Beauty in Breeches(25)
The sound of his voice brought her back to the present. Deeply troubled and confused by her feelings, furious at her sudden weakening and hurt by what he had said, she took refuge in anger. Turning her head back to him, she laughed ungraciously. ‘You didn’t have to marry me. You could have walked away.’
‘So could you. I recall telling you that as my mistress you would have been treated as a queen,’
‘Whereas what I have now is a master,’ she retorted irately, using her anger to fortify her against her nervousness at what was to come later. ‘Is that what you are telling me, Julius?’
He smiled thinly, his amber eyes nailed to hers. ‘I would never be that, Beatrice. What I will say is that if you consider refusing me your bed, remember that you are only one woman among many. For a man it is easy to find relief for his baser needs.’
‘And I imagine you are low enough to do that,’ she said, still wondering and bewildered at the hurt and disappointment that stirred her heart.
His jaw tightened and his eyes grew cold. Did she really think she could flout him so soon into their marriage? ‘There’s no need to distress yourself, my love,’ he said mockingly. ‘You are quite safe from me for the present.’
‘I sincerely hope so,’ she replied, moving as far from him as was possible within the confines of the coach.
‘You cannot escape me, Beatrice,’ he said easily, concerned by her distress and attempting to lighten the moment by injecting a teasing note into his voice. ‘You are now and for ever mine. Marriage with me is what you wanted and that is what you shall have for the rest of your life—or mine. But fear not. You are a beauty, my sweet. I shall not grow tired of you and have no desire to leave you too soon.’ He chuckled softly, reaching out and touching her cheek, relieved that she did not pull away. ‘You will find I am temperamental and that I may not be termed a pleasant man to live with—but you have my word that I shall strive to be amenable at all times when we are together.’
Beatrice managed to smile and turned her head away, looking out of the window as the coach finally drew up before the house—a splendid mansion of which Beatrice would now be mistress. Julius climbed out and turned to assist her.
‘Can you manage, my love, or shall I lift you down?’ he asked, a smile twisting his handsome mouth.
For the sake of appearances and because the nervous fluttering in her stomach was increasing with each passing minute, she allowed him to assist her out of the coach, placing her hand on his arm for him to escort her into the house.
‘Smile,’ Julius said in a quiet voice while managing to smile charmingly himself for the benefit of those who had gathered to see the return of the bride and groom and to wish them well. ‘Must I remind you that this is your wedding day, which is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, whereas you, my love, look as if you are going to your execution.’
Feeling that the quiet reprimand was deserved, Beatrice did as he bade and composed her features into a more agreeable expression as he escorted her inside the house.
Beatrice was introduced to the curious but welcoming servants, who bobbed their curtsies or respectfully bent their heads, though she felt such an intruder, an interloper, not one face or one name was retained in her memory.
Julius led her into a green-and-gold salon, where a long table had been prepared for the wedding feast. It gleamed with silver cutlery and crystal glasses and was festooned with flowers. Standing in the centre of the salon, a smile pinned to her lips and a glass of champagne in her hand, the bride received the well wishes of all those present. The meal went quickly—too quickly for Beatrice—who wanted to delay the time when she would find herself alone with Julius.
Seated beside her, Julius lounged back in his chair, his arm stretched possessively across the back of hers, his expression thoughtful as he watched her smile and laugh when glasses were raised in toast to the bride and groom. It wasn’t surprising that everyone was in her thrall, for she looked ravishing. She was also lively and amiable in a way that not even he had seen before. She had deliberately set herself out to charm; as he toyed with the stem of his wine glass, it was that effort which both amused and exasperated him.
If she hadn’t decided to make herself so delightful, everyone would have eaten their fill and gone home earlier—which was, Julius knew, exactly what she didn’t want, for their presence delayed the moment when she would have to go upstairs with him and they would be alone.
Because this was her wedding day and because he knew she was probably anxious about what was to happen later, for the last hour he had been willing to indulge her, using the time to enjoy her company and to savour the anticipation of what was to come. Now, however, he was growing tired of the wait.
