by Mary Balogh
And then just when he was about to stalk off, they came. They were strolling arm in arm, looking perfectly cheerful and amiable. And looking remarkably tidy and unrumpled. But it had taken them almost an hour to walk two miles. Almost an hour.
Freddie was summoned almost immediately to help Aunt Millie overcome her jitters and get safely into one of the boats. Julia stood looking fondly after him. The earl felt the old familiar welling of irritation and even anger, especially knowing what he must say to her, what he had planned to postpone until the next day. He had learned from experience, though, that there was no point in putting off until another day what could just as easily be done today. It became no less difficult the next day, but sometimes more so.
She turned her head and saw him coming. He watched her smile disappear to be replaced by wariness and hostility. Her glance slipped away from his eyes to his mouth or his chin. She looked at him and yet she did not look.
“Where have you been?” he asked her. Not an amiable question. He could hear the iron in his own voice.
“Don’t be tiresome, Daniel,” she said.
“You were set down at the opposite side of the lake,” he said. “The distance from there to here must be no more than two miles.”
“If you knew the answer,” she said, “why did you ask the question?”
“It took you all of an hour to walk those two miles,” he said. “Longer. It is an hour since Malcolm and Camilla brought the boat back. What is the explanation?”
She lifted her eyes coolly to his. “Daniel,” she said quietly, “if you expect me to be unladylike, I will be unladylike. You may go to hell.”
He felt rather as if his face had been slapped. Except that blood seemed to be draining from it rather than rushing to it.
“Oh, good,” a voice said from close by—too close by, “here come the picnic baskets. I am starved. Henry, dear, do let us go and be first in line. Julia and Daniel, you may fall in behind us.” Aunt Roberta laughed.
“We will have this discussion somewhere else,” the earl said, taking Julia’s arm in a grasp that was not meant to be gentle.
“There is no discussion,” she said. “And I have just completed a rather lengthy walk. I am tired and hungry, Daniel.”
“You will come walking with me,” he said, turning her in the direction of the trees and the house.
“What I will do,” she said, “is make a scene, Daniel. I shall scream and have a fit of the vapors. Let us see how you will like that.”
But he was in no mood to wonder if she was prepared to follow through on her threat. He had had enough. He had been plagued by her, tormented by her ever since his arrival at Primrose Park before the death of his uncle. She had even invaded his dreams, appearing in them flimsily clad and smiling and warmly inviting. Not that the dreams were nearly as powerfully erotic as the reality of that morning had been. It was time things were settled with Julia. It was time she knew what was what.
He propelled her forward and she came with him without any of the sounds of protest she had threatened. He relaxed his hold on her arm when they were among the trees and drew it through his instead. She pulled it free, but continued to walk at his side.
“Did he touch you?” he asked.
“You must have seen that my arm was through his when we returned,” she said.
“Did he touch you?” His voice was vicious.
“Yes, he did.” Hers was correspondingly cool and incensed him further. “He kissed me, Daniel. For perhaps ten minutes altogether. He does it quite differently from you, if you are interested in knowing. Gently and very expertly. He did not attack me.”
“I did not attack you,” he said to her through his teeth. ‘That would imply that you were my victim.”
“Well, perhaps it was a mutual attack,” she said. “I grant you that. It was rather strange, was it not, Daniel, considering the fact that our dislike of each other amounts almost to hatred and that we cannot talk to each other without quarreling.”
“Julia,” he said, “do you not realize how indecorous it was to walk so long alone with Freddie? And how dangerous?”
“He might have ravished me,” she said. “I should have learned that lesson this morning, shouldn’t I? But he did not do so.”
“I would not have been ravishing you,” he said. “You were willing.”
She looked up at him and smiled. She was still maddeningly cool. “I was, wasn’t I?” she said. “Does it not amaze you, Daniel, that we can be so attracted to each other on a purely physical level? That the body can be so divorced from the reason and the emotions?”
“It was your vulgar appearance and behavior that did it,” he said.
“Was it?” She smiled at him again. “So you do not find me attractive now, Daniel? I have nothing to fear from you now?”
The trees were behind them. They were walking up the sloping lawn. He turned their direction so that they would come to the rose arbor.
“I hope not,” he said. “I hope that this morning’s experience will teach me that the consequences of behaving as less than a gentleman can be catastrophic. I should not have followed you.”
“And missed the race?” she said. “I thought it rather exhilarating, Daniel. And fitting that we finished together with no clear winner.”
“I must apologize to you for what happened this morning,” he said. “I am deeply sorry, Julia, for the distress and dishonor I caused you.”
She looked up at him with interest as they passed beneath the rose-laden arch into the arbor and were assaulted by the scent of a thousand roses. “That is very handsome of you,” she said, “since you so clearly believe that the fault was mine. Wearing breeches and riding astride, it seems, are very provocative to a man.”
“It was unpardonable of me to lose control,” he said.
