Beauty in Breeches(41)

Beatrice had become a part of him which he could not deny. She was like burnished steel, strong and audaciously bold—her eyes blazing with defiance, fighting him, challenging him. daring him with her outrageous forfeit, determined not to have what was hers denied her. Her heart was the sweet centre in the headlong strength of her mind and body and, quite simply, now that he knew her and could see her for what she was, he loved her. He would fill her days and nights with joy and pleasure, until she loved him as much as he loved her. For he did love her, and his heart swelled as he admitted the truth to himself. He could not lose her as he had lost his mother.

Telling her the truth would be difficult, for he found it hard to expose his inner self, but Beatrice would understand—like no one else she would understand. It would take a while to earn her trust after this, he decided, but some day she would surely find him worthy of it.

Driven by a fierce eagerness to see his wife, it became clear to him that if he did not go after her, his energy would be spent in waiting and tearing himself to shreds.



The night was dark and Beatrice was restless in her bed. The wind was high, but the rain that had been falling for two days had temporarily abated. A figure made its way with stealth-like caution towards the house, halting when it reached an iron gate that opened on to the kitchen yard. The figure paused to take stock of things before proceeding. A deathlike stillness hung over the house, which seemed to moan in sorrow over its impending doom. A chain was lifted from the gate and the earthbound shadow slipped through the opening and dashed towards the outbuildings that joined on to the house.

The night’s depth of darkness was impenetrable, then the wind changed direction, and the clouds allowed a shaft of moonlight to sweep across the yard. Concealed beneath an enveloping cape, the figure scuttled into the interior of a shed. Gloved hands hastily struck flint to steel over a small mound of gunpowder, and sparks shot outwards and upwards until a sudden blaze flared up. Several minutes later the figure reemerged and ran the way it had come, looking back only once to watch flames leaping from the building, the wind whipping them towards the house.



Having been travelling for hours, impatient to be at journey’s end, Julius willed the coach to go faster. The well-matched team lunged forwards, taking their duties seriously, as the driver drove them at a breakneck pace along the mired roads, swerving madly around bends and not even checking their stride when the wheels caught a rut. Only a couple of miles and he would be at Larkhill. A deep sense of relief surged within him. The wind rushed by the coach and once again heavy splashes of rain began pelting the windows. Pulling up the blind and gazing out, Julius wondered at the reddish glow of heat in the night sky, while a rolling mass of grey billowed above it.

Cold, congealing horror suddenly seized him as memories of another fire—a fire that had robbed him of his mother—almost overwhelmed him. The fire was in the direction of Larkhill. Dear God, he prayed silently, don’t let it be the house—don’t let Beatrice have come to harm. His fears were confirmed the closer they got. He was relieved to discover it was the outbuildings that were on fire, but being connected to the house, it was only a matter of time before the whole lot went up if it was not checked.

Spurred to action, he leapt from the coach and ran towards the blaze, ignoring the searing sting of flying ash. Along with members of the small staff Julius retained at Larkhill, men from the surrounding area, alerted by neighbours who had not retired for the night and had seen the blaze, were trying to fight the flames to stop them reaching the house. There was no hope in saving the outbuildings. They were succeeding, for mercifully the rain aided them in their task as it came sheeting down once more.

The urgency of the moment pressed upon him and his tone conveyed his growing anxiety for the occupants of the house as he enquired as to their safety. On being told they were still inside, he ran towards the front door.



Torn from her uneasy dream, Beatrice came upright with a gasp and stared about the dark room in wide-eyed panic. Something had disturbed her. A sudden chill shivered along her spine as she pressed back upon the pillows, trying to listen above the howling of the wind. Her heart suddenly lurched. Was that smoke she could smell? ‘Beatrice…Beatrice…’

‘Julius!’ The name flared through her brain as she realised it wasn’t part of any dream. It was Julius! She threw herself from the bed and ran out of the bedroom. As she reached the top of the stairs her eyes swept the hall, anxiously searching for the man who had called her name. Someone was pounding on the locked front door; a moment later it crashed open—and there, right below her, was a very tall, dark-haired man. Her heart gave a leap, missed a beat, then began to thump madly as a pair of penetrating amber eyes looked straight into hers. Momentarily stunned by his arrival, she saw the bitter regret carved into his handsome features and the aching gentleness in his compelling eyes. ‘Julius!’

