Groaning in embarrassment, she wrenched her thoughts away from that frantic joining in the library and forced herself to consider his proposal. Would it be so very terrible, she wondered, being married to a man she loved? Married to a man who sent her blood singing in her veins and gave her physical pleasure such as she had never imagined? She bit her lip. It was more than possible that she had been the biggest fool in nature to have refused him out of hand.
But marriage, she thought uneasily, would change everything. Asher would naturally expect her to live in his home at Fox Hollow. Would it be so very bad if she had to give up her own cozy little home? A pang went through her. She loved Rosevale; she had fallen in love with its quaint air the moment she had laid eyes on it and it had been the first and only place that had been truly hers. She would miss the tranquillity of the home she had made there for herself after her husband’s death, but in the end, she understood that it was only a house. But Mrs. Rivers, what of her? Would Asher insist she send the old woman away, or would he be content to have her former nursemaid live with them? And her fortune, while not large, was more than adequate for her needs, but would he husband it wisely? Or gamble it away as other men had done to their wives’ fortunes? What if her father or her sister needed her? Would he forbid her to go to them?
Those concerns might seem trivial when weighed against marrying the man she loved, but there was no escaping the harsh reality that as her husband Asher would have complete control over her person, as well as any assets she brought to the marriage. As a widow, she had the freedom to spend her money as she saw fit, to live as she saw fit, but once they married, she became little more than his chattel. He could say where they lived, how they lived, who she could see and when. He could beat her if he liked. How much money she would have to spend would be up to his goodwill. He could decide the number of servants in their household and who they were. Except for her widow’s jointure, and he’d have to die for her to gain control of those assets, she thought wryly, she would have as much say in her life as a dog did about where it slept and what it ate. Did she trust him enough to risk everything?
She stared blindly into the darkness, thinking of the Asher she knew. Over the years, there had been speculation about his long absences from the area, but his family had always dismissed them as either business or pleasure trips—often abroad. Until that night in Ormsby’s library in London, she had not seen him eight or nine times since they had become young adults. He had been often gone from the area and she had married, moved away and become widowed before returning to her father’s house.
The course of her own life had been such that their paths had not often crossed and there was much about the adult Asher that she did not know. As a boy, he had been kind, if abrupt and impatient with her at times, but he had never been cruel or a bully. If they married, she didn’t fear that he would beat her or mistreat her physically. He didn’t appear to be overly fond of the bottle and she’d heard no gossip about late night gaming or the flaunting of one mistress after the other. Which didn’t mean he wasn’t a drunkard or a gambler or a womanizer, just that he’d kept his vices well hidden, but Juliana didn’t believe he was any of those things.
One thing she did know: he loved his family, especially his grandmother, and treated her with great care, respect and affection. Didn’t it follow that he would show a wife the same care, respect, the same consideration? A soft smile curved her mouth as she thought about Mrs. Manley’s new puppy, Apollo. How many men would have shown such thoughtfulness to an old lady? And she did trust him, she reminded herself. Why else had she gone to him when she needed help with Ormsby?
She sighed and hugged the pillow tighter. Was she a fool to have hesitated? A part of her did indeed think that she was, but a streak of practicality, the part of her that thoroughly enjoyed living her life without the hand of a man on her neck, wasn’t convinced. Juliana smothered a yawn and exhaustion swept over her. She tried to concentrate, to stay awake, but sleep won out and her lids closed.
An hour before dawn a rattle woke her. Sitting up, she stared groggily around the room, wondering what had awakened her. Darkness met her gaze and she started to drop back onto the bed, when the rattle came again.
Recognizing the sound as pebbles being thrown against one of her windows, she scooted out of bed and hurried to the window. Having a fair idea of the identity of the person who had awakened her, she threw open the window, leaned out and hissed, “Stop that!”
“I will now that I have your attention,” Asher said calmly from below her. “You’re a hard woman to wake. I’ve been casting stones at your window for ten minutes.”
In the murky light of predawn, his tall form was barely discernable below her, and conscious that they could be discovered by anyone, she demanded, “Are you mad? What are you doing here at this hour?”
“Delivering the fruits of my labor, sweet. Meet me at the library door and I shall hand them over to you.”
“You recovered Thalia’s letters?” she gasped, coming fully awake with a jolt.
“Never say you doubted my abilities to serve my lady,” Asher mocked.
Whirling away from the window, Juliana fumbled around in the darkness for a moment, searching for her robe. During the night the garment had fallen from the bed to the floor but finally her seeking fingers found it. She put on the robe and after wrapping it securely around her, darted from the room.
The house was not yet stirring, but as she hurried down the stairs, she knew that shortly the staff would be assembling in the kitchen preparing for the day ahead. If she did not want to arouse questions or be found in a compromising position with Asher she had only a few minutes before the possibility of stumbling across a sleepy servant became a certainty.
Reaching the library, she slid into the room and shut the door behind her. Averting her gaze from the direction of the sofa where she had made love with Asher only hours previously, she ran to the French doors and opened one. Asher stepped into the room.
