His Sinful Secret (12 page)

There was little use in pondering how things might have been different had Harry lived.
Julianne is
my
wife,
Michael reminded himself—his surprisingly passionate, engaging wife—and that was what fate had decided for them both.

What troubled him now was that he had a feeling his concept of what he was getting in the match didn’t coincide with the reality. Yes, she was young and still naive, but she was also intelligent and more adventurous than he’d guessed. Case in point: her unabashed sexual participation of the night before.

Heated sighs, soft-as-satin skin, eyes the color of a midnight sea under the moon . . .

To his surprise, he’d found her . . . enchanting. Deliciously memorable to a man who had made it a point to not hold on to past experiences if at all possible. He’d approached his marriage like he would any mission. It had to be done and he could perform the task needed with detachment and to the best of his ability. But Julianne had disarmed him and beguiled not just his senses but also his intellect with her innocent candor, both in bed and in conversation. Seducing her body was one matter; he’d counted on his ability to stay distant on all other levels. Now he wasn’t quite as sure.

It bothered him that he’d been taken by surprise. His ability to read other people had kept him alive.

It didn’t fit his plans very well to have Julianne distract him.

An hour later he turned for home, still unsettled. He needed to solve the dilemma of the two attacks, because he certainly didn’t want to have to explain away any other mysterious injuries. Julianne hadn’t pressed the matter, but she was understandably curious. Though using seduction to divert her questions had worked for the moment, he had the impression she was far too bright to be put off for long.

The neoclassic glory of Southbrook House roused the same unsettling feeling as did musing over his newly acquired wife. The mansion sprawled across an impressive expanse of Mayfair, palatial and ostentatious in every way possible. The rosy morning light gilded the brick facade with gold and red, and the graceful sweep of the drive was protected by not only a gatehouse, but also an ornate fence. Since Harry’s death proved having wealth could not ensure good fortune, Michael wondered if he would be doing any child a favor by bringing him into this unsettled world. Even with prestige and a noble family, no one could be assured a happy life.

It was the first time he’d ever really contemplated the realities of being a parent, but then again, before last night, he’d always been a careful man. Now he was supposed to do his best to father a child, and the more quickly it happened, the better. What he hadn’t anticipated was, since it was possible he had already gotten his wife with child—after all, often enough it took only one time—how he would feel about it.

This was all so different than he’d imagined.

As he dismounted and tossed the reins to a stable lad who scurried to take them and lead the stallion away, he guessed he had avoided much more than just contact with his prospective bride in the past months. It was uncharacteristic, but he hadn’t really thought things through. He’d avoided
the situation
.

It might be something he shouldn’t put off any longer.

“Good morning, my lord.” Rutgers, the butler, swept the door open with a flourish. “I trust you had a pleasant ride.”

An introspective one, yes, but he wasn’t sure
pleasant
qualified. Michael said in a neutral tone, “The weather is very accommodating today.”

Silver-haired and efficient, always the epitome of decorum, the older man inclined his head. “It is indeed.”

“I take it most of the guests are abed?” Michael tugged off his gloves in the spacious foyer. Overhead on the mural in the high ceiling, cupids cavorted and playfully pointed bows. He hadn’t really paid much attention to it before, but the symbolism didn’t escape him now.

“The party went on until just a short while ago, my lord.”

“I saw the line of carriages still in the drive. I am glad it was a success.”

“A resounding one, if I may make the observation.”

His wedding night had also been an unexpected success, but he was hardly going to disclose that piece of information. Michael merely said, “I’ll take breakfast upstairs so as to avoid any more well-wishes. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I think I have had my fill for a while.”

“It seems understandable to me, my lord.” Rutgers looked as impassive as usual, his severely tailored clothing immaculate.

Since the man had been with his family as long as he could remember, Michael queried on impulse, “My parents . . . they enjoyed the festivities?”