Immediately she flew down the stairs and ran across the hall towards him. He caught her up hard in his arms and listened as the words came tumbling out.

‘Thank goodness you’ve come. But why did you? I intended to leave in the morning to return to you. I couldn’t bear it, leaving you like that. I know you didn’t do it, Julius. I know you didn’t kill my father—you couldn’t do that, and I don’t know why you said you did, but…’

‘Hush, Beatrice,’ he said, holding her away from him to look into her face. She was flushed and breathing hard, her hair dishevelled from sleep and utterly lovely. He saw tears shimmering in her magnificent eyes; one of them traced unheeded down her smooth cheek. ‘What is this?’

‘I know you’re innocent. I know you didn’t do it.’

Gently he traced his lean fingers along her cheek and, with a raw ache in his voice, said, ‘What made you realise that?’

‘I worked it out for myself.’ Her heart in a tumult of emotion, Beatrice clung to him once more, burying her face against his chest. ‘I do believe in you, Julius,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘Forgive me for doubting you—I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to, but I was so angry and confused. I will support you in anything you do. I trust you implicitly. I love you so much.’

‘That’s all I need to hear.’ His arms tightened round her, his impassioned whisper strained with feeling. ‘We’ll talk later, Beatrice. Then you can cry in my arms all night if you wish and, while you do, I’ll tell you how sorry I am for everything I’ve done and said that has hurt you. And when I’ve finished doing that, you can help me find a way to forgive myself.’ He held her away from him. ‘I have to go. I promise I’ll explain everything, but in the meantime there’s a fire to put out.’

She sprang back in alarm. ‘What? A fire? Oh—I thought I could smell smoke. Where? Is it the house?’

‘It’s the outbuildings. Hopefully it won’t get to the house. Men from the village were already working on it when I got here. Thankfully the wind’s changed direction and it’s raining hard. With a bit of luck it will be put out.’

‘But how did it start—do you know?’

‘Not yet. The time for questions will come later, but I would like you to get dressed all the same. Best to be prepared should the wind change direction again.’

A part of Julius’s urgency seized her and when he disappeared through the door she took the stairs at a frantic pace.



The fire was put out and the night grew still once more as Julius went to join Beatrice in the master bedroom. She was in his arms before the clock had spent another second. Lowering his head, he kissed her in stormy tenderness before closing his eyes and burying his face in her sweet-scented hair as his arms fairly squeezed the breath from her. When he raised his eyes to meet hers, his lips smiled.

‘I thought I told you to get dressed.’ His voice was hoarse with emotion, for Beatrice was attired in nothing but her nightdress, her wonderful wealth of golden hair tumbling down her spine. ‘Do you intend to spend your life disobeying me?’

Beatrice leaned back against his arm and smiled with joy as she caressed his soot-smeared cheek. ‘I did not disobey you. When I saw the fire had been put out I decided to get undressed again.’ Her dark eyes took on a pleading look. ‘Come to bed, Julius.’

The sound of her voice was so sweet, Julius almost pulled her down on to the bed. Instead he sighed and gently disengaged her arms. ‘Later. I want to talk to you first. There are things I want to tell you.’

Feeling an unexpected lurch of dread, Beatrice swallowed her disappointment. ‘Can’t it wait until morning?’

‘I would prefer to get it over with. Until you know the truth it will always be there, lurking between us.”

‘How did you become so wise?’ she asked with a tender smile.

‘If I were wise, my darling, I would have told you everything at the beginning. Keeping it to myself has only made matters worse between us. I can see that now.’ Removing his coat and loosening his neck linen, he took her hand and drew her to the fire. Sitting beside the hearth, he drew her on to his knee, sliding his arm about her waist. ‘I want to tell you everything about the night your father died. I promise it will be the truth.’