by Mary Balogh
“Thank you, Les,” she said, smiling. “I am going to stay here for a while and think. Do you mind?”
She watched him walk back to the house, the smile lingering on her lips. Now there was a definite and very wonderful offer for her to consider. But an impossible one to accept, of course. A wave of sadness rid her face of the last traces of her smile.
Dear Les. He was willing to marry her entirely for her own sake. Entirely for her own comfort and happiness. He would be the owner of Primrose Park as her husband, of course, but he would use it only to provide her with contentment. It seemed that he had no thought of using her. The very thought of Les’s kissing her or holding her or being in any way intimate with her was ludicrous. She very much doubted that Les had even thought of consummating the marriage he had just proposed.
There would be nothing whatsoever in the marriage for Les. Except perhaps the satisfaction of knowing that he had secured her happiness. And there was nothing she could possibly offer him—except the affection she had mentioned to him. It would be impossible not to feel affection for Les. But nothing else. She would have nothing else to offer.
And so if she married him, she would be being as selfish and as mercenary as someone who would marry her just for the sake of owning Primrose Park. Freddie. That was why Freddie would marry her. Did he have as little else to offer her as she had to offer Les?
Julia sighed and felt the old familiar anger against her grandfather for putting her in this predicament and sorrow that he had left her so little freedom.
She needed exercise, she decided suddenly. Vigorous exercise. Swimming leapt to mind. But she would not feel free to swim until everyone went back home again. But there was the sudden numbing realization that when everyone else returned home this time she too would be leaving Primrose Park—forever. Unless she married one of the cousins.
Boating, then? But the boats were in the boathouse and too heavy for her to drag out unassisted. She would have to go in search of one of the gardeners to help her or else drag one of the grooms from the stables. It would take too long.
Riding, perhaps? She had ridden earlier in the morning but not so far as usual because it had looked as if rain was going to come down at any moment. She looked up at the sky. It was still gray with clouds, but they were too high to bring rain. It was just a dull day, that was all. She would go riding again, she decided, getting to her feet. She strode toward the house.
Had she met any of the cousins on her way inside and up to her room, she would have asked them to join her. But the hall and the stairway were deserted. Everyone, it seemed, was about some indoor activity since the weather made the outdoors uninviting. She rejected the idea of going in search of someone. She would prefer to ride alone anyway. She really needed to think.
And the deserted nature of stairs and hall made something else possible. Julia did not ring for her maid to help her into her riding habit. Instead she pulled on her breeches with a shirt and jacket, looked gingerly out from the door of her dressing room to make sure that the corridor had not suddenly filled with disapproving aunts, and darted out and down the stairs and across the hall, almost holding her breath the whole way.
Luck was with her. She met no one, and the grooms in the stables were used to seeing her dressed as she was. One of them saddled Flossie for her and she mounted— astride—and made her escape from the stables unobserved.
Freedom! she thought as she made her way north of the house at a canter. It was such a very precious commodity. And Les could and would offer it to her permanently. She would be foolish to reject his offer just because the arrangement would bring nothing to him. And just because she craved more of a relationship than they could possibly find together. And more of life than endless peace and comfort at Primrose Park.
10
The Earl of Beaconswood left his cousins, Frederick and Lesley, when they decided to return to the house after a ride of a mere hour. He had not had enough exercise. Besides, he always enjoyed riding alone. Normally his life was a busy one. Solitary rides were a luxury and gave him a chance to think or merely to relax.
He was doing both on this particular morning. He was riding slowly along the bank of the lake—the trees made any faster pace unwise—enjoying the sight of the clouds reflected on its surface. He hoped that he would not see a swimmer. But surely even Julia would not swim this late in the day. Besides it would be a chilly pleasure on this particular morning.
He turned his thoughts resolutely away from her. By unspoken consent they had avoided each other quite successfully in the days since the walk out to the hill. And she had been behaving with something like decorum despite the fact that his mother had reproved her the evening before for growing rather noisy during a game of charades when they were all supposed to be in mourning for the late earl. But even he had been able to see that his mother had been rather unfair to her. After all, none of them were wearing mourning and almost all of them had been involved in the game. They were merely doing what his uncle had directed them to do in his will—enjoying the month together.
Julia had left both the game and the room without another word and a dampener had fallen on all their spirits. The game had gone only one more round. He had to admit—grudgingly—that Julia did add life to a party.
No, he did not want to think of her. He had had a letter that morning from a friend in London. Blanche was going to Brighton for the summer. Horrocks was laying determined siege to her heart, his friend had written, and to her hand, and she was not discouraging him. But she had sent a message. Oh, no, that was not strictly accurate, of course. She was far too well bred to send him messages. But she had hinted in the way well-bred young ladies could excel at doing that she would wait to see if the new Earl of Beaconswood would put in an appearance at Brighton before making her decision. He was the favorite, it would appear.
In less than three weeks he would be free to leave Primrose Park. Perhaps she would still be in London. If not, he would know where she was and would be able to remove to Brighton himself without delay. If he wanted to. Following Blanche to Brighton would be tantamount to declaring himself.
