Beauty in Breeches (14 page)

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.

She felt the bold touch of his hungry gaze and inwardly shivered. Her knees quaking violently, she walked slowly around the room that was to be hers. It was a tastefully furnished, elegant room, the bed large and canopied in the same mulberry and gold as the rest of the room. There was no sign of a maid to assist her out of her wedding finery, but the bedcovers had been turned down and the lacy white jasmine-scented sheets.

Seeing her stiffen and stare with stricken paralysis at the bed and noting how her fingers that flew to her mouth trembled, with long, easy strides that always looked both certain and relaxed, Julius walked towards her.

‘Come, Beatrice, there's nothing to fear, so why are you trembling?'

She turned and looked at him, unable to tear her gaze from his, unable to hide her fear. ‘I don't know,' she admitted with a tremor in her voice.

‘Don't you?' he asked softly, one eyebrow raised in question. ‘You do realise what is to happen between us, don't you?'

She nodded. ‘Yes.'

‘And is it now your hope to avoid keeping the bargain we made?'

Lifting her head, Beatrice faced him, trying to tell herself that the act she was about to commit wasn't sinful or anything like that, that in submitting herself to her husband she was actually doing something noble. But confronted with his size, his strength and his indomitable will, Beatrice found her reasoning did nothing to quell her fear.

Instead of lying to him, which Julius half-expected her to do, she surprised him by saying instead, ‘It is my hope, but I am prepared to become your wife in every sense. I will not deny you the rights of my own vows. You will have what I promised you.'

‘Yet you fear it.'

‘Yes.'

‘Do you fear me?'

‘No—only what will happen. But I will submit—if that is what you want.'

‘Submit?' Julius repeated, annoyed by her choice of word. ‘The marital act is not some kind of punishment to which you should
submit
. Don't fear it,' he ordered softly as his fingers caressed her cheek. ‘And for God's sake, don't fear me. You've never feared me before. Don't begin now.'

The deep, husky timbre of his voice, combined with the tantalising exploration of his skilful fingers caressing her face and neck, was already working its magic on Beatrice.

Julius considered his wife, seeing the set of her chin that brought a smile to his lips. ‘I hope there isn't
going to be a battle, my love. I wouldn't like to have a fight on my hands—not tonight. In order to make you understand that we are husband and wife, that from this night on we will share a bed, share our bodies, there is no other way.'

Beatrice started to protest, but his finger came across her lips and shushed her. Bending his head, he placed his lips close to her ear.

‘I want you to relax, my love. There will be a drifting of the senses, soft kisses, an initiation into the art of love, moving towards a climax that will please us both, which is what I want,' he murmured, taking her face between his hands and kissing her sweet lips, lightly to begin with, offering her love, then deeply and tenderly. After a few moments of tense passivity, she placed her hand on his chest and began to kiss him back.

Raising his head a fraction, he asked, ‘Did it concern you that our wedding was not the grand affair most young ladies dream of?'

‘I didn't want a grand affair. I was perfectly satisfied the way it was.'

‘You made a beautiful bride. You are so lovely your beauty blinds me. But that is not what this is about.'

Tilting her head to one side, relaxed by his kiss, she managed a teasing smile. ‘No? Is it not more important to have a wife who is pleasing to look at than an ugly one?' she provoked.

‘Ah—but it is not the face that is important, Beatrice.' Very slowly he walked round her, deliberately, examining her as she stood rooted to the floor, not touching her with anything but those amber eyes—and
they were enough, boldly evaluating her assets. He halted and, bending his head close to her ear so that the warm breath caressed the back of her neck, said softly, ‘When I was a youth, I was given some sound advice from a very wise man.'

Unable to move, Beatrice swallowed audibly, nervously, her heart beating wildly. ‘What was that?'

‘Never to buy a mare with a blanket on.'

‘And—who was this wise man?'

‘My father.'

Beatrice shivered under Julius's unrelenting gaze. He watched her with such a slow, unhurried regard that her skin burned from its intensity. ‘It's a little late for that, don't you think? Perhaps you should have taken his advice.'

‘I'm sure you're right, but, as you say, it's too late for that. You belong to me now. You are my wife and a husband may do as he pleases with his wife.' His voice softened until it was almost a whisper. ‘Anything he likes. Now—shall we take off those clothes and see what we have?'

For a moment Beatrice shrank back, her green eyes darkening in fear, and Julius almost turned away, for before God he would not force her. Then, as he had hoped she would, her chin came up, her soft lips tightened and her eyes blazed her defiance, but she turned and presented her back for him to unbutton her wedding gown.

He worked downwards until the garment hung open. She shrugged and it fell to her feet, revealing a sheer, shimmering white-silk petticoat, the shoulders
temptingly bare. The petticoat hid nothing from him and Beatrice saw the hard glint of passion strike sparks in his eyes as they moved over her. Her full, ripe breasts swelled against the silk that moulded itself to her bosom and the delicate peaks thrust forward impudently. He saw the inward curve of her waist, amazingly small without any tight lacings, the trim and seductive roundness of her hips and the lithe grace of her limbs.

Julius's breath caught in his throat. He had already realised that beneath all her clothes Beatrice was what every man dreamed of: a vision of incomparable beauty. His long fingers freed her body from the rest of her flimsy garments until she stood naked to his gaze.

The hardest thing Beatrice had ever had to do in her life was to stand calmly before him and let him look at her as he was doing now, when, feeling like a caged animal newly caught, she wanted nothing more than to find a way out. He stepped back, still smiling, but with a new fire kindled in his eyes. His gaze was direct, challenging, sweeping from her trim and shapely ankles, passing over her slender legs, and then more leisurely over her magnificent body, which was lustrous shades of honey and amber in the flickering flames of the candles and the fire. The triangle of curling fair hair at the base of her belly was now a mysterious dark enticing shadow, her breasts rose tipped and exuberant. His gaze passed on to her face. She had not flinched as she submitted herself for his perusal, but her eyes were large and hot and expectant, and a flush
swept up her long shapely legs, her slender curves, staining the glowing flesh right up to her face.

Julius's lips spoke no word, but his eyes clearly expressed his wants. The bold stare touched a quickness in Beatrice that made her feel as if she were on fire. It flamed in her cheeks and set her hands to trembling as she stared back at him. Out of consideration for her obvious embarrassment, Julius extinguished the candles burning close to her, before taking his time in stripping himself naked. He unbuttoned and removed his shirt and laid it over a chair with his cravat and slipped out of his breeches and undergarments, tossing them atop the shirt.

When he was totally naked Beatrice stared at a certain part of his anatomy in horror, her face as white as the cravat he had just removed. She had always known men were different, but this was the first time she had seen one naked. Appalled by the size and colour of what she was seeing, she wanted to turn her head away, but found that she could not. Raising her eyes, she gazed at the rest of him. He was bathed in a light cast by the remaining candles and was aglow with deep golden shades that rippled along his hard, lean frame. His body was strong, proud, savage, determined and eternally masculine. Beatrice was no less shaken by the sight of him than by his slow perusal of her a few moments before. They weren't touching, but they generated enough heat between them to light a fire.