Scandal

by Heather Cullman

  Chapter 14

  Julia awakened with a start, jolted from her fitful slumber as the coach lurched to a rattling stop. From outside the conveyance came masculine shouts of command, the outriders and coachman, she groggily identified, having heard those same voices countless times during the past two days, followed by the hoof beats of approaching horsemen. The horsemen, she assumed, were Jagtar and Gideon, both of whom had ridden the entire distance from London on horseback.

  So have we arrived at last? she wearily wondered, as she had done every time they had stopped during the past few hours. Too stiff and tired from the rigors of the journey to investigate, she remained curled in her seat, her feet tucked beneath her rucked up skirts and her head lolling limply against the diamond-pleated satin squab in a pose that could only be described as undignified.

  Not that her pose mattered. Unless Gideon summoned her, an advent that was as likely to occur as goats were to sing an aria, there was little chance that anyone would disturb her until they arrived at their destination. That being the case, there was really no need to trouble herself with moving.

  On the other hand, if they had indeed arrived at Gideon's country house, the servants might even now be assembling on the stoop to greet her, as was customary for a household receiving a new mistress. In that instance, it would hardly be an auspicious beginning on her part to have a footman fling open the coach door to reveal her slouched in her seat with her shoes off, her bonnet askew, and her skirts tossed above her knees like a slattern.

  Shuddering at the mere thought of courting such disgrace, Julia forced herself to lift her heavy head and unfold her sleep-contorted limbs, her cramped muscles screaming in protest with every move she made. After flexing her spine and stretching her arms and legs, she was again limber enough to lean forward and search the floor for her discarded shoes.

  Though it was a deep, moonless night and the coach curtains were drawn, light from the coach lamps spilled around the edges of the heavy satin draperies, illuminating the interior enough to allow her to easily locate them. One flat, olive-green Spanish leather slipper was half wedged beneath the opposite seat, having no doubt been tossed there when the coach had hit one of the numerous ruts it had encountered that evening. The other lay upside down near the door. Hastily donning them, she yanked down her olive, orange, and tan striped silk carriage dress, smoothing it as best she could, though it was obvious that it was wrinkled long past any redemption her pressing hands could offer.

  Sighing her disheartenment at the sight of it-for she really did want to make a good first impression-she turned her attention to her chip hat. Aside from a bent ostrich feather and a crushed ribbon loop, the former of which she straightened and the latter she puffed, both with satisfactory results, the frivolous confection appeared to have survived the journey relatively unscathed. Thankful for that small blessing, she secured it in place and then leaned forward to lift the nearest curtain, wishing to verify her location. Her hand had no sooner found the tasseled pull cord than the door swung open.

  It was Jagtar. Then again, who else would it be? Since their disastrous wedding night, Gideon had spoken to her as little as possible, conveying all messages through his manservant. Always a model of respect, the Sikh now smiled and bowed his turbaned head. "My lady? The sahib asks if you wish refreshment, please?" If he found the duty of go-between for his master and mistress odd, neither his face nor manner betrayed the fact. Indeed, judging from his casual air, you would have thought that such chilly estrangement between a newlywed couple was the most natural thing in the world. Then again, perhaps in his country it was.

  Whatever the instance, Julia was grateful for his discretion, so the smile she returned was a genuine one. Leaving his question open to decide for when she knew where she was, she leaned further forward to peer over his shoulder at what lay outside.

  There was a two-story, L-shaped stone building with a wooden railed gallery running the entire length of its second floor. Judging from the series of small doors and windows on the upper level, which on the longer wing were set above a row of neat stables, and the tavern like appearance of the smaller annex, she easily surmised that they were in the courtyard of a coaching inn-the Dun Horse, or so the sign proclaimed.

  Only marginally more enlightened than she had been before looking out, Julia quizzed, "Where are we, Jagtar?"

