by Danice Allen
“What visitor?” Sam asked. But Priss and Nan had already swept past her and were out the door. She shrugged and began to undress for her bath. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, but she had no doubt that Julian would be home soon, and she wanted to be fresh and beautiful for him. Wrapping herself in a dressing gown as she waited for the bathwater, Sam stared at her reflection in the mirror above the dressing table. Her complexion glowed and her eyes shone like stars. That’s what being made love to by the man of your dreams did for you, Sam thought bemusedly.
But she knew things were by no means settled between her and Julian. She had broken off her engagement with Jean-Luc, and since Julian had had no engagement to break off in the first place, both of them were free to marry whom they pleased. But Julian had compromised her—what a cool word “compromised” was for such a warm and wonderful thing as making love, she marveled—and he would probably propose marriage. But Sam wanted more than that from Julian. Until he said he loved her, and meant it, she wouldn’t marry him … no matter how many times they made love! And she knew they’d make love again. It was just meant to be.
Dorcus assisted her in dressing after a quick bath and, though the hour was still quite early, Sam headed downstairs to the breakfast room. She’d drink tea and nibble on toast till Julian showed up. The poor dear, she thought with a self-satisfied smile. I must have exhausted him. But Sam had no sooner sat down and took her first sip of tea when there was a knock at the front door. A moment later, Hedley entered the room and, with a disapproving expression, told her that Mr. Bouvier awaited her in the parlor.
“I mentioned the early hour and also informed him that you had just sat down to breakfast, but he would not be refused,” Hedley said dourly.
“It’s all right,” Sam said with a smile. “I’ll see him.” But she did not feel anywhere near as calm as she tried to appear. Though she had not told him specifically why, she had been very clear in the note that their engagement was off. Surely Jean-Luc, who was so very sensitive and sweet, did not mean to make a scene. However, he was half-French…
“Chère!” exclaimed Jean-Luc as Sam hesitantly entered the parlor. He had been standing by the window, but he hurried over as soon as Sam set foot in the door, grabbed hold of her hands and stared earnestly into her eyes. “I came as soon as I received your note. Sam, I don’t understand what’s going on.”
Sam averted her eyes, embarrassed and sorry for the pain she was causing such a dear friend. “But Jean-Luc, I thought I explained in my note.”
“It was the explanation that confused me,” he admitted. “When you warned me not to send the announcement of our engagement to the papers, I didn’t know what to think. What right would I have to do such a thing when Lord Serling refused his permission? He said I might still spend time with you, but that he didn’t think you were ready for a positive engagement, so I—”
Sam’s head reared up. “He refused his permission?”
Jean-Luc looked surprised. “Didn’t he tell you?”
Sam shook her head incredulously. “No, he did not. In fact, he allowed me to believe that he’d given you his persmission. I think the wretch was testing me!”
Sam pulled away and began to pace the floor. After a moment’s reflection, while Jean-Luc watched in confusion, Sam laughed out loud. “Ours has been the most impossible courtship in the history of man!” she exclaimed. “There has been one misconception after the other … several of which were deliberately planned! And not just by him, but by me, as well. I am just as much to blame. Hah! I do believe we deserve each other!”
When Sam had finally calmed down, she stopped pacing and noticed that Jean-Luc looked very sober. His beautiful, soulful eyes were clouded with sadness. “Your courtship?” he inquired softly. “Then the marquess has finally won the day, I gather?” He came to Sam and gently tilted her chin, his gaze wandering over her face. “I should have known immediately. You are radiant today, chère. Last night, instead of coming to the McAdamses’ soiree, you were … with him, I suppose?”
Sam blushed and nodded shyly. “Yes. I’m sorry, Jean-Luc, if I’ve hurt you. But I love him so much.”
Jean-Luc cupped her face in his hands and shook his head, a smile of regret on his lips. “Then he is the luckiest man on the face of the earth. I just hope he deserves you. Tell me, Sam, that he’s not the cold man he appears to be. At least, not with you. He couldn’t possibly be cold with you.”
