” she said indignantly. “You have a mistress. Judging by her condition, you’ve paid far more attention to her than you have to me.”

  He shrugged in bewilderment. “Every man in my position has a mistress. I suppose Boscastle ran back to tell you?”

  “He did not,” Julia said, “but I wish he had.”

  Russell placed his hands on her shoulders, apparently deciding he should try another tack. “I am the injured party. The wronged man.”

  Heath advanced on him, a muscle tightening in his jaw. “Take your hands off her, Russell.”

  Julia drew a relieved breath when Russell immediately complied. Watching Heath now, his face harsh and uncompromising, it was undoubtedly wise to obey.

  “I cannot afford the scandal of a duel,” Russell said coldly. “I am probably ruined as it is. Auclair has led me on a goose chase when it appears he was in London all along. My fiancée and friend have disgraced me—”

  Heath glanced at Julia. “Leave us alone, please.”

  She looked at Russell. He refused to meet her gaze. Clearly he had not been told that Auclair was dead, that he had missed his golden chance for acclaim. Realizing Heath had stolen this, too, would not improve his temper. “I don’t know what to say to you, Russell.”

  He laughed without humor. “I shall need time to think this over.”

  She drew a breath. She felt an overwhelming sense of relief. “It is over. I hope you can accept that as I have.”

  Heath closed the door as soon as she left the room. She and Russell had been given all the time they needed to end their engagement. He did not want her anywhere near the man again. He suspected that Russell would try to manipulate her, if not exert emotional blackmail to force her hand. More than anything his colossal pride had suffered a blow. He would recover. But not with Julia at his side. He did not deserve her. Heath would not allow Russell the chance to try to make amends.

  “Auclair is dead,” he said, without preamble. “By my hand.”

  Russell looked up in astonishment. “What?”

  “He came here.” Heath regarded him in thoughtful silence. “It seems that I was the one he wanted to punish the most.”

  “You killed him?” Russell’s mouth tightened in an unpleasant sneer. “So even that was stolen from me? What a hero you are.”

  “Did you know that he wanted to kill me?”

  “You escaped his guard, and he was mad. No one can find reason in the irrational. There was no logic in his insanity.”

  “Ah. Is it all that simple?”

  Russell turned back to the window. “How the hell do I know what the bastard had in mind? He was a madman. Have you forgotten what he did to you?” He glanced around, his gaze challenging Heath. “I did not forget. You were half dead when I found you. You were practically mad yourself.”

  “Apparently I have forgotten even more than that.” Heath shook his head. “Auclair claims I killed his sister.”

  Russell’s shoulders tensed beneath his riding coat. He nodded without looking at Heath. “I saw no reason to remind you. It was an act of self-defense, and you had no idea what you were doing. She was French, after all, and she pretended to help you. She also had a gun. You killed her before she killed you. Or so it seemed.”

  Heath struggled to form an image in his mind of what had happened. He could remember an arcade, washing his bloodied face in a frozen well. He remembered running, stumbling, his muscles weak. Hamm lifting him to his feet. The endless bumping on the wagon on an icy rutted road. Killing a young woman? He could not conceive of it.

  “What difference does
it make now anyway?” Russell asked dispassionately. “It was war. There is nothing to be done for it. The problem is how to fix the scandal that you and Julia have created.”

  “You had a chance to win her,” Heath said, his gaze cynical. “You gambled and lost.”

  “So it would appear,” Russell said sourly. “A woman can be replaced, but the damage to my career is irreparable. Auclair was meant to be mine. I have returned home empty-handed and a fool into the bargain.”

  “Perhaps not.” Heath paused. “I have a suggestion, a gentleman’s trade if you will. I do not want the credit for getting Auclair, but I do want Julia.”

  Russell stared at him, his mouth twisting in a bitter line. “Auclair for Julia? Are you proposing a barter?”

  “No one outside this estate knows that he is dead yet. The authorities will be informed in an hour.”