Did he want to take such an irrevocable step?
He frowned and turned his horse’s head into the grove of trees so that he would come out in the open meadows north of the house. He had had few doubts just a couple of weeks before. Was he having doubts now? Because he had not seen her exquisite beauty for a few weeks perhaps? Because now that the time was close he was realizing fully what a very irreversible step in life marriage would be?
He was not having doubts. He was longing to see Blanche again. He was longing to get away from this suspended life and back to his normal life. He was ready to move on to the next stage of it.
Another horse was cantering toward him across the meadow as he emerged from the trees. He might have thought that the rider was one of his male cousins, but he did not. He might have thought that it was one of the grooms. Certainly she looked enough like a boy with her boy’s clothes and her manner of riding. But in fact he was not deceived for a moment. He had seen her riding thus many years before. And he was learning to expect the indecorous from Julia. Even at this time of the day when anyone might have seen her—his other cousins or his mother or his aunts. Or his uncles.
And he was learning to expect the tightening of muscles and the tensing of nerves. And the furious anger. And the urge to throttle. How dared she continue over and over again to fly in the face of convention? Good Lord, she looked—voluptuous. Her legs were long and slim. Not at all masculine. Never in a thousand years could he have mistaken her for a boy.
She saw him almost immediately and eased back on the reins so that her mare reduced its pace to a walk. Her own expression tightened for a moment and then unexpectedly she grinned—or perhaps not so unexpectedly for Julia.
“Where have you been for the last three mornings, Daniel?” she called as she drew closer. “It is amazing you were not there waiting to pounce the very first
time—you or one of your five identical brothers. Less than an hour ago I was strolling in the parterre gardens just as a lady ought with Aunt Millie. And whom did I see? Freddie and Les, that’s who. Now I have stolen away from being the perfect lady for a little time to myself, and whom do I see? You. Of course. Who else?” She laughed gaily.
Her flippant manner fanned his anger. “Julia,” he said, “look at yourself. You are a disgrace to your family and your sex.”
“I don’t have to look at myself,” she said. “There is no looking glass out here. And you do not have to look either, Daniel. You are returning to the house? I am not. Goodbye. I shall see you later if I cannot avoid doing so.”
She was sitting very upright, looking quite relaxed and self-assured. Her thighs, spread wide across the saddle, controlled her mount with practiced skill. The earl swallowed and grew hot when he realized the direction his eyes and his mind had taken.
“You are going back to the house with me,” he said. “Now, Julia. If we are fortunate we will be able to get you in through a side door and up the servants’ stairs to your room before you are seen. I will have your word that you will not appear in these disgraceful clothes again while my family is in residence here.”
His words were like a red flag to a bull, of course. He realized that even as he was still speaking. She raised her eyebrows and looked directly back into his eyes.
“You forget one thing, Daniel,” she said, her voice cool and controlled. “I am not your property. Not even to the extent of being a member of the family of which you are the head. And I am not on your property either. If you wish me to go back to the house with you, you will have to take me there by force. I do not doubt that you will be successful if you choose to try, but you will not be unscarred. I can promise you that. As for the clothes, they are rather similar to yours though Weston did not make mine, of course. Are they really disgraceful? Are yours disgraceful?”
“A man's clothes are disgraceful on a woman’s form,” he said through his teeth. “Just as a woman’s would be on a man. They are an open invitation, Julia.”
“Are they?” She smiled and leaned slightly toward him from her saddle. “An invitation to what, Daniel? Are you having naughty thoughts—again? Your very proper lady love would be very shocked. Here is an invitation of another kind. A race. Race me to the stream?”
She did not wait for his answer or look back to see if he had accepted her challenge. She laughed, spurred her horse, and bent low over its neck as it bounded quickly into a gallop.
The stream circled around in a huge horseshoe northward from the hill east of the house and then southward to flow into the lake. There were two long meadows between where the earl was standing his horse and the stream. Two meadows full of potential dangers to the unwary and reckless rider. And two thick hedges bordering them. She would kill herself. It would be a fitting ending for Julia. She would break her neck when her horse stepped in a rabbit hole or when it failed to clear one of the hedges.
And he would carry the guilt of feeling responsible to his grave. Lord, this time he would wring her neck if he could get his hands about it before she broke it. He gave his horse the signal and went racing after her.
He was following her, she realized suddenly as she responded to the exhilaration of pounding hooves beneath her and wind rushing at her face. She was surprised. Or perhaps not. He would feel obliged to follow her just so that he might give her a thundering scold when the race ended. She did not turn her head though she wanted to laugh back at him again. She would need all her concentration if she was to maintain and even increase the pace she had set.
She did not usually gallop so fast over these meadows. Her grandfather’s head groom had warned her not to but to reserve her more energetic rides for the park south of the house, which he could guarantee to be free of dangers. And she had never jumped these particular hedges, but only the lower, cultivated ones in the park. She did consider easing her pace, coming to a halt before the first hedge and grinning at him as if she had never intended to go farther. But the challenge had been issued quite unmistakably. Pride was at stake.
