Christian merely looked at him for several seconds, his face solemn in the moonlight. Then he shook his head and said, "If you do not love her, why did you wed her? Of all the men I have ever met"-he expelled a snorting laugh- "well, at least of those I can recall meeting, I have always considered you to be the most uncompromising in your principles. And you have always made it quite clear that you would either find the sort of love your parents had, or forgo marriage altogether. Indeed, you were most adamant on that point the few times we discussed the subject."
It was Gideon's turn to remain silent as he sought a response that would answer the question honestly, without revealing the heart of the truth. At length, he replied, "I married her on a different principle, because it was the right thing to do."
"The right thing?" Christian echoed, frowning his consternation. Then his jaw slackened and he ejected, "Good heavens! Do not tell me that you compromised her?"
Gideon laughed, a rasping grate that sounded harsh, even to his own ears. "Of course not. Julia is hardly the sort of woman to be compromised. Let it suffice to simply say that the marriage served both of our purposes, and leave it at that." Now gripped in the black mood that always seized him when he thought of his marriage, and wishing to be alone with it, he crimped his lips into a semblance of a smile and added, "But enough. It is late and I am weary. Please do not think me rude if I take my leave now."
Christian shook his head. "I shan't. It has been a long day."
"Then I will bid you a good night." As Gideon wheeled Abhaya around to make his escape, Christian abruptly called out, "Tell me that you at least desire her."
Gideon reined the stallion to a halt, caught off guard by his friend's request. "Pardon?"
"Tell me that you at least desire your wife," Christian repeated. "For all that you admit that your marriage is a loveless one, I would hate to go away from here thinking that you are shackled to a wife you do not, at least, desire."
Gideon did not have to rationalize, perjure himself, or even think twice in order to tender an acceptable answer to that one. He had only to open his mouth and utter the bitter truth. "Oh yes, I desire her."
Christian smiled. "I am glad, for where there is desire, there is a chance for love. Or so people say."
"So they say," Gideon acknowledged with a shrug, though in this instance he doubted if his desire would ever lead to love. Unwelcome erections, yes. Self-loathing, most definitely. But love? Ha!
They both fell silent then, perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Finally Christian said, "Well, good night, Gideon. I will see you tomorrow." With that, he was off.
Gideon made a soft clicking sound between his teeth, signaling Abhaya to walk. The animal tossed his head once and snorted, then complied, his gait smooth and his pace leisurely as he carried his master homeward down the shadowy, tree-lined lane.
Tell me that you at least desire her. Christian's words kept ringing through his mind.
Scowling, Gideon ordered himself to ignore them. Ever since his wedding night he had done everything in his power to avoid Julia, shunning her both is person and thought in an effort to evade the conflicting emotions that besieged him every time he remembered that night. And in most instances the ploy had proved successful. But tonight . . .
Tell me that you at least desire her.
But tonight he could not keep her at bay. could not keep from torturing himself with the terrible, treacherous emotions that arose in the wake of the memories those words evoked.
Tell me that you at least desire her. A grim smile twisted his lips. The awful truth of the matter was that he did not just desire Julia; he lusted for her . . . urgently . . . ruthlessly . . .
Shamefully.
And since their wedding night, when she had lain naked and pliant in his arms, he had been plagued by carnal thoughts of her that so beguiled him that he barely had the strength to resist them. Robbed of the fortitude to do so now, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and surrender to his memories.
She had been so sweet that night, so very alluring and titillating in her virginal attempts at seduction. The way she had touched him ... a tentative stroke here, a shy caress there . . . He expelled a hissing breath, his groin contracting violently at the mere thought of those heated moments. Never in his life had he been so aroused, nor had he felt such delicious anticipation in wondering where a woman would touch him next and how. Never had he ached so to experience a lover as he had Julia.
