“Motorcars?” he guessed.
“Among other things. I’d always be sure the Mercedes had a supply of petrol if I had it with me. I always obtained a train schedule wherever I went. Yardley cut off my allowance, and my debts kept accumulating. Even though Paul gave me some money, the whole situation was becoming intolerable. But then Yardley caught a bout of flu. He nearly died, and that must have put the wind up him.”
Aidan frowned, thinking it out. “You mean he realized he could have died without an heir. He wanted a son.” When she nodded, Aidan swallowed hard, knowing he had to hear it all. “What did he do, Julia?” he asked, forcing the words out.
“The next time he saw me, he proposed a new compromise. He said once I’d fulfilled my duty and given him an heir, he would grant me a legal separation, but I knew I couldn’t agree to that. I couldn’t let him do that to me, or to the child. Once the child was seven, he would have had full custody under the law, and if I ever wanted a divorce, I’d have to obtain it by committing adultery, but if I did that, and he did divorce me, I’d never have custody of any children. And what sort of perversions would my children see in Yardley’s household? It gave me nightmares, thinking about it. I couldn’t do it, Aidan. I couldn’t bring a child into that nightmare.”
He heard her rising panic in her rising voice and began pressing kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her hair. “I know, darling, I know.” He sighed, and pulled back to look at her. “I wish I had known about this long ago.”
That made her smile. “My gallant prince! What would you have done?”
“My mind is entertaining various possibilities right now.” He cupped her face in his hands, and he looked into her eyes. “Would you like me to employ them? Tarnished reputation or not, I am a duke. I have more money and more influence than Yardley will ever have. There are ways I can make his life a living hell, believe me. I’d enjoy doing them, too.”
She bit her lip, tempted, then shook her head. “He’s sick and he’s twisted, and his life is already a living hell. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m free now, and I’m afraid revenge would only prove he still has a hold over me. If I don’t care what happens to him, I’m truly free of him at last, and that is what I wanted more than anything.”
He nodded, forced to accept her decision. “All right, but I think there are things that I can do. For example, I can make certain that every woman in his employ becomes aware that should they choose to leave him, there is work to be had elsewhere. I’m sure Lady Weston could assist us there. She owns an employment agency, does she not?”
“Aidan,” she said with a rather wicked laugh. “You would lie in a character reference?”
“Certainly not. But I think with a wink and a nod from me, Lady Weston could find those women suitable employment.”
“He’ll only find other maids to take their place.”
“I’m afraid that’s true. Tides such as that never ebb. As I said, we can’t save the world. But we can do our part to make it better.” He paused, smiling a little. “We can also warn off any potential brides he might consider. If certain rumors begin circulating about him, about his . . . ahem . . . tastes, don’t be surprised. If the rumors don’t come from you, you can’t be blamed.”
“Be careful, darling. He could sue you for slander.”
“There are ways and means, Julia. By the time I’ve finished with him, London society will be reeling with shock over his perversions, but he will never, ever be able to prove the rumors came from me. Trust me. When it comes to this sort of game, I’ve got Yardley checkmated before we even start to play.”
She grinned, reaching up to take a lock of his hair in her fingers. “Oh yes,” she murmured, “there’s definitely devil horns peeking out from under that halo of yours.”
He felt compelled to protest. “Julia, that is a most unfounded accusation. I attend church services every Sunday. I was a choirboy as a child.”
“Hmm.” She looked at him in a considering fashion, her head tilted to one side. Her grin widened, and an unmistakably wicked gleam came into her eyes as her hand lowered to his chest and slid down his abdomen, making him catch his breath. Smiling, she eased him back down onto the bed and moved on top of him, spreading those glorious legs of hers over his as she moved her hand lower and began to caress his penis. Feeling it come erect in her hand, she began to laugh. “Choirboy, my arse.”
They made love again, and this time, she took the lead, making it last. First, by using her hand, and then—as he had done to her—by using her mouth. It was a sweet revenge for all the delicious, agonizing, beautiful torture he’d given her earlier, and she savored it. She stroked him and licked him and teased him, until his hips were thrusting upward and his breath was coming in ragged pants.
“All right,” he said, giving in before she could even demand it, “I want to be inside you. I want it, Julia, I want it now.”
Straddling him, she rose on her knees. “Gentlemen,” she said as she eased her body over his hips and pressed the tip of his cock to her opening, “say please.”
“Please,” he said at once, and she laughed, feeling wicked, and aroused, and yet awed by the sheer beauty of the sexual act when it was with him. When he pushed upward, entering her with a hard push, she came at once, crying out in surprise at the sensation, and as he thrust into her again and again, she rode him, clenching around him, savoring each wave of pleasure he gave her. And when he climaxed, she watched his face, delighting in his expression, glorying in the sound when he cried out her name.
After it was over, she leaned down and kissed him. “Now that’s the sort of ‘naughty things’ in bed I can always take pleasure in. At least, if it’s with you.”
When Aidan woke at dawn, Julia was still asleep. He took Spike outside for a walk, and when he returned, he eased gently back into bed so as not to wake her.
