His Sinful Secret (23 page)

Why the confidence? She wasn’t sure. Perhaps the intuition of women was not overrated, because she sensed that even bringing her to this spot was an oblique surrender of sorts. He’d denied Harry this clandestine place, and he’d denied his family, but he had included her.

A poignant triumph.

Hopefully this was just the beginning.

Magic. The setting sun. A glorious nymph in his arms . . .

It seemed a bit surreal.

As a boy he’d used this place to spin dreams. Now as he lay on top of his wife, slightly out of breath, his weight barely balanced, awash in the flux of orgasmic release, Michael reflected that he had certainly found some sort of mystical connection to fate, or whatever it might be labeled.

Something had to have tempted him to lure her into the gardens with the sole purpose of a late-afternoon seduction. It had happened—gloriously so—and Julianne had responded with sweet acquiescence and diverting passion.

The scent of crushed grass mingled with the fragrance of her hair, and his face pressed to where it lay in silky disarray.
This is,
he thought,
where I inevitably fail her.
Tender words should follow the physical union when they were both naked and replete in each other’s arms. Before Julianne, he hadn’t thought much about it, for his previous lovers had been no more committed than he was, except on the basis of transient pleasure.

He was skilled in some areas, but romantic gestures were not one of them.

With effort, he lifted his head. Her face was rosy, her eyes half shadowed. Speaking first, she said on a breathless laugh, “May I say I find your little secret most . . . delightful?”

“Do you?” He lazily kissed her throat and wondered if she knew she had disconcerted him. Often enough he used physical diversion to keep from deep discussion. “I confess I didn’t set out to ravish you when I suggested we walk, but I agree the outcome was delightful indeed.”

That was the truth. And this was the second time he’d been so overcome with desire for her that he’d yielded to carnal impulse.

He was never impulsive.

She was . . . so very different.

“I admit that if you’d told me I would find myself naked in broad daylight out of doors, I would not have believed it.” She lightly ran her fingers down his spine.

And even though he’d just climaxed, he found the light touch arousing.

Moreover, he actually wished to know what she was thinking. Perhaps it was the sybaritic setting and languid satisfaction of the moment, but he was not only a lover but a
husband
. Having tea with his parents, who had always had a very easy sort of relationship, might have given him a startling insight to married life. . . . Or had it happened when he saw the surprise on Julianne’s face when he joined them?

“Tell me what pleased you,” he urged, drawing his hand over her breast. It wasn’t a subversive caress, though, just a gentle touch as he watched her expression. “You say I keep to myself and I won’t argue the point, but compromise is the basis of any treaty, and if you were to consult me, I’d say a marriage is a treaty in the most defined sense of the word. Two very opposite parties coming to terms and forming an alliance.”

“You make it sound like we are at war.”

He had. Was he so used to thinking in those terms that he even applied it to his marriage? “Maybe it was ill phrased,” he equivocated. “All I meant was, men and women often look at the same situation differently.”

“I’d guess that’s true.” She hesitated, but then said, “While this place is lovely, I find it delightful because
you
are here.” Her smile was shy and charming, her eyes ingenuous as they met his with complete candor.

Well, almost complete. Like this, with her soft and willing in his arms, he nearly forgot her earlier deception over her whereabouts.

What the devil did that mean?

Antonia’s words came floating back.
She will fall in love with you. . . .

“Now, fair is fair,” she said quickly, as if to divert his attention from what she’d just said. “Tell me something I wish to know about you.”

“Such as?”

“What is your favorite color?”

The simple request was amusing and yet also endearing. “My favorite color?” he repeated. “I think I expected a much more probing inquiry.”

“Did you?” There was a provocative lift in her voice, and her fingers skimmed his back again. “I think you will find wives—or at least yours—might not be very predictable, my lord.”

He agreed, especially with the magic of her laugh and his current state of contentment. “Blue,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Not the color of a sunny sky on a summer day, but a deeper hue, dark and rich and velvet.”

“Very poetic.” She didn’t miss the reference to the unusual beauty of her eyes. “I suppose that fulfills your promise because it does reveal something of you I didn’t know existed.”

“I’m intrigued. What does it reveal, my lady?” He traced the line of her collarbone with his finger in a casual movement, but he was acutely tuned in to her response.

“You are confounded by me.”

His hand halted, his brows lifting slightly in surprise. He was starting to believe that was true, but he had no idea she realized it.

Lush, disheveled, and more tempting than he guessed she knew, she went on. “You married me for reasons we both understand, because I had no choice but to do the same. Has it ended up being quite as you imagined?”

No. It hadn’t. But if he agreed, what would that do to his life? She had a valid point. For one thing, he was naked in the back garden in the late afternoon after coaxing her into an indiscretion.
Out of character
didn’t even begin to describe his actions.

“It hasn’t for me,” she confessed in a small voice.

“Though I admit I worried because Harry was so
easy
, and you are . . . not.”

He cleared his throat, still sprawled on top of her luscious body. “It’s true. I’m nothing like him.”

“And though I would never have thought I’d feel this way, I am glad,” Julianne said simply, reaching up to touch his cheek. “You are . . .
you
.”

Inexplicably, he was undone, then and there.

He was nothing like his carefree, easygoing, likeable brother, and for the first time in his life, someone was glad.

T
he woman seemed to be everywhere. Julianne smiled graciously at the footman who refilled her glass, wondering if it was coincidence or design that Lady Taylor was seated across from her at the dinner table. This evening, her husband’s former paramour was stunning in emerald green silk, her dark hair upswept and held in place with a Spanish mantilla that emphasized her exotic beauty.