Unbidden, the picture of her naked and lying before him flashed through his mind. His groin gave another savage wrench. God, but she was beautiful! A vision of wanton innocence, sprawled as she was in the autumnal splendor of her hair, with her pale flesh blushed and glowing in her passion. And there was no mistaking that he had awakened her passion. Not with the way she had quivered and moaned beneath his hands, not with how she had undulated against him and responded to his kisses.
Gideon smiled faintly at the remembrance of those kisses. They had tasted like brandy. Whether the flavor had come from his own lips, a memento of the brandy he had imbibed earlier that evening, or the betrayal of a snifter she had sipped to ease a fit of maidenly nerves, he could not say. All he knew for certain was that he would never again be able to drink that spirit without being reminded of her lips. . . .
Which is why you swore off brandy on your wedding night, you fool. He again gritted his teeth, this time in disgust at his fatuous musings. Damn it to hell! What was it about the blasted woman that bewitched him so? By all rights of God and man, he should feel nothing for her but loathing. Yes, and scorn, and contempt, and every other harsh thing a man should rightfully feel for a woman who had used and deceived him. He most certainly should not want her, not even in the basest sense. But he did want her. Badly. He hungered for her-for the taste of her, for the feel and smell of her. He ached to take her as a man took a woman, to pleasure and possess her, and to fully awaken the passion that he had merely stirred in her on their wedding night.
She haunted him.
Expelling a string of vile curses in his frustration, Gideon forcibly dragged his thoughts from Julia, determined to exorcise her from his mind, if only for the moment. Desperate for something-anything at all-to keep it diverted, he turned his attention to the shadow land through which he rode, commanding himself to examine and study it.
It was one of those perfect, early-summer nights, soft and fragrant and full of mystery. The heavens above formed a deep purple dome, punctured by pinpoints of pure white light that swirled and stretched into infinity, like footprints left by the moon on its myriad journeys from twilight to dawn. Though the moon itself was now obscured by the lush canopy of tree branches overhead, its light seeped through the foliage to pierce the darkness below and dapple the road with silver. All around the night was alive with the sounds of burgeoning nature.
Now came the purring call of the nightjar as it swooped across the sky, preying upon the ghostly white moths that danced in shafts of moonlight. Now echoed the woodcock's croaking love song, accompanied by the owl's harsh screech as it made its nocturnal kill. And now sounded the short, gruff bark of a male fox. answered by a vixen's shriek in a courtship ritual as old as the woods that hid the lovers from prying human eyes.
But it was to no avail. Try though Gideon might to become entranced by nature's midnight magic, he simply could not keep his mind from straying back to Julia and that other, far more spellbinding night. Thus, by the time he reached the manor his mood had gone from dark to foul.
Now wanting nothing more than to deaden his mind with a bottle of port, he grunted once in response to his major-domo's greeting, more tossing than handing the servant his greatcoat and hat in his impatience to be alone. Pausing in the foyer only long enough to seize the branch of candles from a nearby footman, whose duty it was to light the family to their chambers at night, he stalked up the stairs and down the second-floor hallway, eager for the sanctuary of his study.
It was well past midnight and the ho
usehold had long ago sought their beds, leaving the manor still and dark, a peaceful haven where a haunted man could find respite from his ghosts. The lateness also served to free Gideon from the danger of inadvertently stumbling into Julia. And at that particular moment, he would rather face the devil incarnate than his enticing, nettlesome wife. He had just reached his study door when someone called out from behind him.
"Gideon, wait. Please."
Gideon froze, his body stiffening as he instantly recognized the elegant, perfectly modulated voice.
Julia.
Damnation! What was she doing up and about at this hour? And what the hell could she possibly want with him? Seeing no choice but to find out, he donned the mien of cool indifference he had taken to assuming in her presence, then slowly turned, responding in a clipped syllable, "Yes?"
