Beauty in Breeches(28)

Chapter Seven


Beatrice was unable to quell the anxiety she felt as she left her room after breakfasting in bed. She did not relish the idea of confronting Julius again right now, when her emotions were still so raw and all over the place. But that was not to be. He was in the morning room waiting for her. He was dressed immaculately, fastidiously even, the cut of his expensive jacket setting off the powerful width of his shoulders, his legs smooth and shapely in the well-tailored perfection of his dove-grey breeches. His dark hair was smoothly brushed, his handsome face drawn.

This man she had married was compelling, resolute and complex, for would she ever know what he was thinking unless he told her? He was also arrogant and proud, and she believed he would fight for what he wanted, for what he believed in, and she had no doubt that he believed that he could master her, subjugate her, turn her into the wife he wanted.

With what she incorrectly imagined was his supreme indifference to her, he lounged against the fireplace, his hands in his pockets, his face carefully blank, his eyes directed away from her, as if he couldn’t be bothered to look at her face.

Beatrice stared at him, her mind screaming for him to look at her. Her heart beat agonisingly with yearning, despairingly. She could not help but admire the fine shape of him, how she had come to know and like the male beauty of his naked body which overwhelmed her. She liked the hardness, the darkness of him, the width of his shoulders, the narrow grace of his hips, his flat, taut stomach, the long shapeliness of his legs. Yes, she loved all this—though it also disturbed her that she should want to see him like that again. She wanted to feel his arms about her body, his lips on hers, kissing her the way a man does when he loves a woman. But Julius had been unable to wait to leave their bed. In short, he didn’t love her. He never would and she must accept that and learn to live with it, no matter how hard that would be.

Closing the door, she moved to stand in the centre of the room with more confidence than she was feeling. ‘Good morning, Julius,’ she said stiffly.

He glanced at her and nodded. ‘Good morning, Beatrice.’ His voice was clipped. ‘I trust you slept well after I left.’

‘Yes—perfectly,’ she replied, thinking this man bore no resemblance to the one who had made love to her with such passion. This man was a stranger to her, a cold, forbidding man who looked at her with cold blatant uninterest. How could he be so nonchalant after the night they had spent together? At that moment all she could remember was her husband making love to her in a thousand tiny ways. Now his detached tone caught her off guard; his expression was as if he were studying an interesting document instead of his own wife.

Julius straightened and, with his hands behind his back, turned and strolled to the window, where he stood looking out. ‘I have to go away for a while.’

Beatrice stared at him in surprise. She hadn’t known what to expect when she had entered the room, but it certainly wasn’t this. Had she been such a disappointment to him, then? She felt her cheeks burn. He might as well have torn her heart out, but even worse, he dashed all her hopes, her romantic dreams.

‘Oh? Am I allowed to ask where you are going?’

‘Portsmouth. I received a message earlier. It appears that two of my vessels returning from India were badly damaged in a storm coming through the Bay of Biscay. One of the vessels is missing. Several of the crew on the surviving vessel lost their lives and there has been considerable damage to the cargo.’

‘I see—and—you have to go yourself?’

‘I have agents capable of assessing the damage, but I would like to see it for myself. There’s a loyal crew and thousands of pounds worth of cargo on the missing vessel, so it is imperative that I locate it.’

‘And do you expect to be gone long?’ she enquired, staring at his stiff back.

‘No longer than necessary—two weeks at the most. Meanwhile you are to remain here—where Lady Merrick can keep an eye on you.’

‘I don’t need to be kept an eye on, Julius,’ Beatrice replied, unable to hide her resentment. ‘I am quite capable of looking after myself.’

He spun round and looked at her. ‘I am sure you are, but Lady Merrick will be company for you in my absence. Were I to send you to Highfield you wouldn’t know anyone. I intend to take you down there on my return. Here you will find plenty to occupy your time. I want you to familiarise yourself with the house and the servants. Hayes, the butler, and Mrs Keeble, the housekeeper, will be on hand to answer your questions. I’d prefer it if you didn’t ride out just yet. None of the horses here are suitable.’