Sam blushed even deeper. She shook her head. “No, Jean-Luc. Just as I’ve always known, beneath Julian’s cool and elegant exterior lies the soul of a very passionate man.”
Jean-Luc’s smile grew grim. “Damn him. And he loves you?”
“I wasn’t sure till just now. You helped me to realize it, Jean-Luc.”
“How sporting of me,” he said, wincing.
Sam placed her hands over Jean-Luc’s. “I will always love you as a friend, Jean-Luc.”
“I will always love you, Sam. May I kiss you good-bye?”
She nodded and he bent and kissed her gently on the cheek. They drew apart and smiled at each other. His smile was one of wistfulness. Hers was of genuine friendship.
“How cozy,” drawled a deep voice from behind them.
Sam and Jean-Luc startled and turned toward the open door. Julian stood there … looking very un-Julian. In fact, Sam had never seen him look less himself. His hair was an unruly tumble of waves. His cravat was tied in a crude, haphazard knot, and every stitch of clothing he wore looked as though it had been lying in a crumpled heap on the floor all night … which, of course, it had. At that moment Julian looked anything but cool and elegant, but to Sam he was irresistible.
“Julian, you’ve finally come,” she said with a tremulous smile, feeling suddenly shy after their passionate night together.
“And not a moment too soon,” he growled, darting her an accusing look and sauntering into the room. Then his hot gaze bored into Jean-Luc. “What’s the meaning of this, Bouvier? What are you doing here at this damnably early hour? I refused your petition for Sam’s hand in marriage yesterday, but then I come home to find you kissing her! Sam can’t marry without my consent, Bouvier. No amount of wooing her is going to make a difference.”
“Julian, you don’t understand—” Sam began, appalled that they were having yet another misunderstanding, but Jean-Luc interrupted her.
“I’ve had time to think since our interview yesterday, Serling,” Jean-Luc said in a voice of bravado. “And I’ve decided that I totally disagree with you about Sam’s readiness to get married.” Jean-Luc turned to Sam and surreptitiously winked at her. “Aren’t I right, Sam? You are ready to get married, aren’t you?”
Understanding that Jean-Luc meant to have a little fun, Sam played along. After all, didn’t Julian deserve some teasing after keeping certain things a secret from her? “I’ve never been readier,” Sam agreed.
“So, unless there’s some other reason why you won’t permit Sam to become engaged to me—”
“There’s a reason,” Julian snarled, towering over Jean-Luc like an angry bear. “She can’t marry you because she’s going to marry me. Is that clear?”
Jean-Luc shrugged as only a Frenchman could shrug and said with a satisfied smile, “Perfectly.” Then he bowed to Julian, and he bowed to Sam and, with one last wistful smile for Sam, strolled out of the room.
Julian turned to face Sam. He was scowling. “Sam, why did you leave before we had time to talk?” he gruffly asked her, but she could tell that he was hurt and puzzled by her disappearance without a word that morning, and by what he thought he saw just now between her and Jean-Luc. Sam was tired of misunderstandings. She wanted only truth between them from then on.
“I came home so I could write a note to Jean-Luc,” she answered.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to stop him before he sent an announcement of our engagement to the papers.” She arched a brow. “You see, I was under the mistaken idea that he and I were positively en
gaged. That you had given your consent. You allowed me to believe I was promised to Jean-Luc, Julian.”
He looked a little shamefaced. But only a little. “I wasn’t sure what your true feelings were. I had to find out if there was still hope for me before I could allow Jean-Luc to claim you as his prize.”
“And you let me believe you and Charlotte were engaged as well.”
“You came to that erroneous conclusion on your own, brat. I didn’t know till last night that that’s what you thought had happened between Charlotte and me at the Wilmots’ ball.”
“But still you let me go on believing it … you wretch!”
“I’d never have made love to you if I was engaged to Charlotte.”
“I know,” she admitted.
“I was going to explain everything to you this morning, Sam, but you ran out on me.”