Watching her made him smile, for she slept like a child, on her side, palms together beneath her cheek. If this were any other female, he’d think of a little girl who’d fallen asleep while saying her prayers, but in Julia’s case, that was doubtful. Her lip was swollen, he noted, and marked where her teeth had drawn blood yesterday. Her lashes were like tiny black fans across her cheeks, and in the pale, gray, early morning light, her skin was luminous.
He thought of that day on the footbridge, and how she looked now, of how in the thirteen years he’d known her she’d gone from being a pretty, pixyish hoyden of a girl to a beautiful, strong, and terribly vulnerable woman, a woman who had suffered much and come out stronger on the other side. A woman who needed rest and tranquillity and security more than even she understood. He could give her all those things.
He thought back over the past few years, of his search for a wife, and all the requirements he’d thought made a particular woman suited to be a duchess. He realized there were really only a few necessary qualities, and all of them stemmed from character, and character was something Julia definitely had. The strength, the resiliency, and the courage in her took his breath away.
He wanted this impossible, incorrigible, invincible woman and no other. He loved her. He supposed he always had, from the very first moment, through all the intervening years, though he’d never been able to admit it until now. He loved her. He always would. He’d never be able to control her, or bend her to his will, or force her into society’s conventions, but he’d always known that. Julia was an unconquerable soul.
Suddenly, her eyes opened, vivid lavender eyes in the dawn. She blinked, giving him a sleepy smile. “You look terribly serious,” she murmured. “What are you thinking?”
He smiled a little. “I’m thinking of our favorite poem, and how you are the first person I’ve ever met who truly has an unconquerable soul.”
“Me?” She frowned, looking a little taken aback. “But I’m not Invictus. You are. I always see you as you were that day in the courtroom, your head bloody from the scandal, yet unbowed.”
“No, darling.” He shook his head. “That’
s you. I live by the rules and play the hand I’m dealt. You are far more likely than I to shake a fist at fate and say, ‘Fuck you.’ ”
She laughed. “Such language, Aidan! I fear I’m having a very bad influence on you. Still,” she added, considering what he’d said, “you are right, I suppose, although I’ve never thought of myself that way, as unconquerable.”
He pressed a kiss to her injured mouth. “I love you. I want to spend my life loving you.” He pulled back and looked into her beautiful eyes again. “Marry me.”
He hadn’t meant to propose, and the moment the words were out of his mouth, Aidan knew he’d made a serious, perhaps fatal, mistake.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Fear. Julia felt it like an enormous weight pressing on her chest, holding her down, pinning her to the bed. She laughed, trying to shake it off. “Aidan, you can’t possibly want to marry me.”
“Why not?”
She sat up. “I’m a scandal, that’s why.”
“So am I.”
Julia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Shoving back the covers, she got out of bed to put some distance between them, to give herself time to think, but the moment she was out of bed, she realized she was naked, a fact which made her feel even more vulnerable than before. She walked to the armoire, pulled out a wrapper, and slipped it on, wishing she could also reach for a cigarette. Curbing that impulse, she settled for being dressed, more or less, to calm the fear that was sinking into her bones like a cold winter wind.
She took a deep breath, and resumed the conversation. “You are only a scandal because of me. Besides, being considered a scandal is different for a man.”
“In the eyes of society, perhaps. Not in my eyes. And I don’t care what society thinks anyway.”
“That’s love’s blind eye talking, darling. You’ve always cared what society thinks.”
“I care about you more. I love you.” He got out of bed, crossed the room to retrieve his trousers and linen. Any other time, she might have enjoyed such a splendid view of his body, but not at the moment. He was serious, she could tell by the steadiness in those eyes and the determination in that boyishly handsome face, and panic wavered at the back of her throat until she almost couldn’t breathe.
She forced herself to wait until he had put his trousers on before she tried again. “I’m divorced, Aidan. My reputation might—only might—be salvageable. And it might not. If not, you’d still be stuck with me.”
“Are you saying I would be ashamed of you?” he asked, buttoning his trousers. “I wouldn’t, I shouldn’t, and I’m not. I won’t ever be.”
She could see from the level stare he gave her and the grave earnestness in his voice that he meant that, too. But though he might mean it now, would he still mean it five years from now, if society still threw his choice of duchess in his teeth? Ten years from now, if their son was not accepted into Eton because of her? Twenty years from now, if their daughter wanted to marry a man who rejected her because of her mother? Would Aidan still feel as he did now? Julia didn’t know. She didn’t want to find out.
Still, she could tell there was no reasoning him out of his noble-hearted vow to stand by her no matter what, so she tried a different tack. “I should make a terrible duchess. Awful. I hate opening fetes and doing good works.” She shuddered.
He laughed and came to stand in front of her. “Darling,” he said, brushing back her tangled hair with one hand as his other arm wrapped around her waist to draw her close. “I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want to do.”
Make her. She felt dread creeping in, adding to fear. “But you could,” she said, pulling back out of his arms, easing her way slowly, afraid he’d tighten his hold and hang on to her. “It’s in the wedding vows. Obey. I’d have to swear to obey you. Making me do things is your legal right.” She heard the way her voice had gone suddenly faint and far away.
