Dreamspinner (16 page)

His gaze jerked from the fishing rod to her. “I’ll never stop wanting you, Juliet. You can be certain of that.”

An unbearable longing beat in her throat. “But will you ever love me?” she whispered.

His eyes held hers as water burbled over the rocks and a squirrel chattered. Abruptly his free arm shot out to settle her snugly against the hard length of his body.

“Juliet... Juliet.” He spoke over her head, his voice low and grating. “I don’t know if I can ever love you the way you want me to. I thought you understood that when you agreed to marry me.”

The heaviness to his voice burrowed into her heart. Dear God, how could she have forgotten that he’d once suffered the loss of an adored wife? She would simply have to work harder at healing his wounded heart.

Drawing back slightly, she touched his cheek. “I’m glad you’ve been so candid. I’d rather have that than a thousand false pledges of love.”

His face tensed beneath her fingers and his gaze slid away to stare moodily at the river. “Maybe our life together won’t always be easy, but I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

“You have,” she said softly. “Believe me, you have.”

“You’ll have the freedom to pursue your botany,” he went on, as if trying to convince himself. “We’ll build a life together... you’ll bear our children.”

Joy warmed her as she imagined cradling their baby, a son with black hair and midnight eyes. His heir. “Yes,” she breathed. “I want children so much.”

His lips touched her brow. “Don’t ever leave me, Juliet.”

The harsh entreaty mystified her... until she realized he must be thinking of Emily again. She rubbed her cheek against his smooth linen shirt and cherished the hard knit muscles beneath. “I’ll be with you forever.”

Taking her chin, he tilted her face to the bright heat of the sun. His thumb caressed her lower lip; the rasp of his callused skin brought her skin to life. “You smell of mint,” he murmured.

Then his mouth met hers and all rational thought melted under the heavy stroke of his tongue and the bruising urgency of his kiss. Her heart seemed to pound deeper and deeper within her body. Eager and willing, she arched her back and lifted onto her tiptoes. Kent pulled abruptly away. “Good God!”

He seized the fishing rod with both hands. Swaying, Juliet steadied herself on the stone rail and peered down at the river. A loud splashing at the end of the line told her the trout was hooked. The fish shook its head from side to side and dove into the weeds.

“What’s it doing?” she asked.

“Trying to dislodge the fly.” He shot her a dazzling grin. “You must be good luck.”

He focused his attention on reeling in the fish. Sunlight illuminated the absorption on his face. Exasperated yet entranced, Juliet contented herself with watching the play of muscles in his arms and chest until at last the brown trout lay wriggling and gasping soundlessly on the stones of the bridge.

With all the pride of a true angler, Kent crouched down and regarded his catch. “Ah, now there’s a beauty.”

“Poor thing,” Juliet couldn’t help saying.

He grinned up at her. “I seem to recall you ate trout for supper last night, Duchess, without the slightest qualm.

“I didn’t have to watch it flopping about first.”

“Well.” Reaching inside the mouth, Kent extracted the hook. “We’ll fix that, then.”

Picking up the slippery fish, he flung it over the rail. A loud splash sounded as the trout landed in the river. With an insulted flick of its tail, the fish ascended to the surface of the water.

“Kent!” Aghast and amused, Juliet stared at him. “Why did you do that? You spent all morning chasing that thing.”

“The thrill is over. Besides, I’ve no wish to offend my wife’s tender sensibilities.”

He winked, and the sensual slant of his mouth echoed the pleasure of the night before. Heat bathed her with the scandalous longing to lie naked beneath him, with the rough, warm stones of the bridge against her back and his lean, hard body stroking her hips and breasts.

She took a step toward him. “Make love to me, Kent.”

He went still, his lashes half lowering. “I will... tonight.”

“We’re alone now. Couldn’t we do it here... in the sunshine?”

“That’s out of the question. We’re hardly peasants to be rutting in the open countryside.”