She seated herself on a bench, raised her parasol above her head, and gave it a twirl, looking at him the whole while. “I have to savor this moment,” she said, laughing. “The Earl of Beaconswood apologizing to plain Julia Maynard. I did not think I would live to see the day. But alas, I cannot revel in the triumph of it, Daniel. You don’t need to apologize. If we behaved wrongly, we were one as bad as the other. Which I suppose is not a great deal of consolation to you, is it? I am sure it must be lowering to know that you were ever provoked into behaving as badly as I. Let’s forget it. Let’s go back and see if there is any tea left.”
It was tempting. Very tempting, considering the fact that she did not seem unduly upset by what had happened and considering the fact that no one else knew. But he could not give in to temptation. His upbringing had taught him never to do so but to behave rightly and properly and responsibly. It had taught him always to make amends whenever he did for some reason go wrong.
“You must marry me, Julia,” he said.
Her parasol stilled and so did every part of her body. Until she laughed. “What did you say?” she asked.
“You must marry me,” he said. “You have been compromised. Very severely so. I must give you the protection of my name.”
She stared at him again for a few silent moments. And then the parasol was twirling again. “It must be the sun,” she said. “We must send for a physician. Or it is Primrose Park. Having been here for a few weeks you are being enticed by its charms and wish to keep it. No, Daniel. A plain and simple and straightforward and quite unnegotiable no.”
“You were alone with me,” he said. “I embraced you in a manner that might be considered improper even in a marriage bed. You have no choice, Julia.”
“Daniel,” she said. The parasol was spinning so fast that it must be whipping up a breeze about her head. “You are too stuffy for your own good. You make the marriage bed sound like the dullest place in the world. And I do have a choice. Yes or no. Listen to my answer. It is no.”
He should let it go. He knew that. He had done the honorable thing and been rejected. He had persisted and been rejected again. He should let it go and begin rejoicing in
his narrow escape. He should begin allowing himself to think of Blanche again. Julia’s answer was crystal clear. And knowing her as he did, he knew that there would be no shifting her.
“I must insist,” he said. “Even apart from what happened this morning, Julia, you must realize that you need my protection. You admitted to me that the prospect of going to live with your uncle is less than appealing. And your marriage prospects here can be no more so. There is no one with whom you could be happy.”
“Let me make myself clear,” she said, “once and for all. I would rather go to my grave as a miserable spinster than marry you, Daniel. I would rather be dead. I would rather marry a dragon. And as for my other prospects, I have had two offers just today—two apart from yours, which was a command rather than an offer. I am giving serious and careful consideration to both.”
“Who?” His hands clasped themselves tightly at his back.
“Les and Freddie,” she said. “And you are not invited to comment, Daniel. You have no right to do so. I shall choose one of them and I will be happy with my choice.”
“You will be miserable,” he said.
“Then I will be miserable,” she said. “Either way, it is none of your concern.” She got to her feet. “I am going back to the lake for tea. Are you coming?”
He stood and stared at her.
“On second thoughts,” she said, “I have lost my appetite, and I do not much care for the prospect of walking all the way back to the lake at your side, Daniel. I am going into the house. Alone, if you please. I think even you will agree that it is unexceptionable for me to walk that far unescorted and unchaperoned.” She turned and walked out through the other archway and on up to the terrace.
The earl watched her go without moving. Freddie. She was going to marry Freddie. She had refused him and was going to choose his cousin instead. She had said she would rather be dead than married to him. He waited for the sense of freedom, for the euphoria that was bound to follow on his escape from a dreaded fate. But he felt only—what?
Disappointment? Disappointment? Had she said yes, he would have been shackled to her for life. He would have been subjected to her bold, unconventional, sometimes vulgar ways for the rest of his life. He would have been subjected to permanent anger, frustration, outrage. He would have quarreled with her every day for the rest of their lives. No, he could not possibly be feeling disappointment. Did a man feel disappointed when he had just been reprieved from imminent execution?
He felt—hurt? Hurt that she would reject him with such vehemence and such scorn when he had agonized over his decision and come to it with such heavy reluctance? Hurt that she showed no gratitude? Hurt that she would choose Freddie or even Les before him? The whole world of man before him? He could not be feeling hurt.
But the thought had been there at the back of his decision. The consolation. The thought he had been quite unaware of until now and even now shied away from. The thought that when he married her the brightness, the exuberance that was Julia would be part of his home, part of his life. The thought that when he married her he would be able to complete what had been started that morning. The thought that he would be able to delight his senses with her alluring and passionate body. Not just once but over and over again through their lives. In his own bed, in his own home.
Yes, the feeling was disappointment, he decided as he turned and walked resolutely back in the direction of the lake. Disappointment that he was not after all to possess the most attractive female body he had ever felt drawn to. The only one for which he had felt an almost overpowering and persistently lingering craving.
He despised himself for such carnal desires. And after all he felt relief. It was a great escape he had just had. For along with that body, of course, came Julia. Not just her exuberance, but her unconventionality, her careless disregard for what was expected of her as a lady. And her hostility whenever he tried to confront her. She would not be a suitable countess. She would not suit him—or at least she would not suit the kind of person his position compelled him to be.