Had he really just asked that? Of a servant, no less? But then again, Rutgers was more than a servant; he was a permanent part of the household—the family, even, in some ways—and he could answer the implied question.

Rutgers let his solemn expression slip for a moment. Pale blue eyes blinked and he cleared his throat. “Your mother, my lord, is happier than I have seen her since . . . well,
since
.”

Since Harry’s death.
Michael understood. After all, it was why he’d agreed to the marriage in the first place. He nodded and headed for the sweeping staircase at the end of the main hall. It was early yet and he wondered if Julianne was awake. He’d left her sleeping in his bed, all tangled dark hair and dewy, smooth skin, her long lashes resting on the delicate arch of her cheekbones, and each breath lifting her delectable breasts under the fine linen sheet.

No man with a drop of blood still flowing in his veins could have resisted that sweetly whispered—yet provocative—request. He hadn’t, that was for certain, and his erection had surged with astonishing speed considering he’d just spent himself. The second time they’d made love he’d been just a little less restrained, and his young wife had responded to every touch, every caress, every thrust, with both willingness and obvious enjoyment.

It had been delightful.

Now, in the stark reality of morning light, he had to decide how to deal with her.

 

She was alone.

Julianne rolled over, coming slowly awake, at first a little confused over the unfamiliar room. Dark blue silk hangings on an ornately carved bed, tall windows with drawn drapes against the daylight, an armoire in the corner, the door to the dressing room discreetly closed . . .

Her husband’s bedroom.

Memories of the night before floated back, at first a trickle, and then a torrent. Heat spiked into her cheeks and she made a mortified sound as she realized she was stark naked under the fine bed linens. Her nightdress was a pale heap of cloth by the side of the bed, and her robe was still by the window, where Michael had been standing when she’d entered the room.

She jabbed her elbows into the mattress to lever herself upward and sucked in a breath as a twinge of discomfort spiked through her. There was little doubt she was tender between her legs, and she could feel stickiness on her inner thighs. More cautiously she sat up and then rested her shoulders against the softness of the pillows, propped up against the headboard. There was a clock on the mantel of the fireplace and it ticked in a solemn rhythm, but otherwise it was completely quiet.

With one hand clutched in the sheet to keep it over her bare breasts, Julianne contemplated the strangeness of waking in the bed of a man she barely knew. It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand that the moment she walked down the aisle of the cathedral and her hand was placed in his, before all and sundry, her life had irrevocably changed in a monumental way, but knowing something was going to happen and experiencing it were two different things.

On the one hand, she mused, staring abstractedly at where the sun struggled to pierce the draperies, her wedding night hadn’t been at all like she’d expected. Michael had touched her with care—very scandalously so—but she had to admit to herself it was a trifle embarrassing to recall her unmitigated acceptance of those wicked caresses. It brought up the very real problem of how little she knew him, for before he took her in his arms that first time and truly kissed her, she would not have judged him a considerate man.

Julianne frowned. Well, that wasn’t accurate either. She hardly pictured him being
inconsiderate
, for he was polite always, formal without being stuffy, solicitous to his mother, even charming on occasion. But the formidable aura of control that surrounded him was undeniable.

Even in the moment when she’d felt him give in to sexual release, she sensed his reluctance to relinquish his power even over his own body.

She’d thought him complex before the wedding, and he’d added another facet to the picture she struggled to form of him now that he was her lover.

“I see you are awake. Would like for me to ring for your maid?”

Since she hadn’t heard the door open, she was startled, her gaze flying to where the subject of her thoughts stood. Dressed for riding in a coat, white shirt but no cravat, tan breeches, and polished boots, his brows lifted just a fraction in inquiry, he looked once again remote and enigmatic. Strikingly attractive, yes, in his refined, aristocratic way, with his thick chestnut hair and remarkable eyes, but unapproachable too, as if a cool mask slid neatly into place sometime between when she’d drifted to sleep in his arms and woken to find he’d left.