  "The village of Tarlington, my lady." Before she could ask where Tarlington lay in respect to Gideon's country seat, he added, "Sahib bade me to tell you that this will be our last stop before reaching his home. If you wish refreshment or need to leave the coach, you must do so now, please."

  Though Julia was rather hungry and the inn seemed respectable enough, she shook her head, in no mood to exchange the gay pleasantries that were generally expected from travelers by the proprietors of such establishments. "You may tell my husband that I will remain as I am." Better to go hungry than risk being judged as rude, especially since it appeared that Tarlington lay relatively near to Gideon's village of Low Brindle. People did gossip, after all, worst of all in small towns, or so she had always heard. And as mistress of Low Brindle it was her duty to set an example for their tenants by being a model of graciousness.

  As Jagtar brought his palms together beneath his chin, a signal that he was about to take his leave, she hastily inquired, "Do you, by chance, know when we will arrive at Critchley Manor?" Critchley Manor was the name of Gideon's country house, Critchley being the surname of the family who had built the structure a century earlier. From what she had been able to ascertain from her snatches of conversation with Gideon during their courtship, the current Critchley heir had been forced to sell the estate after bankrupting himself in renovating the manor. If that were indeed true, then the dwelling was bound to be very grand for all its recent improvements.

  "Two hours, my lady. No more."

  Julia nodded. "And are we to tarry here long?"

  "Since you do not wish refreshment, we remain only long enough to change horses."

  That meant that they would be departing in a moment or two, since the stable boys at coaching inns were famous for their skill at removing a spent team and harnessing a fresh one in the span of a minute or less. As Julia nodded in response to Jagtar's reply, she could hear the jangle of harnessing equipage and the clip-clop of hoofs against flagstone, followed by the slight lurch of the coach as the weary team was liberated. Any second now, they would be ready to resume their journey. "Thank you, Jagtar," she said.

  "Please, my lady. Is there anything else I may do for you?"

  She smiled again and shook her head.

  Again Jagtar brought his palms together beneath his chin. This time Julia allowed him to incline his head and take his leave. Now alone, again cloistered in the stifling confines of the coach, she opened the nearest curtain and slid down the window, wooing the fresh night air. The road dust in this part of the country was such that she had been forced to ride with the windows shut the entire day, a very miserable experience indeed, considering the fact that the day had been unseasonably warm. Now leaning her head against the window frame to savor the cooling caress of the breeze against her face, she gazed out at the scene before her.

  Six rush light lanterns hung from brackets along the upper gallery, their flames creating a flickering web of shadows and light that alternately revealed and then obscured the men and beasts in the courtyard below. Judging from the number of people and horses milling about, and the candlelight that glowed through the drawn curtains at nearly every window along the gallery, it was apparent that the inn was a favorite with travelers. It also appeared that Gideon's servants were well known here.

  To be sure, the coachman and footman seemed on particularly intimate terms with the serving maid who had brought them tankards of what Julia guessed to be ale, teasing and bantering with her, and patting her broad backside in a manner that caused her to erupt into hoots of bawdy laughter. Two of the four outriders stood near the stone water trough sharing a f
lask with the stable clerk, while a third guffawed and clapped a groom on the shoulder, as if sharing in a private joke. The absent fourth outrider had no doubt gone ahead to alert the household of their master's imminent arrival. As Julia watched, smiling at the servants' easy camaraderie, Jagtar strolled past chattering in his native tongue to Kesin, who sat on his shoulder ignoring his lecture as he devoured some sort of treat. Gideon, as usual, was nowhere to be seen.

  Julia sighed, her smile fading at the thought of her husband.

  He hated her, despised her with every fiber of his being, a fact that he had made painfully clear with the few curt words, cold glances, and abrupt gestures he had deigned to grant her since their wedding night. And she despaired at ever being able to mend matters between them. How could she when he loathed her too much to suffer her presence for more than a moment, and then only because he could not avoid doing so?

