Beauty in Breeches (18 page)

Beatrice looked at him for a long time and then she
nodded slightly. ‘Yes—yes, you're right, Julius. The mistake is mine.' Without another word she turned from him and went to the door.

‘Where are you going?'

‘To have a bath and a change of clothes.'

Julius's strong mouth began to smile. It turned into an audacious grin, his temper replaced by something else. ‘That's the first sensible thing you've said since coming home. It will be my pleasure to get you out of those clothes.'

B
eatrice spun round, shocked by the implication of his words and that he expected her to tumble into bed with him after all the hurtful things he had said to her. ‘Shame on you, Julius,' she retorted, her cheeks aflame. ‘I have not been in the house two minutes and already you are thinking of…'

His black brows crept upwards and with a defiant look he sauntered towards her with the predatory grace of a panther. When he spoke his voice was silky smooth. ‘What, Beatrice? Of what am I thinking?'

‘Of—of bedding me after all you have just said… Can you not think of anything else?' Her heart was pounding with wild confusion and she was flustered now he was so close.

She was determined to deny him, but inside her that treacherous spark ignited. Trying to deny her attraction to him was useless. There was a churning sensation
in her stomach, like the fluttering wings of a captive butterfly, and a mounting heat swept through her and her body began to stir.

Julius chuckled softly, wondering why, from the very first, she'd had the power to attract him—wondering why he felt this consuming, unquenchable need now to possess and gentle her without breaking her spirit.

Placing a finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face to his. ‘I'm afraid not, my love. But then after an absence of four months and relatively a new bridegroom, it is not unusual.'

She swallowed and quivered when his finger ran over the curve of her cheek, knowing that in no time at all she would lose her ability to resist him. ‘Please allow me to leave, Julius.'

‘I will,' he breathed, his whisper fraught with wicked seduction, ‘in a moment.' He bent his head to kiss the place where his finger had been before, teasing her senses into a wild awakening for him. Beatrice closed her eyes, unable to move. ‘I know you want me.' Taking her arms, he drew her against the solid wall of his chest. ‘I intend to see if I can still make you respond to me as you did before I left your bed on our wedding night.'

‘Please don't,' she gasped, turning her head aside, drowning in humiliation at the brutal reminder of how wantonly she had behaved then.

By the time his lips caressed her earlobe, she was overcome with the need for his kiss. Unable to stop herself, with a low moan she turned her face to his
and offered him her mouth. He claimed it immediately and she revelled in his embrace, despite her earlier determination not to let this happen. Ending the kiss, he held her fevered stare before lowering his head to her breast. She watched in hazy silence as he gathered her waist in his hands and gently kissed her breast through her gown, his warm breath permeating the fabric. Her heart slammed into her ribs and she could not have uttered a word of protest if she had wanted to when his lips moved on to the V-shaped neckline and he pressed fervent kisses on the exposed flesh.

She rested her hands on his wide shoulders as his mouth travelled upwards, brushing along the sensitive column of her throat, her ear and the curve of her cheek. She made no effort whatsoever to stop him when he pushed his fingers through her hair and held her head firm, taking her lips once more. All thoughts beyond this moment and this man fled. His lips moved over hers with a flowing, demanding passion, an insistence that she kiss him back that was almost beyond denial.

What he was doing to her was more than Beatrice could withstand. With a silent moan of despair, she yielded to his kiss, parting her lips beneath the sensual pressure and, at that moment, his tongue slid between them, invading her mouth and taking possession of her. Lost in a stormy sea of desire, confusion and yearning, she felt him relinquish his hold on her head and splay his hand across her lower spine, forcing her closer to him, moulding her melting body to the hardening contours of his. She could feel the taut strength of his legs
and thighs pressing intimately against hers. His other hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing back and forth across her sensitised nipple, an action that was overwhelming. He could do with her what he willed. Her body was open to him. He could take her there and then, and he surely knew it.

The ardour with which Beatrice was responding to his kiss had a devastating effect on Julius's starved body. Desire flowed through his bloodstream like wildfire, pounding in his loins. Fighting back the urge to lay her down on the carpet and ravage her there and then, he dragged his lips from hers and drew a long, steady breath.