His brusque words hurt, yet when his gaze dipped to her bosom, the heavy heat of desire spurred her to recklessness. Not giving herself a chance to think, she gripped his forearm. “Please, darling, I’m your wife. Show me the joy we shared last night.”

His muscles went rigid beneath her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “You ask the impossible.”

He turned away and began to collect his fishing gear. As sharp as the hook that he tossed into the hamper, pain pierced Juliet. Her passion drained away, leaving a hollow ache.

Slumping against the rail, she watched him; his brisk actions and inflexible features radiated disapproval. Did her impetuous outburst fail to meet his image of the demure wife?

Suddenly she could no longer bear the awkward silence. “Kent, surely you don’t condemn me for admitting a perfectly natural desire.”

Frowning, he straightened, hand on his hips. “I’m not condemning you for anything.”

His cool manner crushed her; she let her gaze follow a martin swooping along the bank. “Yes, you are,” she said. “Men don’t care for boldness in a wife. I should have learned that from my own parents’ behavior.

The liquid music of the river played into the silence. “Juliet, look at me.”

The gentle exasperation in his tone lured her eyes to his face. To her utter amazement, a smile flirted at the corners of his mouth. Coming closer, he lifted a hand to her neck and his thumb passed over the pulse beat in her throat.

“I thought scientists gathered all the facts before arriving at a conclusion,” he said, his voice a husky murmur. “Don’t try to second guess what I like in a woman. Be yourself.”

His gaze moved to her lips, her breasts, then back to her mouth. Passion burned in his eyes, a passion that made her heart clamor against her ribs. Her spirits lightened like the breeze that stirred his thick black hair.

“Then why did you refuse me?”

“Because I’ll not chance any other man seeing what’s for my eyes alone.”

His possessive words made her toes curl with pleasure. Releasing her, he bent to pick up the hamper and fishing rod, then extended a hand. “Come, Duchess, I’ve yet to show you those forget-me-nots.”

Touched that he’d recalled his promise of the previous evening, she slid her hand into his. They wandered along the bank, where sunlight filtered through the rustling leaves of chestnut and poplar and elm. Near a marshy bed of reeds stood the clump of forget-me-nots, the flowers playing host to several bumblebees. Kent picked a spray of the tiny blue stars and tucked it behind her ear. Charmed, she entwined her arm with his as they walked toward the rolling meadow. Wild roses abounded in the hedgerows and the call of a cuckoo enriched the summer air.

Her contentment held even as they spied the whitewashed walls and thatched roof of the inn. After a leisurely luncheon they started off in the landau. That day set the pattern for the ones ahead. Kent seemed determined to cater to her every whim. When she spied an early blooming bush of purple loosestrife, he stopped the carriage and fetched her a stalk. When she happened to mention her thirst, he brought forth a basket of refreshments. When she asked him questions about Radcliffe, he obliged with a humorous commentary on the fine art of farming.

He told her little about his cousin and heir, beyond that Gordon was a scholar of philosophy who spent his days in the library, while his wife, Augusta, tended the district poor. For the first time, Juliet learned he had a sister, Rose. “We’ve never been very close,” he said, “because she’s nine years younger than me.”

“Is she married?”

He shook his head. “I’d like to see Rose settled well, but she claims to have little interest in suitors. Since she’s only eighteen, I haven’t pressed the issue.”

Juliet looked forward to having someone close to her own age at the castle. She interrogated Kent until he begged for mercy.

“I’ll say no more,” he teased. “You’re to form your own opinions of my family.”

The nights stretched into sultry hours of passion. She knew by the way he rarely lingered over supper that he was as impatient as she to shed the bonds of civility, to let loose the wild longings they held in check all day. Spending each night at a different inn, they made love with the darkness heightening their senses. She learned the texture of every part of his body; where he was hard, she was soft, and where he was rough, she was smooth. He explored her as well, bringing her to life in ways she had never before imagined, coaxing her with his mouth and hands until she whimpered and writhed in erotic abandon. She cherished the aftermath when they lay together in sated serenity, when she could fancy that their hearts and bodies and souls were joined as one.