  Feeling as if her whole world was falling apart, she sank back into her seat, hugging herself as dark hopelessness crept into her soul. Oh! It was impossible! A disaster. She had ruined everything: her burgeoning friendship with Gideon, her chance at an amiable marriage, her hope of helping her siblings, and worst of all, perhaps even the bargain itself.

  Dread settled like a weight in her heart at the thought of that last. Perhaps even now Gideon was plotting to call in her mother's debt. He most certainly seemed angry enough to do so, and with good reason. After all, she had not only failed to live up to her promise to do as he wished and be the sort of wife he desired, she had deliberately invited and then rebuffed his husbandly advances in a manner that had insulted and humiliated him.

  She had called him common and primitive, and had pushed him away as if he were the most loathsome beast in the world.

  Julia cringed in shame at the memory. With all she had said and done that night, was it any wonder that he had accused her of playing him for a fool?

  Wishing that she could somehow turn back time and change the course of her actions, Julia hugged herself yet tighter. He had been right, of course. She could see that now. After much thought she had discovered that she was indeed guilty of his charge, that in her reckless desperation to aid her siblings she had tried to manipulate him to her will without any consideration for his feelings, or for the cost should she fail. And naturally she had failed. How could she not when she had neither the skill nor the experience to play that particular game well? She had failed, and now she must suffer the consequences. She only prayed that her family would not be forced to do so as well.

  Unbidden, visions of her family paying the price for her foolishness flickered through her mind, horrifying ones in which her parents were being hauled away to prison in chains, ruined and disgraced, and her siblings sat huddled in a damp, cold alley, hungry, frightened and abandoned, their emaciated bodies clothed in rags, their tender flesh ravaged by chilblains.

  Her soul seemed to shrivel within her at the knowledge that her imaginings might very well become reality, and soon. Oh! If only she could talk to Gideon and explain the truth. Perhaps if he understood her reasons for doing what she had done, perhaps if-but no. Why would he listen to anything she said? Why should he? With everything that had happened, with all the lies and deceptions that lay between them, why in the world would he believe her even if, by some miracle, he agreed to listen?

  Now mired in despair, a dark place she had wallowed since her wedding night, Julia wondered what would become of her, of her family. She was on the verge of tears, again imagining the worst, when the coach door swung open. To her astonishment, Gideon climbed in and took the opposite seat. As she gaped at him, too stunned by his unexpected presence to do more, he rapped on the ceiling, signaling the coachman to resume their journey.

  There was a shout and the crack of a whip, the rattle of harnesses, and then a sharp jolt as the coach jerked into motion. Clip-clop! Clip-clop! The horses' hoofs clattered against the hard flagstone paving of the courtyard, a sound that softened to a repetitious thud as they turned onto the clay-and-pebble surfaced road. As had been the case all day long, their passage stirred up clouds of hazy dust that now billowed and swirled through the open window. Scowling, Gideon leaned forward and closed it, leaving the curtain open to allow the lamplight to shine in. Settling back into his seat again, he folded his arms across his chest, his posture tense and his expression grim as he studied her, as if sizing her up, though for what purpose she did not care to speculate.

  Not quite certain what to do or where to look, and tempted almost beyond resistance to squirm beneath his discomfiting scrutiny, Julia busied herself by fumbling with her reticule, finally opening the drawstrings to remove her vial of lavender oil, a known cure for hysteria. Uncorking it with what she hoped was an air of nonchalance, she raised it to her nose, stealing a glance at Gideon from beneath her lashes as she inhaled the calming fumes.

  He wore a chocolate-brown riding coat, beneath which he sported a fashionable double-breasted waistcoat made up in green-and-gold patterned silk. As was appropriate for riding on such a long journey, his lower body was clad in tan leather breeches, tight, supple-looking ones, she could not help noticing, the snug legs of which terminated into a very fine pair of knee-high top boots. Like every other garment she had ever seen him wear, his riding clothes were cut to perfection and tailored to emphasize the magnificence of his physique.