Her heart still pounding, her mind still reeling with pleasure, Beatrice closed her eyes and rested her head weakly on her husband's chest and felt him press a gentle kiss on her hair. At last she found the power to raise her head and open her eyes; she looked at him with a haziness similar to that of drinking too much wine.

Julius took a step back, satisfaction in his eyes and a worldly smile. ‘You are an exceptional woman, Beatrice. No more foolish talk of not wanting me. I think I have just proved a point. Now go and get your bath. I will be up to see you shortly.'

Beatrice turned from him and somehow made her legs carry her to the door. Slipping out, she went to her bedchamber, spent and breathless, and even more confused than she had been before. She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes, trying to regain her wits. Julius had uncovered a wanton streak in her
she never knew existed and there was nothing she could do. Beneath the caressing boldness of his hands and his lips, she was his woman, and though she was honest enough to admit her treacherous woman's body came alive—not against her will, but willingly—it was with a heavy heart. As intoxicating as it was, she realised it was a completely separate thing from what she really wanted—an intimacy of the heart with Julius.

Her feelings for her husband overrode all else. Everything else faded into insignificance—even Larkhill didn't seem so important any more. She could already feel his control closing around her, suffocating her. His rank, his strength, his intelligence, his power, his ability to still her protests with his lips—all this made Julius a powerful man indeed. She could feel herself sliding into his grasp and was steadily losing the will to control her own destiny.

 

Julius sauntered into his wife's bedchamber. Having bathed and dismissed her maid, Beatrice was seated at her satinwood dressing-table, her elbows on the surface, her forehead resting on her hands. Even with her hair shining like newly minted gold in the sun, she looked the picture of heartbreaking dejection. She hadn't heard him enter. He started to turn away and leave her to her privacy, then, with a sigh, he changed his mind and went further into the room. Closer now, he realised her shoulders were shaking with sobs and he felt a surge of remorse, cursing himself for behaving like an insensitive, blundering idiot.

He was barely able to believe his own selfish
callousness. He should have been gentler with her, more of a husband than a hard-bitten businessman with a bitter past. His churlish display had upset her, alienated her, and he regretted that. He hadn't meant to make her cry. Being the cause of her misery, he knew he was in for a delicate round of diplomacy. ‘Beatrice?'

She started violently at the sound of his voice. Snapping her head up, she dashed her tears away with the back of her hand and, picking up her hairbrush, began brushing her hair vigorously.

‘What do you want?' she managed to say, her voice flat.

‘To apologise.'

This was not what Beatrice had expected. Her eyes met his in the mirror and her lips twisted wryly. ‘You? Apologise? Is the callous attitude you used on me earlier supposed to be endearing? Is this what I am to expect in the future if I unwittingly transgress?'

‘This is how I am, Beatrice. I am not perfect.'

‘No, you're not.' She sighed despondently, tired of the argument. ‘It doesn't matter. You were right. I've been a fool, a stupid fool for thinking that by marrying you I would bring Larkhill back into my life, and now I shall have to live with the consequences of my stupidity.'

Julius's heart turned over when he looked at her reflection in the mirror and saw the wounded look in her glorious green eyes. Going to stand behind her, he stilled her hand and took the brush from her, taking on the task of brushing the long silken mass himself.

Beatrice made no move to stop him. She just sat quietly, watching him through the vanity mirror. The image of his tall, masculine frame occupied with such a feminine task enabled her to manage a weak smile.

‘You missed your vocation, Julius. You would have made a good lady's maid.'

He grinned leisurely. ‘I would be only too happy to stand in when your maid is absent.' He paused and gazed into her eyes. ‘Why were you crying?'

‘Because I couldn't help it. I am ashamed of myself. I was crying for my own ineptitude, my incompetence and my inability to manage my own life.'

‘I don't agree. I think you have a natural talent for all three. You're being too harsh on yourself, Beatrice. Your aunt made it clear that you were not particularly welcome in her house, therefore you had no desire to stay where you were not wanted. But without means where could you go? You yearned for your old home, which was the only place where you had known happiness, and you saw me as a means of getting it back. I cannot blame you for that.'

‘You don't?'

‘No, I don't.' He experienced a feeling of comprehension, for while he had been struggling with his own life, her world had also been falling apart. At least now he had an insight of what lay behind her fear and dread, and what had driven her to do what she had.

