Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (18 page)

"Strange, I thought I was the heart of it."

She could tell he was in a dangerous mood, and yet with his skills, she couldn't read him. She didn't know what to say or do. She was reminded that he had recently been, not a diplomat, but a soldier; that he was a veteran of that bloodiest of battles, Waterloo. She shivered, and gathered her inadequate shawl tighter around her shoulders.

He frowned. "We shouldn't be here like this. It was the only neutral territory that came to mind."

"It is the only peaceful spot hereabouts."

He looked around at the ranks of gravestones.
"
'
The grave's a fine and private place,
'
"
he quoted,
"'But none, I think, do there embrace.'"
He took out the ring and turned it in his fingers. "You're going to have to trust me a little, or this won't work at all."

"I do trust you."

"Do you?"

His silence demanded some explanation for the afternoon's debacle. "I'm used to handling the children alone," she said. "I'm not used to letting anyone else decide if they are in the wrong or right, and what should be done about it."

"You must have shared such duties with your first husband."

She looked down. "He was very busy."

Night was falling fast. She heard bats squeaking out from the church belfry. She looked up at him, half seen in the gloom.

"If you say your vows to me," he said, "you will be giving me the right to help you with the children, a right I intend to claim. You will have to trust me. I won't always be right, but then neither, with respect, will you. It may be the cause of some fights between us, but I will always try to act for their good. If you cannot believe that, then we cannot marry. Which I think would be a shame."

Judith felt her heart melt at his tone.
Oh my dear, a braver, better woman would let you go.
But she lacked that strength, and she had a bundle of costly useless books to pay for, and new dreams that only he could make true.

"I, too, think it would be a shame."

He stepped across the grave to join her, and slipped the ring back on her finger. He clasped her hand. "You're chilled." He took off his riding cape, and draped it around her shoulders. It was warm, and had a slight aroma of horse, and another she recognized, with a stir inside, as his. It was also heavy.

"Lord, my knees are like to buckle!"

He put an arm around her waist to support her. "I'll help you bear the weight." He turned her into his arms. "I'm glad we've only tomorrow to get through. You won't jilt me at the altar, will you?"

She shook her head.

His head swooped down on her and he kissed her fiercely, using his whole body to overwhelm her senses and demand a response. She felt seared. "Now my knees
are
buckling," she said shakily.

"Good. Sometimes I think you mistake me, Judith, and the time for mistakes is almost over. This may be a marriage without love, but that does not mean I do not care, or that I do not desire you. I desire you very, very much. I'm looking forward to our wedding night, to when I have the right to explore your body, and learn your ways, and see you lost in the senses...."

Her body was still humming from that kiss, and his words made her head swim. His hand was absently tantalizing her nape to devastating effect. She felt she had to warn him. "I think it's going to be a bit different with you...."

"Good God, I hope so." He cast a grimacing look at the grave, and led her away toward the lytch gate. "You see how you've destroyed my composure? A few weeks ago, I would never have been so maladroit as to make love to a lady in a chilly graveyard."

Not to mention over her husband's grave, thought Judith, though more with humor than with guilt. The past was the past.

He'd ridden down, and the big gray horse stood like a patient ghost. When they reached it, Leander said, "Will you ride with me?"

She supposed it was a kind of trust, and nodded. He took off the cape. She shivered slightly, as much from the loss of the essence of him, as from the loss of its warmth. He put his hands at her waist and lifted her onto the saddle.

She clutched at the pommel, nervous to be alone on the horse, and surprised again at his strength. She found herself wondering what kind of body was under the covering of excellent tailoring, then suppressed such wickedness.

On the other hand, if he expected her to be naked, perhaps he would be, too. He swung up behind her, then shifted them around until she was in his lap, and they were both enclosed in the cape. She was snuggled against him like a child, and imagined she could feel the slow beat of his heart. Perhaps she could. She could certainly feel the solid strength of him.

He set the horse to amble slowly back down the misty village street toward her cottage. Fuzzy rectangles of light marked the houses, but the street was deserted. It was as if they were alone in the world.

"I'm going to make you a good wife," she said suddenly.

"That sounds dauntingly worthy."

She glanced up at him, unable to read his tone. "I mean, the sort of wife you want."

She saw the white of his teeth as he smiled. "That's more like it. Is that a promise?"

She hesitated, then said, "Yes." And meant it.

"Good. And I'll try to be the sort of husband you want." He looked down and blew gently at her forehead. "Would you care to give me some hints?"

He was perfect as he was, but she couldn't say that. As they turned into the lane she teased, "Serious, sober, and sensible. And faithful, of course."

He swung off the horse and helped her down. "One out of four will have to do."

She fought a smile. "Which one?"

He let his smile free. "You choose."

She tilted her head on one side. "Serious," she said.

He laughed out loud."You chose wrong." He tilted her chin and kissed her. "I'm going to hide from you tomorrow, wife-to-be. I daren't risk any other problems until we're wed. But I think I should speak to Bastian. Will you send him out?"