  Though Julia had tried hard to ignore such thoughts in the days following her wedding night, finding them too disturbing by half, as she looked at Gideon now she could not help remembering the sight of him lying naked before her. His powerful body had been truly beautiful in its symmetry and proportion, a miracle of sculpted muscle and lean sinew that rippled beneath the flawless covering of his sleek, tan skin.

  Something deep in her belly fluttered at the memory of that skin. It had felt like satin beneath her touch, soft and smooth and incredibly fine-textured. That a man who was the epitome of raw masculinity could have such skin was almost beyond belief. More amazing yet, she now found herself aching to touch him again, to feel the size and weight and warmth of him pressed against her, and to have him touch her in return.

  The fluttering in her belly quickened as she remembered the pleasure of his intimate caresses. The way he had stroked her . . . She sighed, her thighs parting in response to her memory. And when he had used his mouth, his tongue . . .

  "Julia?" Snap! Snap! Fingers snapped before her face. "Julia!"

  Julia squeaked and dropped the lavender she still held to her nose, startled from her sensual reverie. It was Gideon, of course. And it was clear from the annoyance in his voice that this was not his first attempt to gain her attention. Mortified, certain that he had noted her perusal of his body and had somehow discerned her wanton thoughts, she blushed and bent over, hiding her flaming face in the shadows as she searched the floor for her scent vial.

  Oh! Whatever was wrong with her? And something most definitely was wrong; it had to be for her to be longing to lie naked with Gideon and exchange intimate caresses. After all, to do such a thing was certain to stir his primitive urges, and that was the last thing on earth she wished to do. Why, the very thought of again suffering those forceful kisses, that savage embrace, and the stabbing menace of his sex as it sought to ...

  "It is behind your left foot," Gideon's harsh voice again interrupted. "And I might add that it is soiling the carpet. That means, of course, that I shall be forced to endure the smell of lavender for the reminder of this journey and on a good many journeys hereafter. And I detest lavender."

  Julia snatched up the offending lavender, which was indeed behind her foot, bristling at his imperious tone. Flashing him a look of haughty disdain, she straightened back up again, rebutting, "Had you not bellowed at me so, I would not have dropped it."

  "I had to do something. I thought you were suffering a fit and felt obligated to verify your health," he returned in an infuriatingly reasonable voice.

  Now searching her seat for the cork, though corking the vial
at this juncture was like closing the stable door after the horses had escaped since the oil had all spilled out, she retorted, "I cannot imagine what could have made you think such a thing."

  Gideon leaned over and plucked the cork from a fold in her skirts, presenting it to her on the flat of his gloved hand. "What else was I to think with the way you were staring and trembling? Generally when one stares without blinking for several minutes, with their mouth agape and their face flushed the color of port wine, they are suffering from apoplexy or some other equally unpleasant sort of attack."

  Julia accepted the cork with a sniff. "It must have been a trick of the light, for I most certainly was not staring. And if I was trembling, it was due to exhaustion from our journey. Even you must admit that our haste has been grueling in the extreme."

  There was a long pause; then he sighed and said, "Yes, it has been grueling, and for that I must apologize. It was never my intention that you should suffer discomfort. Unfortunately, circumstances have arisen that dictate our swift dispatch to Lancashire." His voice sounded suddenly thick, oddly frayed.

  Julia glanced up quickly from the vial she was corking, taken aback by the abrupt change in his tone. He was no longer staring at her, but out the window, his strong profile moving in and out of shadow in the rippling lamplight. With an odd pang she noted how haggard his features looked and the way his shoulders slumped, his demeanor suddenly weary and defeated, like a man bearing a burden too heavy to be borne. Her anger instantly cooled at the sight of him. The circumstances he spoke of must be very dire indeed for him to look so. Suspecting that those circumstances in some way involved his sisters, she responded in a gentle voice, "Jagtar indicated that there is some sort of urgent business at your estate that

  requires your attention. I do hope that nothing untoward has befallen your family?"