Before she could say a word, he reached into his jacket and extracted an envelope. “All three letters, my lady. I suggest that you burn them. Thalia didn’t write anything particularly scandalous, but I don’t think Ormsby will be so careless with them again if he was to recover them from you.”
Taking the envelope from him, she clutched it tightly to her chest. “They were where you thought they would be?” she asked breathlessly, hardly daring to believe that she actually held Thalia’s letters in her hands.
“Precisely where I said they would be.” The note of satisfaction in his voice did not escape her.
“And you had no trouble?” she asked worriedly. “No one saw you? Ormsby suspects nothing?” She hesitated, finally voicing her real concern. “You are in no danger? No blame will fall on you when the theft is discovered?”
Asher smiled. “There will be no repercussion for me.” When she still looked anxious, he said gently, “No one saw me, Juliana. I was in and out of Ormsby’s like a shadow, leaving no sign of my presence behind me.” He made a face. “However, the instant he discovers that he cannot use Thalia’s letters against her,” he warned, “Ormsby will know that his safe was pilfered.” He pulled on his ear. “Ah, I took some other letters he had mixed in with Thalia’s, so while he might suspect that your family is responsible for his loss, he’ll have to at least consider that one of the other unfortunates he was blackmailing was behind the theft.”
In the shadowy gray light, her eyes widened. “He was blackmailing someone else?”
“Yes. As soon as I return home, I shall be seeing that those letters are returned, anonymously, to their rightful owners.”
Juliana almost burst into tears as relief swept through her. Thalia was safe! Asher had succeeded and he had saved her sister from a dire fate. Her voice thick with emotion, she said, “Oh, Asher, I cannot thank you enough! I cannot tell my father or Thalia what you have done for us, but know that I will be forever in your debt and that you have my utmost gratitude.”
“I don’t want your bloody gratitude,” he said sharply. “What I want is for you to marry me.”
“Of course,” she said, surprising both of them. She hadn’t come to a conscious decision to marry him, but with her heart overflowing with gratitude, already in love with him, to continue to refuse him when he had done so much for her seemed unfair and cavalier. Tonight could have turned out very differently; he could have been captured, his future ruined and his family shamed. He had risked his life for her; how could she refuse to risk her own for him? “I am forever in your debt and with all that you have done for me,” she murmured, “it is only right that I accept your offer.”
Asher stiffened. “You’re accepting my proposal because you feel you owe it to me?” he asked in a dangerous tone.
Confused, she tried to read his expression in the dimness. “Um, ah, well, not exactly, but it seems only fair, doesn’t it?”
“Fair?” he spit the word out as if it poisoned his mouth. “You’ll marry me because it’s fair?”
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded. She’d accepted his proposal. What more did he want? Impatiently, she added, “I’ve agreed to marry you and yes, it’s fair. You didn’t want to marry me until after…what happened tonight in this very room. Was it fair that you had to propose to me?”
“I didn’t,” he said from between clenched teeth, “have to propose to you.”
“No, you didn’t,” she agreed. “But you are an honorable man and after…after what happened, the only honorable thing you could have done was to offer me marriage.”
“And you refused me,” he snapped. “The only thing that has changed in the meantime is the return of Thalia’s letters.” His voice dripping scorn, he said, “Your acceptance of my proposal is my reward to being a good puppy and fetching for you?”
She slapped him. “How dare you!” she declared hotly, incensed. “You are insulting and insufferable and I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.” Spinning around, she stormed from the room.
His cheek stinging, Asher stood there in the darkness, cursing himself, but mostly the infuriating creature that had just left the room. How did she manage to do it, he wondered savagely, as he slammed out of the library and stalked toward his horse. How did she manage to turn him inside out and upside down? He was the one who had been insulted! She’d agreed to marry him out of a sense of gratitude! Because it was fair! If that wasn’t insulting, he didn’t know what was.
Reaching his horse, he swung up into the saddle and rode to Fox Hollow. His destination reached, he left the horse at the stable and wandered into the house.
Though dawn had barely broken, knowing that he would get no more sleep, he walked into the small breakfast room. Several tempting scents met his nose and he was pleased to see that someone had already placed a steaming pot of coffee on a trivet and that several rashers of bacon and some coddled eggs and kidneys sat next to it.
He had just poured himself a cup of coffee when Hannum bustled into the room with a tray of fresh-from-the-oven hot cross buns. Asher lifted a brow and asked, “And how did you know that I would be breakfasting so early today?”
A huge grin crossed Hannum’s battered face. “Mrs. Hannum heard you go out. Said that most likely you’d be hungry when you came back.” He looked sly. “The missus says that when a gentleman leaves his bed before dawn that there’s usually a woman involved.” A twinkle in his eyes, he added, “She’s of a mind that no lady appreciates being awakened before the sun is shining and that you’d most likely be sent home with a flea in your ear.”
Asher laughed and waved him away. “Leave those here and tell your wife that I am grateful they stopped burning witches. I’d hate to have to replace her.”
Chortling to himself, Hannum deposited the tray of buns next to the eggs and departed.