She saw him frown. “But I wouldn’t,” he said slowly.
“But you could.” She glanced around, wanting, illogically to run. “Why?” she cried, the panic she felt edging into her voice. “Why do we have to marry? Can’t we simply go on this way?”
“You mean a love affair?”
“Yes. There’s nothing wrong with a love affair!”
“Yes, there is. I love you. I’m in love with you. I want us to be married. I want children.” He tried to take her hands, but she didn’t want to touch, not until they settled the fact that she was not marrying him, or anyone else, ever.
“You mean you want an heir to the dukedom.”
“No, Julia,” he said patiently, his hands falling to his sides. “I mean children. A family.”
Her gaze slid away. “I don’t even know if I can have children. I’m inclined to doubt it. I’m thirty, after all, and I’ve never been pregnant. What if it’s not possible?”
“Then I suppose my cousin will be the next duke, and you and I will be our family.”
Her fear grew and deepened as she felt his love wrapping around her like chains, tying her to the ground and to a future from which she could never escape. “You won’t want that. You’ll want children, and if you’re tied to me, you’ll come to resent our lack of them. We’ll grow apart, as married couples always do, or we shall fight and quarrel and make each other miserable, and . . . and . . .” Her voice trailed off as she tried to find the right words to explain the deterioration that would eventually occur. She gave up. “Oh, marriage will just be awful and ruin everything!”
He heaved a heavy sigh and bent to put on his socks and shoes.
“What was that for?” she asked. “The big sigh?”
“If you really want to know,” he said, “I feel you’re making a child’s argument.”
Anger blazed up within her. “I am not being childish!”
“I didn’t say you were,” he said, and the very reasonableness in his voice made her even angrier.
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not!” Shoes on, he faced her, hands on his hips. “I said you were making a child’s argument. You talk as if marriage would be the end of everything beautiful between us, as if marriage destroys passion with domestic dullness, or passion destroys marriage because the people can’t live together amicably.”
Relieved that he’d put it just right, she nodded. “Yes, yes, that is exactly what I’m saying.”
“You see no in-between, no ebb and flow over the years, no gray areas, no compromises?” When she shook her head, he went on, “You’ve just made my point. That’s a child’s thinking—full of absolutes and either-ors.”
“Childish or not, it’s the truth!” she shot back, resentful, trapped, desperate to keep her freedom, freedom she’d barely had the chance to savor. “Marriage, whether it was a nightmare like mine, or contented and dull like my parents, or filled with passionate, lurid quarrels like your parents, marriage is never what it ought to be!”
“And what is that?”
“Passionate and happy and content.”
“I see no reason why we can’t have all of that.”
“We can! If we’re not married.”
He made a sound through his teeth, derision and impatience. “What is the difference? Do you think posting banns and saying vows and plighting troth is what makes love die?”
“No. Love always dies.”
“God, how cynical you are.”
“I have the right to be. Love always dies,” she repeated to emphasize the point. “It’s a question of when and how. And if we’re married, we’ll be stuck with each other after it’s dead.”
“How terrible for you,” he shot back.
Now it was her turn to sigh, for she knew the more they discussed this, the more she was hurting him. “Why can’t we simply have an affair? You used that word to describe what we were engaging in only yesterday.”
“But everything is different today.” He raked a hand through his hair, seeming thoroughly exasperated with her, which only added to her fears. “I love
you. I think I always have. Watching you sleep, I knew I want us to spend our lives together. Not just hours, not just Friday-to-Mondays at a little love nest in the country. I want us to be together every day of our lives. To grow older together. Is it that you don’t love me?”
That was the perfect way out. She could give a little laugh, don the blasé, worldly, woman-of-experience veneer, and say the perfect words to drive him away.
Love? Oh, Aidan, my darling petal, you didn’t really think this was about love, did you?
She couldn’t say those words. They stuck in her throat because they would be a lie. In this, at least, she could not lie, though it seemed a damned inconvenient time to lose that particular ability. “I do love you,” she said, the admission making her feel heartsick and miserable, bruised instead of glad. “But,” she went on at once, “what I want for us is what lovers have. Passion and excitement, not staid, dull domesticity. Why can’t we just be lovers and enjoy each other? Continue on as we are for as long as it lasts?” Even as she said it, she watched him shaking his head, intractable in his old-fashioned, hopelessly Victorian view of matrimony. “There is nothing wrong with an affair. If we have that, we have everything we need, and we have it without the chains.”
“Chains? Is that what you think I offer you when I offer you my hand, when I ask you to be my duchess, share my life, and have my children? Chains?”
“Yes!” she shouted. “I want to be free! Free, damn it all! I spent twelve years enslaved by marriage, and I won’t do it again. How could you think I would?”
His head moved as if she’d slapped him. “What are you saying? That I am like Yardley?” Now his voice was cold, cold with anger. “That I would tie you up?”
Scandal of the Year Page 26