She felt that pang of alarm, and yes, of possessiveness. She didn't want to share the children in this way. But she suppressed both feelings. This was where she proved her trust. "Of course. Good night."

"Good night." He somehow invested the words with sultry promise that sent shivers down her back, and curled her toes.

The children had laid the table, and put out the bowls for the soup that was simmering on the hob. They both looked at her with wide-eyed anxiety. They saw the ring, and their faces lit up.

"It's going to be all right!" Rosie squealed.

Judith hushed her. "Yes, it's going to be all right." She turned to her son. "Bastian, you are not to think this quarrel between Leander and me was your fault, for it wasn't. On the other hand, you hurt him by not believing that he will care for you even if you disappoint him by your behavior. He wishes to speak to you. I wish you to apologize."

"Is he still angry?"

She hugged him. "Not at all."

He came back in a few minutes.
"He
says I'm to apologize to
you
for causing you distress!" Despite his exasperation at the ways of adults, his apology sounded heartfelt. He improved on it by apologizing to Rosie for leaving her, assuring Judith that it was his own idea entirely.

Not to be outdone, Rosie apologized for getting in the boat and almost drowning.

Judith hugged them both. It would be all right.

Chapter 9

Rosie woke Judith on her wedding morning, bubbling over with excitement at the day, her part in it, and the future. Rosie had followed the pattern of all young ladies and fallen head over heels in love with Leander Knollis. But for Rosie he was Papa.

Or rather, Papa Leander.

And here the day was upon them all. The banns had been read. The church was decked with garlands and flowers, mostly courtesy of Hartwell. Her family would be on the road.

Judith thought back to her first wedding day, when she'd woken in her old room at home, sharing the bed with her sister, Anne, vibrating with nerves and excitement, unable to think of the future for thinking of the night ahead when she would experience the mysterious wickedness that was the marriage bed.

And then Sebastian had done nothing for weeks until she'd prodded him to it.

It had hurt the first time, but she'd expected that. What she had not expected was that it be so dull, and that it never become pleasant. Nor had Sebastian appeared to enjoy it. He had seemed to be every bit as embarrassed about what he was doing as she was, even in the dark.

In time, Judith had overcome her self-consciousness about the act, though she was not sure Sebastian ever had, but she had never understood why people could be so excited about it.

Tonight could hold few surprises, and there was no reason for nervousness. Despite twelve years of marriage, however, she felt as if she was once more embarking upon unknown waters, and was unable to think of the future for wondering about the night.

She acceded to Rosie's excited pleading and got up. It was early and there was little to do other than dress, for all the packing had been taken care of. She had no intention of putting her lovely dress on so early and getting it creased or soiled, so she dressed in black. Soon Bastian was up, too, equally full of nervous energy.

They all made a last check of the cottage to be sure nothing was left behind, though they'd done it before. There were surprisingly few boxes, and she wished she hadn't been quite so ruthless. What harm would there have been in taking those old Christmas baubles, even if they just ended up decorating the schoolroom at Temple Knollis?

It had been much that way at Mayfield House. Judith's attempts to introduce her family's boisterous Christmas traditions there had met with frosty disapproval from Sebastian, and had been reserved for the nursery.

Christmases with Sebastian had followed a bleak pattern. There had never been any guests. When the village carolers came to the door, Mrs. Polk, the housekeeper, took them into the kitchen for a slice of cake and, Judith suspected, some rum punch. Sebastian didn't keep any spirits, but Mrs. Polk established that she could not make a Christmas cake without rum. When Judith did the accounts she saw that it took a quite remarkable amount of rum to make the cake, but she made no issue of it.

Judith had often longed to spend more time down in the servants' quarters where there
was
laughter, and singing, and rum punch. She made her elderberry wine, as her mother always had, and that was the only wine in the house. At Christmas, she insisted in drinking a toast with it, and Sebastian relented so far as to take one small glass.

On Christmas morn, she and Sebastian exchanged gifts, and they then gave each member of the small staff a present. It was always something practical such as stockings, or a length of cloth, but that was common enough. Sebastian would also give them a copy of his latest book of poems, though the kitchen maid at least was not a good enough reader to enjoy them. The staff had been pleased to get them, though. Upon his death, the servants' grief had been rather more substantial than her own, for they had felt there was a real cachet to serving a poet.

Judith wrinkled her brow when she thought of those slim volumes in plain cloth bindings. It had never occurred to her before, but he must have had them specially bound that way rather than give the staff ones in cordovan. At over five guineas a copy, the good ones were expensive, but it seemed to her positively nip-farthing to have had servants' editions produced.

She pushed the thoughts away. She did not want harsh thoughts of Sebastian on this, her wedding day.

"Is it time to dress yet, Mama?"

Judith sighed. It must be the tenth time Rosie had asked that. She was twitchy with excitement, and it would only get worse. She decided they should all go for a walk, to pass the time and get rid of some of the energy.

They ended up by the river near the graveyard for, as she had said last night to Leander, it was the only peaceful spot in Mayfield. The street was busy, and the nearby fields were plowed. One had to go some distance to find another open space suitable for children to run around.