Having eaten breakfast, taking one last cup of coffee with him, Asher walked outside, enjoying the fine summer morning. He had no destination in view, but eventually he found his way to the small but pleasant garden behind his office. Taking a seat on the stone bench that sat in the shade of a great oak tree, he considered events. He could forget about Thalia and her problems. Juliana had the letters and how she and the family handled telling Ormsby that his threats were useless wasn’t any of his business. Unless, of course, he decided, Juliana asked for his help. He grinned and touched his cheek. The lady had a temper and would most likely allow herself to be torn apart by wild animals before asking him to help.
His grin widened. But she had agreed to marry him…. He scowled. She had agreed to marry him—for all the wrong reasons. Didn’t matter though, he admitted, if she was marrying him because she was grateful; he’d settled for that…for now. And it didn’t matter that she’d taken it back either. His grin returned. She’d said she’d marry him and he wouldn’t allow her to go back on her word. He’d hold her to it and while he saw trouble ahead with his recalcitrant bride-to-be, he was confident that their engagement would be announced within a fortnight.
Ormsby worried him and while he might tell himself that Juliana and her family could handle the man, the possibility that the marquis would harm them filtered across his mind more than once. Instinct prompted him to run interference, but instinct also warned that he’d be wise to wait until he had a better grasp of the lay of the land. Keeping his part in the return of the letters was important, but that wasn’t as important to him as protecting Juliana and her family from the wrath of the marquis. If need be he’d step in—whether Juliana liked it or not, but for the time being, he was willing to leave the reins in her hands.
Thoughtfully he studied his boots. The two treasonous letters were currently resting with the others in the hiding place in the floor of his bedroom and he was undecided about his next step. His first inclination, having seen that Thalia’s letters were in Juliana’s hands, had been to return home, get the letters and leave immediately for London, but he questioned if that was the wisest course. The two letters did not contain anything of an urgent matter, but they did reveal that two gentlemen in high positions of trust did not have Britain’s best interests at heart. Roxbury needed to be aware of the vipers lurking undetected in his very pocket. Asher frowned. Would delaying his trip to London for twenty-four hours be a mistake?
There was no telling how soon Ormsby would learn that the letters—all of the letters—had been stolen from his safe. And as soon as the marquis discovered the theft he would start looking around for the likeliest culprit. Since none of the letters were connected to him, Asher wasn’t particularly concerned that Ormsby’s suspicion would fall upon him, although it was possible the marquis would like him for the crime simply because of the bad blood between them. Once the announcement of his engagement to Juliana became public, Ormsby would be taking a harder look at him but by that time all of the letters would have been dispersed to their proper places and Ormsby could be suspicious of him as much as he liked.
The one thing he didn’t want to do was unnecessarily bring himself to Ormsby’s attention and he suspected that a sudden dash for London so soon after the theft, assuming Ormsby discovered it right away, would do just that. There was another more important reason why he hesitated—he doubted that Juliana and her family would wait long before informing the marquis that his threats no longer had any power over them.
He half smiled, thinking that before too many more hours passed Ormsby would have a most unpleasant surprise. He’d told himself he wouldn’t interfere, but damned if he wanted to be in London leaving Juliana and her family vulnerable when Ormsby learned that his fangs had been pulled. Snakes were nasty and playing with them dangerous, he reminded himself somberly. Asher had no qualms about his own abilities to avoid a venomous, possibly deadly strike, but he wasn’t convinced that Juliana possessed the same skill.
He stared out across the tranquil view—the tree-dotted gently rolling green hills in the distance—knowing that there really was no choice for him. He’d wait until tomor
row to leave for London because he sure as hell wasn’t abandoning Juliana to Ormsby’s tender mercies.
Chapter 12
Juliana slammed out of the library and raced up the stairs to her room. Upon reaching her bedroom, she wasted several minutes pacing back and forth recalling precisely why she had always thought Asher Cordell the rudest, most obnoxious, definitely the most insufferable person she had ever known in her life.
She had agreed to marry him, but was he satisfied with that? No! For reasons that escaped her he had taken refuge in high umbrage and acted as if she had insulted him. What was wrong with the man? She snorted. He was a male. That explained everything.
It was the crackle of the letters still clutched tightly in her hand that turned her attention from the aggravating Mr. Cordell. Thalia’s letters! She was actually holding them.
Relief, gratitude and resentment mingling in her breast, she sank down onto the side of her bed. She’d deal with Asher later, that ass-eared cretin—right now there was a more important matter that preoccupied her thoughts. With trembling fingers she shifted through the letters, looking at them only long enough to identity Thalia’s spidery handwriting.
There were seven pages in all and while she tried not to read them, the occasional phrase or sentence caught her eye and she flushed—as much from embarrassment at Thalia’s childishly romantic outpourings as from the knowledge that she was intruding upon her sister’s privacy. From what little she had read, the letters were not particularly damning, but they were indiscreet enough to have been a real threat to Thalia’s future happiness if they had fallen into the wrong hands.
Taking a deep breath, Juliana considered her next move. Of course, her father and Thalia had to be told—and the letters destroyed. She wouldn’t rest easy until she saw them go up in smoke and only ash remained on the hearth. But after that…
Passion Becomes Her Page 18