“Well, now you know why.”
They stared at each other, her heart aching for him to take her into his arms, to tell her that he loved her. But he held back, looking troubled and still angry, and Sam thought she knew why.
“Jean-Luc was only kissing me good-bye, Julian,” she explained in a small voice. “Can I possibly make it more clear that you’re the only man in the world I love?”
Julian’s brow gradually cleared. A rueful smile even began to relax the corners of his stern mouth. “I’m a jealous fool.”
“Yes,” she agreed, smiling broadly and holding out her arms to him.
He advanced. “And it’s time I made it very clear who I’m in love with, too.” He slipped his arms around her waist and gazed down at her beaming face. “It’s you, Sam. It’s been you from the first moment I clapped eyes on you. I love you, Sam,” he murmured. “I love you more than my soul’s salvation.” Then he pulled her roughly against him and kissed her thoroughly.
Sam was in heaven. Her dearest dream was realized in those three small words. He loved her.
Several moments later, Julian finally released her. She’d been thoroughly kissed, thoroughly caressed, and now she was thoroughly aroused.
“There’s one thing more I want to do, Sam,” he breathed, kissing her nose, her chin, then the line of her jaw.
“Only one thing, Julian?” she inquired breathlessly.
“And I’m going to do it right now.”
“Here?” she squeaked.
“Here and now,” he assured her. In a daze, she allowed him to lead her to the sofa. He assisted her in sitting down, then he got down on one knee in front of her and took both her hands in his.
“You see, brat, I’m bound and determined to do this properly,” he said with a grin.
“You’re sure you’re not just ‘bound’?” she inquired with a responding smile, but she wasn’t entirely teasing.
“I’d be down on my knees in front of you, Sam, even if we hadn’t made love last night,” he assured her. “Can I possibly make it clearer that you’re the woman I love more than anyone in the world?” he asked, using her own words to make his point. “Dearest brat, will you marry me?”
Sam’s heart felt as though it was going to burst with happiness. Her eyes welled with tears. She was so choked up, she couldn’t speak.
“Don’t keep the poor man in suspense. Say yes, Sam!” exclaimed Priss from the doorway.
“He put it so charmingly,” Nan quipped, peeking over Priss’s shoulder. “How can you refuse?”
Sam laughed. “Yes, Julian. Yes, I’ll marry you. And do you want to know why?”
“Why, my love?” he asked, indulging her.
“Because you’re the right man for me, the one and only man I could ever love. And I know you’ll make me the happiest woman on earth!”
“But of course, Sam,” Julian drawled. “I couldn’t allow you to marry anyone else, now could I? After all … I promised.”
She fell into his arms and he kissed her again, even more thoroughly than before. Satisfied, the aunts softly closed the parlor door behind them and tiptoed away, their rosy faces wreathed in smiles.
Epilogue
Montgomery Manor
Hampshire, England
October 15, 1817
“What do you read, my love, to bring such a smile to your lips?”
Sam looked up from her letter and saw her husband standing just inside the door of her sitting room, drawing off his gloves. Julian had just returned from riding, and his cheeks were ruddy from the exercise, his eyes aglow. Dressed in buckskin breeches, tall boots, and a forester’s green jacket, he looked like an especially dashing country squire. Even after almost four months of marriage, the mere sight of him still made Sam’s heart flutter with excitement.
In the mood to tease him, she refolded the letter and slipped it into a pocket of her gown, saying demurely, “I received a letter from America today. Can you guess who it is who writes to me from the United States, my darling?”
With a faint smile and an arched brow, Julian threw his gloves on a piecrust table by the door and sauntered slowly toward her.
“Perhaps it is the president, finally writing to thank you—or abuse you—for naming that disreputable mongrel of yours after him.”
Sam shook her head, looking coy. “No, it is not from President Madison.”
He paused and leaned his hip against the back of the pale yellow satin sofa, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his gleaming eyes fixed intently on Sam’s face. “Then it must be from that Ford fellow, begging you to come to Virginia. Perhaps he’s already divorced Clara—or shut her up in the barn with his horses—and wants another wife.”