Each morning she awoke to an empty bed. Farmer’s hours, Juliet reminded herself to counteract a nagging sense of loss. Then would come the memory that he’d never returned her whispered words of love. And next she would tell herself to cease expecting too much too soon, to disregard the aloofness that sometimes shadowed his eyes.

Still, the days and nights seemed suspended in time, idle yet exciting, each moment a jewel to be treasured. Juliet wanted the interlude to last forever. Yet she also yearned to fit into the routine of his life, to see the castle his ancestors had built, to meet the other people who mattered to him.

Three days later, she awoke to a dismal morning with a gray sky that threatened rain. Happy despite the weather, she dressed quickly and joined Kent in the small dining room for breakfast; then they went for a stroll along High Street. The town of Chipping Campden typified the other Cotswold villages they’d passed through, with cramped buildings of honey colored limestone, tall gables, and steep, tiled roofs. In the roadway, a swaybacked cob pulled a cart piled high with cabbages. The sidewalk teemed with life: housewives burdened with parcels, a boy racing after a dog, a workman trundling a wheelbarrow filled with nails.

From the wares displayed in front of a greengrocer’s, Kent purchased a small sack of peaches. He plucked one out and handed it to Juliet. As they walked off, she caught the scrutiny of the shopkeeper and slanted an impish look at her husband.

“Everyone’s staring at you,” she whispered. “They probably find it hard to believe such a handsome lord would deign to mingle with the common folk.”

He smiled as she took an unladylike bite of peach. “More likely they’re wondering at the identity of my lovely companion. Dressed in gold, you’re a ray of sunshine on this gloomy day.”

Pleased that he could be so complimentary about her limited wardrobe, she teased back, “An odd description, considering my brown hair.”

Slowing his steps, he cocked his head at her. “It’s more red than brown... cinnamon, actually. That day you came to meet me at the Embankment, I remember having the same thought, that you reminded me of sunshine.”

“Truly?”

He nodded. “You looked radiant and warm, pure as light.”

His rare fanciful portrayal enchanted her. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” she murmured. “I was already half in love with you.”

His eyes turned opaque. With a nod, he shifted his gaze to the street ahead. Sighing, she used a handkerchief to wipe the peach juice off her fingers. Would she ever mention love without her husband withdrawing?

The wrought iron sign over a dressmaker’s shop caught her attention. Inside the bow window, amid a rainbow array of fabric and notions, lay a small oblong patch of blue.

“Look, Kent,” she said, pointing, “Maud would adore having that case to hold her eyeglasses. May we go inside and see it, please?”

He frowned at the item; then his eyes softened. “As you wish.”

A bell tinkled overhead as they entered, and a matron in a white shirtwaist and gray skirt bustled out of the back. Upon seeing them, she paused, and a shrewd look came over her fleshy face, as if she were calculating the cost of their clothing and contemplating how much they might spend.

“Good morning. Might I show you some fabrics? I carry only the softest silks, the richest brocades.” Her thimbled finger indicated the bolts of material behind the counter.

“Her Grace wishes to see the blue case in the window,” Kent said.

The seamstress’s eyes perked up at the title. “Oh, yes. Yes, indeed, Your Grace.” She scurried to the window. “There you are, Your Grace,” she said, handing the item to Juliet. “A fine piece you’ve selected. Did the beadwork myself.”

As Juliet studied the pretty pattern of white bugle beads, the woman said, “You must be attending the Breedloves’ weekend party.”

“No.”

Kent’s haughty reply would have frozen a more sensitive woman; Juliet hid her amusement as the shopkeeper continued, “You’re visiting Lord Wrocktonbury, then?”

“No.”

“Ah well, even if you’re only passing through, I do have a select number of readymade gowns. I’ve just finished one for Lady Wrocktonbory’s approval... Perhaps I might show it to Her Grace instead.”