Gone was the tender lover. She sensed the withdrawal. Julianne cleared her throat and blushed. It was impossible
not
to blush. “I’ll go back to my room and ring for her myself, my lord.”

“Very well. Please excuse me.” He regarded her with cool detachment.

She gazed back, confused, her hand tightening on the sheet, as if covering her body was still an issue, when she’d lain naked underneath him and wantonly moaned with pleasure. He’d seen everything of her there was to see, yet she anchored the sheet against her chest with almost desperate modesty.

It wasn’t like he didn’t notice either, for his glance touched on her clenched fingers. However, if it amused him, it didn’t show in his impassive expression.

He explained briefly, “I’m afraid I have a busy day. I believe my mother has a late luncheon planned since we have so many guests. If possible, I will join you.”

If possible? Weren’t they just wed?

That was it? She felt . . . dismissed.

It was a little difficult to interpret his swift, graceful bow and the way he turned and went into his dressing room. Julianne stared at the closed door in consternation over the obvious indifference with which he treated her, but perhaps she was wrong to be surprised. He would hardly show any affection since he really had none for her. How could he? He didn’t know anything about her. In bed, he might desire the use of her body, but that was different.

She was young and probably naive in many ways, but she knew that much. Sexual desire and deeper feelings did not necessarily go hand in hand.

Still, it was disconcerting to think that all she garnered was remote courtesy, despite the intimate things that had happened between them the night before.

As quickly as possible, she scrambled out of the bed and grabbed her nightdress, slipping it back on with clumsy fingers. She practically fled to her room, stopping just long enough to scoop up her robe.
It is ridiculous to be disappointed,
she reminded herself.

Ridiculous.

She tugged on the bellpull by the bed and waited, her emotions a confusing mix of vague resentment and relief. If he wished for them to be one of those couples who led completely separate lives, it might make things simpler. Independence was something she’d always craved, and though her parents were kind, they had also been very mindful of proper behavior and she was closely chaperoned at all times.

She was now a married lady and no longer a sheltered ingenue. The idea held some appeal. Her allowance also was significantly increased, if what she remembered about her father’s comments over the marriage settlement were accurate. That would be very convenient.

No,
Julianne thought as Camille bustled in, all inquiring eyes, bobbing curls neat under the crisp mobcap she wore, her uniform starched and perfect for service in a ducal household. She was not going to dwell on the negatives of her marriage. There was little point in it, and she’d wondered ahead of time if Michael Hepburn’s reserve wasn’t a difficult wall to scale.

Did she even want to try? Marriages in the beau monde were often detached and more formalities than relationships. If the day after their wedding her husband already had no time for her, maybe that was how he viewed their future.

Why did it give her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach? How could she expect more? It was probably true also that he was a busy man. Wealth and title were privileges, but a fortune had to be managed to sustain itself, and titles came with responsibilities.

“Would you like breakfast, your ladyship?

Distracted, Julianne looked up.The young woman had an anxious look on her face. Twin spots of color graced her plump cheeks, and the girl dipped into a curtsy.

The deference was a bit startling and pointed out her changed status in the world. Her maid at home had been more friend than servant, but she hadn’t wanted to switch employers. Julianne cleared her throat. “Tea and toast would be fine. And hot water so I can bathe.”

“Yes, my lady. Right away.”

The night before she’d been too anxious to really appreciate her surroundings but while she waited, Julianne studied the somewhat grandiose bedroom, decorated, she guessed, by her mother-in-law when she married Michael’s father before he was the duke. It was done in subtle shades of different yellows, from pale lemon to deep gold, the canopied bed gilded with small filigree roses, the carpet beneath her feet ivory and ochre. A set of French doors opened to a balcony, and when she wandered over to open them she discovered she shared it with the adjoining room, the balustrade stretching between their suites. She also had a dressing room of impressive proportions, her clothing already neatly unpacked and put away.