  Russell did not respond, but Heath knew the decision had been made. It was a way for Russell to save face, to appear to have sacrificed his personal life for his country. Heath would protect Julia from scandal. The gossip of their love affair would begin to dissipate the day they were married. Society would accept them. They might not return the favor.

  Russell bent to pick up the pamphlet that he had dropped on the carpet. “Have you seen this?”

  Heath glanced down and suppressed a smile, his level gaze returning to Russell’s face. “Yes.”

  Russell shook his head. “Don’t tell me you posed for it.”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.” Heath cleared his throat. “It was for charity.”

  Heath called for Drake to discuss with Russell the details of turning Auclair’s body over to the authorities. He did not care to be involved. He would rather find Julia. They were both free now; he felt lifted from him a darkness that he had lived with for so long that it had become part of him. There was a time to be wise and a time to be wicked. A time for war and for love.

  He ran up the stairs to cross the long private hallway to her room. He found Hamm standing at attention, guarding her room as he had been instructed. His gaunt, pockmarked face wore a somber expression.

  “Is Lady Whitby waiting for me?” he asked.

  “Yes, my lord, but . . . if I may have a word alone with you before you visit her?”

  “Is something the matter?” Heath asked.

  “I have a confession to make.”

  “If you dropped another dish, you needn’t bother mentioning it.”

  “I had given my word that I would never tell. Sir Russell was my commanding officer, as well as yours. He swore me to secrecy.”

  Heath stared across the hall to Julia’s door. “This sounds far more serious than a broken dish. Please continue, Hamm.”

  A look of distress darkened the man’s rough face. “He left you standing there by the woman’s body so that the other men would see you and assume you’d killed her. Forgive me. I did not mean to eavesdrop on you and your brothers last night.”

  “You knew about Auclair’s sister?”

  “I remember a young woman in the convent. I didn’t know who she was at the time. I don’t believe Sir Russell ever accused you openly of killing her. He simply did not disagree when it was assumed you’d done it. No one ever spoke of it until now.”

  Heath swallowed, another burden lifted from his soul. “Are you telling me that Russell killed her?”

  “I did not see him do it. I can only suspect that he reacted in self-defense and was ashamed to admit it. You ran in to him when the shot was fired. My lord, you were in such a bad way I could have convinced you I was the king.”

  “It is done now, Hamm. You have given me more comfort than you know. Thank you.”

  “I was warned never to speak of it.”

  “It will never be discussed again.”

  Chapter 31

  Julia met Heath at the end of the tower wing hallway the following morning. He looked so remarkably refreshed in his gray tailcoat and pantaloons that an innocent observer would never guess he had taken her in every position possible throughout the night.

  In fact, they had parted company only an hour ago.

  “You look exceptionally lovely today,” he said and claimed her arm, as if he hadn’t just seen her naked in her bath, then helped her hook her bodice.

  She smoothed down the skirt of her cream wool morning gown. “I feel exceptionally ravished.”

  “I suggest we start to build your stamina. You have years of ravishment ahead.”

  They walked down the wide staircase arm in arm. “Once again it was not a complaint.”

  His lips quirked into a grin. “A compliment?”

  She stared straight ahead, her voice lowering. “I’m ashamed to admit that it was.”

  “Passion is nothing to be ashamed of, Julia. Not between husband and wife.”

  “We’re not married yet.”

  “We will be soon enough.”

  “Nothing will stop us this time, will it?” she asked, pausing on the bottom of the stairs.

  “No. Why do you think I had Hamm guarding your room?” He drew her gently into his arms and kissed her, his love for her shining in his eyes.

  Her breath rushed out in a contented sigh. “There are other people in the house.”

  “I don’t see anyone.”

  “I can hear them.”

  He looked up.