She advanced toward him, her slight form haloed in the glow of the single candle she carried. As she drew near, Gideon could not help noticing how lustrous her skin looked in the warm golden light, or how her unbound hair seemed to capture and reflect the burnished splendor of the flickering flame. Though she was simply dressed in a plain, coral muslin gown, with her shoulders and aims draped in a delicately embroidered green silk shawl, she could not have looked more beautiful ... or tempting. It was all Gideon
could do not to groan aloud at the sight of her.
She waited until she had stopped a scant yard from where he stood, before replying, "I am sorry to disturb you, Gideon, truly I am, but I must speak with you. I have been waiting all evening to do so, so please do not turn me away now." She finished her plea with a timorous smile, one that he found immensely appealing, in spite of his determination to ignore her disquieting charms.
Disgusted with himself for falling such easy prey to her wiles, Gideon jerked his head once to the negative, unwilling to suffer her presence any longer than necessary. "No. Not tonight, Julia. It is late, and I am in no mood to indulge you in one of your tiresome arguments."
Her smile began to slip at his rebuff, only to be caught and renewed in the next instance as she countered, "Then you mistake my purpose. I am not here to argue, but to offer you an apology."
"An apology?" His eyes narrowed in immediate suspicion, warning bells going off in his mind. When a Barham did the unexpected, one stood well advised to suspect that spurious intent lay at the core of their unorthodox action.
She nodded, her smile broadening a fraction. "I would like to apologize for my behavior on our wedding night."
Of all the topics she could have chosen for discourse . . . Gideon's jaw muscles tensed with a click of clenching teeth. Not about to be roped into that particular conversation, especially at that moment, he snarled through his gritted teeth, "Don't bother. I do not care to hear it, or anything else you might have to say on the subject. Now go to bed, and leave me in peace." Certain that that would terminate their interview, Gideon turned away, imperiously dismissing her.
He had just flung open his study door when she abruptly demanded, "Why?"
Expelling an inaudible curse beneath his breath, he forced himself to pivot back around and confront her challenge. Fixing her with a fulminating glare, one that had yet to fail in cowing an opponent, he tersely countered, "Perhaps I should ask you the same question, Wife."
Every bit the master of appearances he had claimed her to be, Julia's smile did not falter in the face of his ire. "Why what?" She shook her head, meeting his gaze with eyes as ingeniously guileless as her practiced smile. "I am afraid that I do not know what you are asking."
He made a rude sound. "For all my poor opinion of you, Julia, I never counted you as slow-witted. However, judging from your present performance, it appears that I must now add that regrettable trait to your extensive list of character flaws."
She drew in a sharp breath, and for a moment he thought that her mastery would fail her. Then she bowed her head and quietly replied, "I am sorry, Gideon. I apologize for my shortcomings, but I truly do not know what you mean."
Rather than disarm him, as her skillful show of humility was no doubt calculated to do, it merely deepened his skepticism. Emitting another disdainful noise, this one in incredulity that she would mistake him for a big enough fool to buy her act, he brusquely retorted, "Fine, then. Why do you suddenly feel the need to apologize now, after all this time? And why the hell are you so bloody insistent on doing so at this hour of the night?"
"I did not apologize before because I did not know how. And I wish to do so now because I have just found the courage to say what needs to be said, and I fear that it will not last until morning." Her voice was soft but firm, its candor unmarred by the telltale tautness or hesitation that often marked a lie.
Gideon frowned, caught off guard by her artless response. He had expected her to respond in the usual Barham manner by offering a glib but convoluted explanation. Or perhaps fall back on her customary litany of self-serving excuses and rationalizations. But this? His frown deepened in his consternation. Could it be that she was actually sincere in her desire to mend the rift between them?
For a moment he was tempted to believe that it was true, perhaps because he wanted there to be hope for their marriage. Then he came to his senses and dismissed the notion as drivel. After all that had passed between them, he should know better than to think that she would humble herself to him, a primitive commoner, unless, of course, doing so would in some way benefit her or her contemptible father.
