Beauty in Breeches (15 page)

As Beatrice dragged her gaze towards the bed, her eyes lit on her nightdress where the maid had left it
draped over the quilt. She made a move to get it, but Julius stepped in front of her.

‘Please allow me to cover myself,' she said, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice.

‘Now why would you want to do that?'

‘Because I never go to bed without wearing my nightdress. As for you—you seem to have an aversion for wearing clothes which I consider to be most indecent,' she uttered with quiet reproach.

Julius chuckled softly, delighting in her innocence. ‘There are times, Beatrice, when clothing can be a hindrance. One's wedding night is one of them.' His eyes again caressed her from top to toe, touching her everywhere. ‘A man finds them troublesome when a wife wears them to bed.' He held his arms out wide, his lips smiling about his white pirate's teeth, proud of his nakedness. ‘This is what it's about. A man and a woman alone. No maidenly blushes, no resistance, no fumbling with nightgowns.'

The colour deepened in Beatrice's cheeks and she tried to quell the trepidation that had arisen. When she met his eyes the shock was sharp, for she suddenly realised the moment had arrived when she must pay her dues. Would he seek vengeance cruelly and cause her pain? How could she have cast herself into his grasp so recklessly? She made a move towards the door, but his hand shot out, his fingers fastened about her wrist.

‘Oh, no, my pet, there is no way out. Besides, you cannot leave the room undressed. You'll likely set the servants all agog. It's time for bed.'

‘But I'm not in the least tired.'

‘Good,' he said, his whipcord arms coming slowly around her. ‘Neither am I,' he murmured thickly against her throat.

The warmth of his body pressed full against the coolness of Beatrice's own. The jolt of surprise she experienced had nothing to do with revulsion, but rather with the bold, manly feel of him. The alien hardness was a hot brand against her thighs. His face lowered. His mouth was scalding upon her breast and she was devoured in a searing, scorching flame that shot through her like a flaring rocket.

‘Oh, Julius,' she panted in a whisper. ‘Please—don't…' She could not draw breath. ‘Please—stop…'

Leaning down, he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, promising himself every step of the way that their loving would be so perfect for her that she would never fear it again.

His strength was unexpected. He carried her easily, turning her and taking her down with him. His lips caressed her neck and ventured downwards until they were warm and moist upon her breast, rousing her to a heat she had not thought possible. She told herself she should resist what he was doing, that she didn't want this, but she knew it would be useless, for she was no match against the power of his arms and shoulders, imbued with even greater strength by his charged emotional state.

The body that Julius's own so fiercely desired lay beneath him and his uncontrollable hunger for her took command. He managed to free one hand and cup her breast. Her hair was spread out on the sheets, adding
to her wild beauty. Her lips responded to his. While he held her firm so that their bodies were touching, his experienced mouth parted hers and flirted with her lips, her tongue, his hands caressing her body, her breasts, circling the rosy crests with his thumb until they stood proud and firm. Beatrice shivered with delight and clung to him—but suddenly, feeling her modesty about to be invaded when his hand slid boldly up the inside of her thigh, her wakened senses alarmed, she gasped and began to pull away as if she had been scorched.

‘Please—stop it. I can't do this. I don't want to do it.'

Blindly, the tears sprang from her eyes. His hard thighs were between her own, bringing his virile organ inexorably closer to the gateway of his desire.

Julius immediately knew how apprehensive she was and, although she resisted, he held her hips against his. Such was his desire, he was tempted to mount her and seek his release, but he fought it, determined to take her slowly, to cause her as little pain as possible.

‘No,' he said gently as she tried to wriggle from beneath him. ‘Don't pull away and I'll do my best not to hurt you.'

But he did hurt her when his manhood, swollen and hard, touched her in brief dalliance, then pressed into the delicate softness of her. A quicksilver pain shot through her and Beatrice bit her lips to keep from crying out, hiding her face against the base of his throat. Her nails dug into the soft flesh of his back,
but he seemed not to notice as his mouth touched her ear and with utmost care he began to move.

For a while the pain was fierce, but like the most violent of storms this passed, all the more quickly for its furious nature, and afterwards, as she lay against her husband, she could not understand why her breasts and her belly quivered in hot anticipation for the moment when he would reach for her again.