Beatrice bristled. ‘I’m sure there must be one. Your horse would suit me perfectly. As you know to your cost I am an accomplished horsewoman—and it will need to be exercised in your absence.’

‘No, Beatrice. Absolutely not.’ He was adamant. ‘You possess abundant courage, that I know—the kind of courage needed to fearlessly manage high-spirited horses—but apart from the grooms exercising my horse, he remains in the stable. Understand that. Besides, I shudder to think of the form of dress you would choose to wear. You would scandalise society if you rode through Hyde Park as you do in the country, astride in your breeches.’

‘It is much more natural and comfortable to ride that way. I see nothing wrong with it,’ she argued.

‘You wouldn’t, but ladies don’t ride astride. It isn’t done. Aside from any other consideration, just think of the damage it would do to my reputation if I were to allow my wife to ride in such a manner.’

‘I’m fast coming to think,’ Beatrice returned, ‘that this reputation of yours is invented by you as a convenient excuse to prevent me riding out in public.’ That riposte earned her a distinctly steely glare. Before he could think of a comment to go with it, she said, ‘As you know, my own horse is still at Standish House. Could I not arrange for it to be sent here?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ he said, having seen for himself how devoted she was to that horse of hers. ‘I’ll instruct the head groom to take care of it. Perhaps you should write a brief note to Lady Standish for her to authorise its removal from her stable. If she refuses to comply with your request, I shall take care of it myself on my return.’

‘Thank you, Julius. I would appreciate that.’

‘As my wife, I have no doubt people will want to make your acquaintance. Constance will be happy to assist you in the making and receiving of calls, and the ordering of more new gowns from your dressmaker will keep you busy.’

‘Yes, although I have enough dresses and fripperies to last me a lifetime. I suppose it will be pleasant to have Lady Merrick’s company on occasion—even when you return. Normal married couples cannot exist on a diet of love alone. And that description can hardly apply to us, can it, Julius?’ she remarked, unable to conceal the hurt she still felt when he had left her bed so soon after making love to her.

Julius looked at her steadily. His face was expressionless, his eyes hard and empty, an emptiness that told Beatrice nothing of what he felt, then he said, ‘It doesn’t become you to be sarcastic, Beatrice. And as far I am concerned, you will hardly find me lacking in husbandly duties—as it will be my pleasure and yours to discover when I return.’

Duties, Beatrice thought bleakly. Was that really all their marriage meant to him—all the passion, the sensations he awoke in her that made her almost delirious when he made love to her? Despite the distant attitude she had adopted afterwards, which had been a form of self-defence, last night she had become aware that something was happening. Something awe-inspiring and frightening had happened to her in that split second it had taken her heart to acknowledge it. And she could do nothing about it.

Julius certainly didn’t care for her and she had no intention of making a fool of herself by telling him she was beginning to care for him. He didn’t give a damn and, in truth, she could hardly blame him. He would more than likely find it highly amusing and tell her it was unfortunate for her. So though it cost her every bit of her strength and will-power, and her own bloody-minded pride, she would keep her feelings to herself.

‘When do you leave?’

‘As soon as the horses have been hitched to the coach.’

‘I see.’

At that moment there was a rap on the door. Julius crossed the room and opened it, speaking quietly to whoever it was before closing it.

‘It is ready. I must go.’

Suddenly Beatrice wanted to cry and she didn’t know why. Was it because she would miss him, would miss their sparring and the time when they would be alone in her room? How she longed for it now. He must never know how she felt. How he would laugh if he knew. She swallowed her tears and rallied.

‘Then what can I say other than to wish you a safe journey, Julius.’ Her voice was low, husky with an inner emotion she did her best to keep under control. Looking at him quickly, she caught a puzzling, watchful glint in his eyes—keen, eager, as though he hung on her next words, hoping she would say—what? She didn’t know. ‘I hope things are not as bad as you imagine when you reach Portsmouth.’