  There were voices drifting from the oval salon. Julia could not identify any of them to save her life. Heath’s kisses were too distracting. She wound her hand around his strong neck and pulled him closer. She had always believed him to be brave and honorable, but last night she had seen into the soul of this man herself. His beauty was not superficial.

  “We have to stop this,” she whispered, laughing.

  “Why?” He ran his hands down her sides. Her skin still felt warm from her bath. “Do you want to go back upstairs?”

  “We just came down.”

  “No one saw us.” He was already trying to pull her up to the next step.

  “Julia! Heath!” a loud male voice boomed from the door at the end of the hall. “We thought the two of you were going to stay in bed the whole day.”

  Heath gave a sigh as Julia unwound her arm from his neck. “Good morning, Gray. And thank you for your subtlety.”

  “Morning? It’s afternoon,” Grayson retorted. “We were just about to sit down to luncheon. Are you joining us or do you have other plans?”

  “Well,” said Heath,” we do have plans to make, actually. Wedding plans.”

  Grayson broke into laughter. “Say it isn’t so.”

  “It is.”

  “I’m not at all surprised, but I am pleased. May I be the first to give my blessing?”

  Heath wished to be married as soon as possible, within a fortnight, if the arrangements could be made. Julia agreed. They had waited years to be together. She wasn’t about to take a chance on letting anything ruin their happiness this time. Her sister-in-law-to-be Jane was beside herself with delight and promised to help in whatever way she could.

  Hermia expressed her concern that two weeks might not be enough time to make proper preparations. But as Heath’s sister Emma, Viscountess Lyons, pointed out, “It is more than enough time for the two of them to cause another scandal. My students are still talking about that caricature.”

  Julia and Heath did agree, however, on a quiet country wedding. Well, as quiet as an affair could be when one had a mansion overflowing with Boscastles, brothers, sisters, in-laws, uncles, aunts, and an army of boisterous cousins, who proved that it was quite impossible to dilute the passion in their blood. And why would anyone want to try?

  The wedding took place on a Saturday afternoon at the Marquess of Sedgecroft’s country estate. Heath dressed and was shaved, then paused at the window of the upstairs gallery where his elder brother stood waiting for him. He took one look at the carriages lining the drive, and wryly asked if there was anyone in the whole of England whom Grayson had forgotten to invite.

 
“I thought you disliked weddings,” he said as they lingered together at the window.

  “I do. But it’s not my wedding. You’re the one who has to face the firing squad. I’ve done my duty, thank you. And lived to tell of it.”

  “Dear God,” Heath exclaimed, recognizing a petite figure in a bright green satin dress waving up at them from an arriving carriage, “that’s Audrey Watson. You invited a courtesan to my wedding.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Grayson said. “Julia did.”

  “And you allowed it?”

  “Well, it’s not my wedding.”

  “Still no sign of Drake?”

  “Oh, yes. He sent word he’d be a little late. A duel detained him.”

  Heath smiled. “And Devon?”

  “He took two young ladies for a stroll in the woods. I suspect they were headed for an infamous cave. You remember it?”

  “In vivid detail.”

  Grayson laughed. “The legend still lives.”

  “I hesitate to ask—where is our dear, dictatorial sister Emma?”

  Grayson lowered his voice. “Dispensing unsolicited advice to the socially ignorant. That’s why I’m hiding up here.”

  “I can’t hide,” Heath said, removing his hands from his pockets. “I have a wedding to go to.”

  They descended the stairs. His sister Emma stood waiting for him, a small-boned woman with apricot-gold hair, blue eyes, and a warlord’s heart.

  “There you are,” she said. “I do not blame you for hiding after having that pamphlet published for every man, woman, and child in the country to see.”

  “It’s nice to see you, Emma,” Heath said, adjusting his snowy white neckcloth.

  “Well, it wasn’t nice to see as much of you in print as I did,” she whispered, then lifted her hands to readjust the neckcloth’s folds. “Congratulations, rogue,” she added with an indulgent smile. “I am happy for you and awfully proud.”