 

Their second union was so very different. Even as she tried to turn from him, Beatrice felt the betraying moisture from her loins and she could resist no longer. This time there was no pain. It was forgotten in the heat of motion and the sensation of Julius filling her, thrusting, touching all of her. Surprised, she felt herself respond to him and swell against him in pulsating waves of pleasure as he brought her body to life. And then bliss as a wonderful aura burst around them. Deep inside the sensations started to build and expand through her as his life-giving seed erupted and spilled into her, warming her, combining their minds and souls in physical release and the act of love.

She knew then what it was to be a woman, the hard, powerful body of a man pressed against her, his manhood still swollen and warm, still moving, but gently now. The pulsating contractions continued to build until the heat slowly subsided and left her body quivering with the after-effects. The parting of their bodies was jarring, like a bereavement from which she could not imagine recovery. Unbidden tears came to her eyes and she turned away, burying her face in the pillow,
weeping silently so he would not see. How could she explain to him how she felt? Everything was changed now. Nothing was the same—she wasn't the same. She wanted nothing more than to revel in this new discovery of herself and the fullness of the moment. Wanted desperately…what? What did she want? If only she could understand what had happened to her. What had she done? What had
he
done to her? Suddenly she knew a feeling of loneliness, for she had found such pleasure—a pagan pleasure in his arms—and something else, something dangerous to her, a feeling that shouldn't exist, but it did. For what she wanted more than anything else at that moment was for him to speak her name in that tender tone—and to say
I love you
.

No matter how hard she tried to conceal her tears, Julius heard her muffled sobs. As if her need to hear him speak communicated itself to him, he spoke, but not with the tone or the words her heart yearned for. He spoke quietly and without emotion.

‘I apologise if I hurt you. I tried very hard not to. It would have hurt no matter who took you the first time.'

She shook her head and drew an unsteady breath. ‘No, you didn't hurt me.' Misery engulfed her. The words he uttered were a long way from saying
I love you
, which was what she wanted him to say. At that moment she sorely wished he would go away, for his presence wreaked havoc on the serenity she so desperately sought.

Julius reached out his hand to draw her back into his arms, but when he heard her say, ‘I would like to sleep now', he hesitated, then withdrew it, sensing
she wished to be left alone, yet reluctant to do so. He wanted to test her honesty and ask her again, for her to reassure him that he hadn't hurt her, but he did not want her to tell him that she hadn't felt all the things he had when he'd taken her. He lay still, listening as her breathing slowed and she drifted into a deep sleep.

 

Hearing some imperceptible movement coming from his own chambers, he was wide awake at once. In one fluid, easy motion he got out of bed. The sight of the rumpled sheets so like a battleground brought back the sensuous memories of their lovemaking. All the emotions, the crashing waves of a tortured sea, surged and eddied in his mind. His gaze lingered on his wife a moment, thinking she was asleep. He felt a great wave of surprising tenderness wash over him. How vulnerable and utterly lovely she looked—how incredibly beautiful she was with her hair spilling over the pillows and gleaming in the pale dawn light.

He had done his level best to hurt her as little as possible. He was tempted to lean over and lay a hand on her naked shoulder before thinking better. Remembering her tears, he backed away from the bed, telling himself she would not miss him and would be simply relieved that he had spared her the unwanted task of another nocturnal pursuit.

In his own room Julius heard a controlled knock on the door. Opening it, he was presented with a footman holding a small silver tray with a letter on it.

‘A message has arrived for you, sir. The courier
said it was urgent, otherwise I would have waited until morning to give it to you.'

‘Here, I will take it.' Julius tore open the letter and read it quickly. The news was bad. Cursing silently, he strode to the door to issue orders to have his valet wakened to pack his bags.

 

Feeling the man beside her stir, through half-closed eyes feigning sleep, Beatrice heard the bed creak as Julius moved away from her and returned to his own chambers. She opened her mouth to call him back, but the thought that he might not want to strangled the words in her throat.

Drawing the sheet over her nakedness, she rolled on to her back. The movement caused her some annoyance, for in certain parts of her body she was sore and bruised, yet at the same time that small electrifying pulse, which surged just at that part of her that ached the most, flared in the most amazing way.