She would aim for the lowest part of the hedge without swerving too far off course. But there was no lowest part. It was all uniformly and alarmingly high and thick. She set her eyes on a part of the hedge directly in front of her, spurred her horse toward it, and concentrated on showing no sign at all that might convey nervousness to Flossie. She heard her mare’s hooves brush twigs and leaves as they soared over.
And then she began to enjoy the race. She risked one quick glance back and laughed with excitement. He was clearing the hedge with perhaps a foot to spare. He was closer than she had expected. She would be fortunate indeed if she did not lose the race quite ignominiously.
He caught up with her when they were a little more than halfway across the second meadow. He rode dangerously close. She thought for one moment that he was going to try leaning across and grabbing her reins.
“Stop, Julia,” he yelled. “Enough!”
If she had for a moment thought of not risking the second hedge, the thought was gone. She laughed once more. “Are you afraid I will beat you?” She called back without removing her eyes from the hedge ahead. It looked higher and thicker than the first. “Come on, Flossie,” she urged, leaning farther forward across the horse’s neck, lifting as much of her weight as she could from its back.
They went over together, side by side. By some miracle Flossie cleared the hedge, though the moment was to give Julia nightmares for several nights to come. The earl’s horse, a massive stallion, had no trouble at all, of course, but Julia did not spare any attention to notice that. She slowed for the stream, patting Flossie’s neck, wondering if her heart would stop pounding before cutting off her breathing altogether or before breaking right through her ribs.
A horse drew up beside her and she remembered her pride again. She flashed a smile. “A dead heat would you say?” she asked. “We will have to try again some time, Daniel, to see who is really the better horseman.”
She scarcely finished the words. Her companion had thrown himself from his own horse—there could be no better word to describe the way he dismounted—and was reaching up to grasp her ungently by the waist and drag her from hers. She came down in an inelegant heap—all arms and legs and indignation.
But before she could gather together either her dignity or her anger, a hand clamped on each shoulder hard enough to leave bruises and she was being shaken and shaken. Just like a rag doll with no chance to grab either her breath or her balance or fistfuls of his coat.
“You she-devil!” were the first words she heard, though many had gone before. “You might have killed yourself, Julia. Worse, you might have killed your horse. Do you have no sense of danger? No sense of responsibility?” The shaking continued so that she had no immediate chance either to reply or to marshal her thoughts.
“You are a dangerous child,” he said, holding her still at last, clutching her shoulders even more tightly if it were possible, speaking directly into her face from only a few inches away. “Without thought, without conscience, without discipline. You are a wild uncivilized child. I have a mind to turn you beneath my arm and give you the thrashing with my riding crop that my uncle should have given you years and years ago. Or better still, with my bare hand.”
She was afraid of him. For the first time she was afraid. He was within a whisker of doing it, she knew. And she could sense the power of his body through the strength of his hands. She was totally powerless in his grasp. There would be pain—he was furious and would not spare the weight of his hand. But far worse than the pain, there would be humiliation. Being spanked by Daniel. Just like a naughty child. She was not a child. She was a woman.
The realization that she was both in his power and afraid of him turned her to ice. “Take your hands off me, Daniel,” she said. “I am not answerable to you for anything I do. And I did not force you to follow me, to turn my ride into a race.”
“You did not force me!” He almost spat the words from between his teeth. He forced her closer to him so that she felt her breasts flatten against his coat and had to tip her head back. “You go out riding astride dressed like this and challenge me to a race across uneven ground and over unkempt hedges and you expect me to let you go? It is time you were taught a lesson you will never forget, Julia. A painful lesson.”
“You did not follow me because you were outraged,” she said. Her neck was aching already from the awkward angle at which she was forced to hold her head. “Or because you saw me as an unruly child in need of chastisement. Be honest with yourself, Daniel. You followed me because I am a woman. More woman than you have ever encountered before. More woman than you know what to do with.”
The words seemed to speak themselves. In her voice. She listened, appalled, and stared defiantly into his eyes.
“My God!” His words were whispered, and she suddenly found herself no longer frightened, but terrified. Mindless with terror.
Julia was quite blase about the art of kissing. She had been kissed several times and by more than one gentleman and knew all there was to know about it. She even knew enough about it to realize that a gentleman she fancied or one with expertise could make the exercise a great deal more interesting than it had been in her experience.
But what followed was not, of course, a kiss. It was something she had never experienced and something she knew nothing about and something she had never suspected to be within the realm of anyone’s experience. His mouth was open when it came down over hers, both his lips and his tongue demanding that hers open too. One iron-hard hand spread over the back of her head to prevent her from pulling back. But she had no thought of doing so or of resisting the demands on her mouth. She opened and was invaded. And invaded in her turn. She pressed her mouth back against his, fenced with his tongue in her mouth, followed it out and into his own, got her arms up somehow to circle his neck, pushed the fingers of one hand up into his hair to hold his head steady.