Sam chuckled. “How very far off the mark you are, my dear husband! As well you know, Nathan was, and still is, quite daft about his wife. The letter, in fact, is from Clara. She writes to tell me that she is finally with child!”
“Indeed?” said Julian, raising his brows in mild interest. “I’m sure they are both quite pleased.”
“Clara is more than pleased,” Sam assured him. “She is deliriously happy. She has been wishing for a child since the moment they said their vows over the anvil in Gretna Green.” She frowned. “Why do you suppose it took Nathan so long to get her pregnant?”
Julian looked amused. “My dear love, they’ve only been married since April.”
“But Amanda got with child on her honeymoon, and I got with child that first night we made love in my mother’s house on Upper Wimpole Street!”
“It must be the natural superiority of the English over the Americans,” Julian suggested wryly.
“No, I daresay it is the natural superiority of the Montgomery men over all of mankind,” Sam countered grandly.
“My dear girl, you make me blush,” Julian demurred.
“And you make me wonder why you haven’t kissed me yet,” Sam retorted. “Am I already grown too fat for your tastes, my lord?”
Julian let loose a bark of laughter. “Too fat? My dear wife, you’re not even showing yet!”
Sam rose from the chair in which she had been sitting by the sunny window, and laid her hand on her stomach. “But I am showing, Julian,” she protested. “At least … a little! Come … feel.”
“How can I refuse such an invitation?” he drawled, strolling over. “But first things first.” He took her into his arms and thoroughly kissed her, his hands wandering over her body with that familiar expertise that Sam had come to cherish. When he caressed her breasts—which were indeed larger and more sensitive than before—Sam wished they were in a more private chamber of the house.
“Goodness,” Sam said, moments later, flushed and tingling. “Now you are making me blush. What if my mother came in while you were so delightfully mauling me?”
“Knowing your mother, she wouldn’t blink an eye,” he answered.
Sam laughed. “You’re right. But you must stop kissing me—for now—and feel my stomach. I assure you, Julian, I have grown quite large since—”
“Since this morning?” he quizzed her, obligingly allowing her to place his large hand on her stomach, with
her smaller hand pressed on top. “If you remember correctly, we made love this morning and I believe I … noticed every inch of your body.”
“But you can’t have noticed that the—” Sam was interrupted by a movement, a fluttering like a goldfish swimming inside her stomach. Wide-eyed, she looked up at Julian. “Did you feel that?”
But Sam could tell by the look on his face that Julian had indeed felt their baby’s kick. “Yes,” he said wonderingly. “How long has he being doing that?”
“He?” Sam teased.
“But of course,” he replied.
“For the last month. But I never expected him to do it on cue! He must have heard his father’s voice and immediately stood at attention.”
“Clever little fellow,” Julian observed, a bemused smile tilting his lips. “But do you suppose he’ll be as obedient when he’s twelve?”
Sam was about to reply when the sitting-room door was suddenly flung open and her mother sailed into the room with Zeus and Neptune close behind, their tongues hanging by several inches from their parted jaws. Julian and Sam drew apart, but stood holding hands as they watched Madame Genevieve DuBois make her entrance.
“Julian,” she began in a scolding voice, the sheer skirts of her rose-pink gown flaring around her small, satin-shod feet as she hurried over to them. “What can you be thinking taking these dogs riding with you? They are run ragged, the poor dears! They must have each drank a bucket of water in the stable yard just now!”
“They were not invited to go with me,” Julian informed her dryly. “I beseeched, then ordered them to go back to the house several times. I raised my voice and was quite stern, but they paid me no heed whatsoever. They are very willful animals, Genevieve.”
“They are devoted to you, Julian,” Sam said with a laugh, bending to pet the large dogs on the head. They wagged their tails and gazed adoringly at both Sam and Julian, then made their way across the floor to the briskly burning fire, where they collapsed onto the braided rug in front of it for a restorative nap.