Leaning close to her, he said, ‘I’m sorry to put an end to your day, Beatrice, but I think it’s time you and I left.’
As he stood up and held his hand out to her, Beatrice realised the moment she had dreaded all day had arrived. A delicate flush spread over her features as she rose and placed her trembling hand in his. It was growing dark and, not wishing to linger without the bride and groom, the guests began to leave. Beatrice looked pleadingly at Lady Merrick when she came up to her.
‘Must you go now?’ she asked in a quavering voice.
The kindly woman nodded her head and gave her a motherly kiss upon the brow. ‘Yes, my dear. It’s time the two of you were alone. We cannot stay any longer. Be happy, Beatrice,’ she said, glancing up at Julius who stood beside her. ‘I know you will be well cared for.’
Beatrice watched her go. She looked at Julius. ‘If you don’t mind, I would like to go to my room now.’
‘It’s been a long day and I’m sure you must be feeling tired. I shall escort you there myself. I hope you will find it—comfortable. And there is a connecting door to my room.’
When her eyes snapped to his he straightened, his face set in lines of challenge. His lips curled over his white teeth. ‘There is nothing wrong with that, Beatrice. It is perfectly natural for a husband and wife to have connecting rooms.’ As he came to stand beside her, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear, ‘I trust you have no objections to the sleeping arrangements. Are you afraid of being alone with me, my love, of fulfilling your part of the bargain we made?’
Beatrice coloured hotly and turned away in sudden confusion. His hand slid about her waist and she started slightly as his hard chest pressed against her back.
His deep voice seemed to reverberate within her as he announced softly, ‘I think it is time for bed.’
In that moment her mind flew from all rational thought. A bolt of doubt blasted her confidence. She turned to face him.
‘You—you spoke of a bargain. What bargain might that be? I do not recall having made any bargain with you.’
He raised a sardonic brow. ‘Ah, but you did. Think about it, Beatrice. When you asked me to be your husband and again when you spoke your vows.’ Seeing her uncertainty, he chuckled softly. ‘Did you think I would have entered into this if I had nothing to gain?’ He laid a hand against her cheek in a tender caress. ‘I have fulfilled my part of the bargain. It is time for you to fulfil yours. It is the price you have to pay. You belong to me until death.’
Fully realising the truth of what he said, Beatrice shrank away from him in disbelief, aware of the trap that slowly closed around her—a trap of her own making.
‘Tonight you will see the real price of your predicament.’ His voice became gentle, almost a whisper. His eyes were hungry with yearning and touched her everywhere. ‘You sought me out for a cause dear to you and I have given you my name—a high price for me to pay. Now I ask the same of you. Do you find the price too dear that you suddenly want to reject it—to deny the bargain?’
‘No,’ she replied stiffly. ‘Of course not.’
‘I am happy to hear that, Beatrice. Come, we shall go up together’, and without further ado, in silence he began to lead the new Marchioness of Maitland up the stairs, along the landing in the direction of their chambers. Not until they were inside Beatrice’s room and the door closed against the world did he release her, relieved to have her alone at last.
As his bride she was certainly lovely to look at. Golden strands shimmered among the carefree copper curls, crackling and alive in the light from the candles. The soft brows arched away from eyes that were clear and green—sea green in this light, brilliant against the thick fringe of jet-black lashes and as unfathomable as any sea he had ever gazed into. The soft pink lips were tantalising and gracefully curved. Under his penetrating gaze the golden skin flushed slightly.
Feeling desire stir in his loins, with a will of iron Julius clamped a grip upon himself.
With tension twisting within her, Beatrice rubbed her arm and warily considered her husband. His face was extremely handsome above a froth of white lace, his dark hair smoothly brushed and his white teeth shining in his gypsy-brown face. With a surge of admiration, she thought how ruggedly virile he looked. He also looked relaxed as he stood watching her, his amber eyes warm and intense, a spark flaring in their depths.