‘Nevertheless, I can see how, by my actions, I have humiliated and embarrassed you. I should not have done that. I thought of no one but myself. You can divorce me if you like. I wouldn't blame you.'

Julius stiffened. ‘Is that what you want?'

She sighed dejectedly, looking down at her hands. ‘It no longer matters what I want. The choice is yours, Julius.'

Putting the brush down, Julius turned and walked slowly across the room to the window, where he stood looking out. Divorce! It was unthinkable. He could not imagine having to go back to the way his life had been before he had met Beatrice—back to the darkness, the loneliness, the endless isolation, the despair, though he would never admit it to anyone. To be with Beatrice now, to have known her as a husband knows his wife and then to have her walk away, that would reduce him to a wretched creature who had been cast out. Whatever it took, he knew he would do anything to keep her with him.

Recovering his composure, he said firmly, ‘There will be no divorce.'

Beatrice stared at her image for a moment as relief washed over her. Closing her eyes, she tried to gather her thoughts, to know what to say, what to think. Julius had never spoken of how much he cared for her, not even pretended to. She wasn't certain of his feelings—she wasn't certain of her own, either. All she really knew was that the sight of his hard, handsome face and the bold amber eyes never failed to make her entire being feel tense and alive. She liked being with him, she liked it when he kissed her and when he made love to her. Added to his other attractions, she knew that Julius had a depth of character other men lacked. She was confused as to how she should feel and think, but
that didn't really matter one way or the other, because she
was
going to love him. It was happening and she couldn't stop it.

Julius came up behind her and his hands settled on her shoulders. In the mirror she watched him bend his dark head, felt his warm lips against the curve of her neck sending tingling sensations down her back.

‘You're very beautiful, Beatrice. I suppose you don't want to hear it, but it's true. I feel we are well suited to help each other. A rare jewel. That's what you are.' She was very still, unable to move as he drew her hair aside and placed a kiss lightly in the nape of her neck, before whispering in her ear, ‘And quite irresistible.'

She wanted to contradict him, but her tongue remained silent. The rest of her body began to sing and her pulse raced at the warmth of his breath on her neck.

He looked deeply into her eyes, wanting to show her what he felt when he looked at her, not just what he saw. ‘Will you do something for me?'

The raw emotion in his voice registered on Beatrice and she felt her bones begin to melt. ‘What? What is it you want?' she asked with a nervous tremor in her voice.

Julius raised his head and his lips curved in a smile, while striving to keep his raw hungry need to be inside her at bay. ‘I know exactly what I want; if you come to bed with me now, I'll show you. I want to see you naked on the bed with your hair spread across the pillows. I want to look at your face while I touch you and
make love to you, because I badly need to know how you feel.'

Mesmerised by the seductive invitation in those eyes and the velvet roughness of his deep voice, Beatrice stood up and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, knowing that, for him, this was a moment of atonement. Julius swung her into his arms, driven to try to make amends to her in the only way he knew how. Carrying her to the bed, he lowered her gently onto the quilt and followed her down, his lips finding hers in a long, deep kiss.

When he could finally tear himself away from her to remove his clothes, Beatrice watched him unashamedly, glorying in his magnificent body. Slipping out of her robe, she slid beneath the covers and waited for him to join her. When he did, he gathered her to him.

‘You're trembling,' he said in the gentlest of voices.

‘I know,' she admitted nervously. ‘I don't know why.'

‘Don't you?' he asked softly. ‘Perhaps this might help,' he murmured, placing his hungry lips on hers to still their tremor, tasting the hot sweetness of her mouth.

Feeling as if her heart would surely burst with what was inside her, Beatrice made a tiny, smothered sound of desire and answered him with a melting kiss of her own. It was enough. Julius gathered her tightly to him, pulling her against his full length, clasping her against his rigid thighs while his lips were both rough and tender. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she felt an aching sense of loss that was replaced by sweet torment
as he slid his mouth down her neck to her breasts, nuzzling them slowly before his lips closed tightly over her taut nipple. She moaned in helpless pleasure, desire streaking through her, her hands tangling in his hair, her back arching in helpless surrender.