The fact that she was crying by the time she reached her room angered her more than anything else. It was the final straw. She slammed the door behind her, hurled her parasol across the room and followed it with her slippers, one at a time, and then with her bonnet. But she still felt no better. The tears had developed into sobs and after that there was no stopping the despicable self-pity. She threw herself facedown across the bed and howled and pummeled the bedspread with the sides of her fists.
The sheer insult of it! You must marry me, Julia. I must insist. Because he believed he had compromised her virtue that morning. Because even she must be encompassed by his cold sense of duty to what was right and proper. Not— will you marry me, Julia? Please will you reconsider? But—you must marry me. I must insist.
It was too much. It was just too much. Her mind and her emotions could not cope with everything that had happened in the course of one day. When Grandpapa had been alive, she had sometimes looked back on a day and been almost alarmed to find that she could not remember a single thing of any significance that had happened. She longed for a return of those days. Those blessedly quiet and rather dull days when there had been Grandpapa to read to and Aunt Millie to converse with.
And she longed for Grandpapa. Oh, to be able to go along to his room right now and tiptoe inside to see if he was awake. To sit quietly at his bedside if he were not. To fuss over him if he were.
Grandpapa! She wailed anew and felt doubly bereft when she remembered that all this misery was his fault. Because he had thought to force her into doing what he was convinced was the only thing that could make her happy— marriage. Men! They were all alike. They all thought that marriage was a woman’s only salvation. You must marry me, Julia.
The morning’s encounter had been deeply disturbing to her. Though she had spoken of it lightly to Daniel, she did not feel it lightly. She had tried to put it all out of her mind, get it into proper perspective by her encounter with Freddie. But it just had not gone away. It disturbed her to know that she and Daniel could have fallen into such a hot and intimate embrace. He had touched her naked breast. He had touched her there even though the fabric of her breeches had been between his hand and her flesh. She had wanted him with a terrible yearning that had not after all been all physical.
Oh, she had told herself that that was all it had been. She had told him that that was all. But it had been more than that. She had quarreled with him a little while ago when he was being autocratic, and she had spoken lightly and carelessly when the morning’s doings had been mentioned. But she had known as soon as he had stepped close to her and spoken to her that she had been far more deeply affected than she had realized. That her emotions had been battered.
She had yearned for some kind words from him, for some sensible words. She had yearned to talk with him instead of just sparring with him. That was all she and Daniel ever did. Spar. Fight Quarrel. She had wanted them to talk. She had hoped... But she was as much to blame as he, she knew. Perhaps more so. She had had her defenses up too, making light of everything he said, being quarrelsome whenever she could. She had not, she supposed, given out very strong signals that she wanted a truce.
Just a temporary truce. Just long enough that they could talk over the puzzling mystery of their behavior that morning. She needed some explanation, some understanding. Some peace between them. She wanted him to go away. She wanted her old life back. She wanted her grandfather back.
Julia got up off the bed and went through to her dressing room to blow her nose and try to repair some of the damage to her face. She glanced in a looking glass and made a face at the red-eyed, red-cheeked apparition who looked back. She wanted her grandfather back, indeed! She would be sniveling for her mother next. He had apologized. Apologies did not come easily to Daniel, especially when they were directed to her. But he had done it. He had held out an olive branch and she had slapped it away. She had even made fun of him. And yet she was blam
ing him for arrogance and lack of feeling? He had asked her to marry him. But no, he had not asked. He had told. And it had been arrogant, all of it.
She had looked at him standing there in the rose arbor, her emotions all raw and bruised, wanting reassurance, wanting—sympathy. Wanting—oh, she did not know what she had wanted. And all she had got was cold attention to duty. He had been prepared to marry her because he thought he ought. Was she being unfair to him? Julia eyed with some misgiving the bowl of cold water she had just poured and then resolutely plunged her face into it. No, she was not being unfair.
She really would rather be dead than married to Daniel.
She came up sputtering, her eyes tightly closed, and felt around for a towel.
Another thought arrested her movements, though, as she dabbed at her face with the towel. She had objected to his proposal because it was arrogant? Not simply because it was a proposal? How would she have reacted had it been made differently? If he had really asked. Would it have made a difference?
Would it? Was there any way on this earth that she would listen seriously to an offer of marriage from Daniel? She thought of him again as he had appeared in the arbor, framed by roses, the sun at his back, and there was a tightening in her breasts and an aching in her womb. Purely physical reactions. Pure lust. Except that there was an aching in her heart as well.
She thought determinedly of Freddie and his kisses. Wonderful and experienced and satisfying. Except that she could not really remember them. But they had been those things. She had thought so at the time. If only he were not Freddie. If only he were not someone she had known all her life, someone she could not think of seriously as a lover. But then she had known Daniel all her life too.
She thought of Les. Dear, kind Les, who would allow her to live at Primrose Park as she had always lived and would not inflict his company on her uninvited. Except that she did not want to live the rest of her life at Primrose Park as she always had. She wanted—something different. She yearned for something different.