Immersed in her reflections, feeling languid yet clear headed, she stared up at the canopy. What Julius had done to her had left her bemused and possessed by him. She had not expected her body to respond to his in such an overwhelming way. He had done things to her that should have disgusted her; instead she had clung to him, encouraged him, even, her treacherous body glorying in it, the evidence being the red-black smears of her blood on the sheets—a sign of his entry—his gain, and her loss.

B
eatrice 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.'

Her husband looked at her. Wearing a new morning dress, a creation of apple-green twill that emphasised her slender shape and set off the copper and gold of her hair, she looked like an alluring, enchanting temptress. He looked into her green eyes and his hands clenched at his sides as he fought the impulse to rebuke her for holding herself from him after their lovemaking, as though she could not bear for him to touch her again. And yet there had been moments in their second union when he had heard her sigh and her lips had been soft and she had returned his kisses, her hands caressing and clinging instead of clawing as though to steady
herself as the climax washed over her. At that moment she had been totally his, dazed and submissive, a woman—his wife.

The urge to go to her, to take her in his arms and wrap her around him like a blanket and lose himself in her, to kiss her and tell her that he needn't leave her, that all she had to do was tell him she didn't want him to go, that she wanted him to stay with her, was strong, but, knowing the chances of her doing so was remote, without another word he turned on his heel.

His composure held tightly about him, raking his fingers through his hair and Beatrice's heart, he went out.

 

Restless in spite of the desultory mood which had gripped her ever since Julius's departure, over the following days Beatrice wandered about the house. It was the most opulent she had ever seen. Julius had bought it ten years ago with his newly acquired fortune. No expense had been spared. It had been decorated and furnished to his taste with every kind of luxury.

She did her best to acquaint herself with the servants and to familiarise herself with the running of the house, and the sphinxlike butler and Mrs Keeble were patience personified in telling her all she needed to know. Never having involved herself in domestic matters at Standish House, which she had considered tiresome and of little consequence anyway, and having no idea of what overseeing a large house and servants entailed, Beatrice was quite out of her depth.

She worked harder than she had ever worked before, but the multitude of responsibilities and tasks that
confronted her daily as mistress of the house, rather than wearing her down, left her pleasantly exhausted and satisfied. She could not help, however, thinking of Julius, and missing him, very much aware how much he had got under her skin. Lady Merrick, who called on her most days, assured her that time would soon pass and he would return, but the confidence with which she spoke, while comforting, also left Beatrice more than a little fearful.

What would happen when he came back? Would the emotional chasm between them become an insurmountable obstacle? Was it possible that they could find a way of living together, or was there nothing there on which to build? There was little time for such thoughts until the day was done. But then, in the solitude of her bed, in the quiet of the night, her thoughts turned on themselves in a confusing mix. At these times she could stand the constriction of her room no longer and walked through the connecting door to pass a lonely vigil lying on his bed, wishing desperately for his return and the touch of his hands.

When she was not involving herself with household matters, Lady Merrick would whisk her away on excursions to the popular tea gardens of Vauxhall across the river and Pancras Wells. Beatrice went on her first river boat and went to admire the flowers at Kew and visited the museums and art galleries. In the afternoons they sometimes took advantage of the clement weather and drove in Hyde Park in the Merrick barouche to see and to be seen, often descending to join the numerous people fashionably strolling the lawns.

Shortly before her husband was expected to arrive home, a letter arrived addressed to her. It was from Julius. She stared at the bold handwriting in surprise, wondering what he could have to say to her that was so important he had to write to her. The letter was brief and to the point, its content making her heart plummet. Circumstances had arisen that meant he had to leave for Portugal on a matter of urgent business. He had no idea how long he would be gone—possibly weeks—and she was to remain in London until such time as he returned.

Beatrice was unprepared for the desolation that overwhelmed her, but she refused to be downhearted. And if Julius thought she was calmly to remain in his house doing whatever wives were supposed to do, then he could think again. Already she was tired of London and longed for the freedoms of the country where she could lose herself in the joy of riding a decent mount—and Larkhill wasn't all that far away. Suddenly elation swelled inside her and she smiled audaciously as she was presented with a new objective. Half of her was glad Julius wasn't here so that she could claim back her old home, and that half was starting to enjoy her new status and married life.