His foul mood worsening at the realization of how close he had come to again letting her play him for a fool, he growled, "Save your vapid show of contrition for someone blind enough to believe it, Lady Julia." He more sneered than uttered her title. "I am familiar enough with your treacherous machinations to know that you would not bother to instigate a truce unless you had something to gain from doing so. And since I have no intention of providing the means to the end of whatever chicanery you have a mind to embroil me in, I will bid you a good night." Again he began to turn away, once more signaling an end to their meeting.
But again she would not be put off. "You are wrong about my motives, Gideon," she persisted. "The only end I seek to gain is peace, to simply live in harmony with you, nothing more."
"Just peace and harmony?" He raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression of sardonic disbelief. "And why would you so stubbornly pursue something that will reap so small a gain?"
"Because I am tired," she flung back, her mastery slipping a notch. "I am tired of living in dread of our every encounter and of feeling constantly crushed by the weight of your wrath. Most of all, I am sick to death of having to tiptoe around you for fear that the rage inside you will explode." She was staring at him intently, her brow furrowed and her voice taut with frustration. "Surely you are as tired of the tension between us as I am?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "I cannot say that it has affected me one way or another." It was a lie, of course. He, too, was weary of the strain that governed their marriage. Nonetheless, he could not bring himself to bend to her pleas for an armistice. He would not. His wounded pride forbade him to do so.
Julia's mastery of artifice abandoned her completely now, and she expelled an exasperated snort. "Then you are the only one to remain unscathed. In case it has escaped your notice, our hostility has put the entire household on pins and needles and has made Critchley Manor a most uncomfortable place to live. Even Bliss has remarked upon the uneasy atmosphere and has voiced her misery. As for Bethany, now that she has left her sickbed, she cannot help but see the true state of our marriage. Loving you as she
does, she is bound to be pained at seeing you so unhappily wed. She is-"
"Enough! Do not think to use my sisters to promote your own selfish cause," Gideon interrupted harshly, though in his heart he knew that she spoke the truth. He was letting his animosity toward Julia poison all their lives.
"I was not trying to use your sisters, Gideon; I was merely stating a fact," Julia replied, her reasonable lone heralding the return of her mas
tery. "In spite of what you may think of me, I care about your sisters and their feelings. I also care about your household. So if you will not consider a truce for my sake or yours, I am begging you to do it for everyone else at Critchley."
As much as it went against the grain to do so, Gideon did consider it. How could he not when his sisters' happiness was in jeopardy? And it truly was at risk, especially in regard to Bliss. Indeed, despite his reluctance to admit the fact, even to himself, he had noticed that the enmity in his marriage was affecting the child, and badly.
Though Gideon would have preferred to be flayed alive than to concede victory to Julia, he saw no choice but to do so. For Bliss's sake. And Bethany's. As Julia had pointed out, Bethany would discern the trouble between them soon enough, now that she was up and about. If he could save her the pain of having her happy illusions about his marriage shattered by granting Julia her truce, then so be it. After all his sisters had suffered, they deserved to have a happy home, a peaceful one. What did it matter if he had to sacrifice his pride to give it to them?
That decision made, he sighed and said, "All right I will agree to a truce, for my sisters' sakes, though I must confess to harboring some reservations about whether we will ever be able to completely put aside our ill feelings for each other. After all that has been said and done . . ." He shook his head, again sighing, this time at the enormity of the task before him. "I can only promise to try."
"That is all I ask," Julia replied with a nod and a smile. "Now please, allow me to take the first step toward burying our differences by letting me say how sorry I am, for everything. Truly, I never intended to hurt or offend you. Regardless of the impression I gave you, I admire and respect you, and I very much wish to be your friend."
Despite his best intentions to honor his vow, Gideon could not help scoffing at her ludicrous apology. "Accusing a person of being common and primitive, and cringing from their touch as if they were a leper is hardly the way a person acts toward someone they admire and respect. It most certainly does not demonstrate a wish for friendship, so please do not insult me further by trying to convince me that you harbor anything but scorn for me, because we both know how you truly feel."
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