How can I possibly compete,
Julianne wondered, unsettled and undeniably jealous. Michael was conspicuous by his absence, making his excuses at the last minute in a brief note and letting her accompany his parents instead. The sight of the stunning Lady Taylor brought to the forefront a disquieting sense of his pronounced absences.

Was he with
her
when he was gone?

Actually, Julianne tried to remind herself in wry honesty, he couldn’t be, because it seemed in the past weeks that if he
didn’t
escort her to a social function, Lady Taylor was there instead. If they were trying to make a point about not having an affair, it was well-done, but she had the sense something else might be going on.

First Fitzhugh practically dogging her every step, and now this woman.

It almost felt as if Michael was having her watched.

Why would he? If he knew about her visits to Chloe, surely he would just ask. . . .

“Are you not enjoying the roast lamb, Lady Longhaven?”

The cool question, asked in accented English, jerked Julianne out of her reverie and she glanced up at Antonia Taylor. “It’s quite delicious,” she answered, though she’d taken only one bite.

“You aren’t eating.”

“How vigilant of you to notice,” Julianne replied, picking up her wine.

The other woman flushed, which was telling. It wasn’t much, just a hint of red in her cheeks, but the glint in her eyes said more than anything. “I just wondered if something might be amiss, the way you are picking at your food.”

“Not at all.” Julianne forced her most gracious smile.

Luckily, the man next to the beauteous Lady Taylor engaged her in conversation then, his avid gaze fastened on her bosom, and Julianne was able to eat—or not. Lady Taylor was right: she was just picking at her meal—until the dessert course was served. The ladies then retired so the gentlemen could enjoy their port.

This time she paid close attention as seats were chosen, their gracious hostess a contemporary of Michael’s mother who chattered with animation as they all settled into the drawing room.

Yes, Lady Taylor deliberately maneuvered to a spot next to her, Julianne realized. That was interesting, to say the least. Because of the seating arrangements and the fact that almost all the women were older, she and Lady Taylor ended up relatively alone in one corner of the room, next to each other on a small settee. Julianne endeavored as pleasant an expression as possible. “I understand you and Michael knew each other well in Spain.”

“Is that what he said?” The other woman smiled in a way that didn’t reach her eyes.

“He didn’t say,” Julianne answered, taking in the splendor of the Spaniard’s glorious coloring and voluptuous form. “If you do know him well, you will agree he rarely expounds on anything, much less his past.”

“What makes you think I know him well?” Lady Taylor reclined, graceful and overtly female, against the green-and-cream-striped silk of the settee, her smile genial but her eyes . . . watchful.

Julianne was learning to interpret that look. Michael had it often.

Bluntly, she said, “Because of the way the two of you look at each other.” She paused and shook her head. “No, not so. Because of the way you
don’t
look at each other.”

“Whatever does that mean, Lady Longhaven?”

“You disappoint me,” Julianne said after a moment, keeping her voice modulated. “I thought you’d be more honest.”

She sat politely, not understanding the word.

“I’m sorry.” Lady Taylor sighed. “At times I lapse. I meant I do not understand what you might be insinuating.”

“And see, yet I think you do.”

Antonia narrowed her eyes. “You are not as innocent as he thinks, are you? You have my admiration. He isn’t easy to fool.”

“I have no idea what he thinks of me.” Julianne wasn’t sure if this conversation was wise, but she had, after all, started it. “But perhaps you can tell me. How innocent does he think I am?”

“Speaking for Miguel is never wise.” The shrug of Lady Taylor’s shoulders was negligent.

Yet the implication was there that her husband had discussed her with his ex-lover, and Julianne found it irritated her, because the implied intimacy of it caused another twinge of unwanted jealousy. That unproductive emotion was no doubt doubly useless in regard to Michael. As coolly as possible, Julianne said, “I am sure you are right.”

The ensuing pause was awkward, and Julianne wondered how rude it would be to simply rise and leave the room. Very, she decided. But truly, how polite was she required to be to a woman who clearly either once had, or worse, still did have, a relationship with her husband? It wasn’t that she had any solid evidence other than Michael’s admission they’d known each other during the war, but that evening when Lady Taylor had approached her at the ball, he had certainly done his best to cut their conversation short.

“I sense I have upset you in some way.” Antonia Taylor reached out and lightly touched her arm. “It was not my intention. We are not so far apart in age, and I am still a stranger here in England in many ways. I live in my husband’s house, but never with him, for he was killed at Quatre Bras. So close to the end of the war.” She shook her head. “A shame. He was a
caballero
. . . a gentleman. But it is so, and I accept it. Yet I could use a friend.”

Put that way, it would be churlish to refuse, but Julianne was still a bit skeptical of the other woman’s motives. “Of course,” she murmured.

“Miguel saved my life.” The words fell quietly amid the chatter at the other corners of the room. Dark eyes regarded Julianne with intense directness. “The details are not . . . important, but he and I will always have that between us. Otherwise, we are merely friends.”

It was enlightening, but Julianne wasn’t sure how to respond. Michael had played knight errant for this beautiful woman.

Lady Taylor went on, “Here in this big city, with your parties and balls and oh so proper manners, you cannot imagine the atrocities visited upon my country. We were allies, England and Spain, and yet your homeland was not ravaged and overrun.” She turned away, and her expression was fierce for a moment. “I do not blame you for not understanding, because I wish
I
did not.”