Never Less Than a Lady

by Mary Jo Putney

  “What was done to you was ugly beyond belief. That doesn’t make you ugly.” He began a slow, gentle stroking of her nipples with his thumbs.

  She felt another jolt, this time undeniable pleasure. The breasts she hated were still capable of sensual response. Her nipples tightened under the rhythmic stimulation.

  “I’m sure that if you had married a reasonable man and were living your life in normal society, you would still be a lovely, kind woman,” he said. “But you would not have the strength and individuality that make you so special.”

  Her mouth twisted. “I should be grateful for being tortured? For being forced to falsify my death and flee into poverty?”

  “Grateful? No. But all those events are part of you, as much as your beautiful chestnut hair and your lovely, creamy”—he swallowed hard—“touchable skin. We are shaped by our lives. Yours has been hard, but the person created by those events is…fascinating.”

  Her, fascinating? She’d like to believe that, but the thought was too new and strange. “I…I thank you for what you are trying to do,” she said unevenly as she pushed at his hands. “But I can bear no more tonight.”

  Accepting that, Randall gently drew up her gown and robe over her shoulders before getting to his feet and moving away. She exhaled with relief.

  Since his bare torso was distracting, Julia took a mouthful of her cooling posset before she resumed brushing her hair. “I’m not sure if you’re going to save my soul or drive me mad, Alexander,” she said wryly.

  “The former, I hope.” He opened the clothespress and removed his blue banyan. Covering his handsome body reduced the distraction, but the color made his blond hair and blue eyes even more striking. She dropped her eyes again.

  “I want our marriage to be a real one, milady, and I think that will happen only if we both accept our scars. The mental ones and the physical ones.” He smiled faintly. “This means you have the right to confront me when I’m trying to deny the undeniable.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Since you have the right to touch me each day, perhaps every day I shall ask the origin of one of your scars.”

  “Go ahead, though I don’t think that will torment me as effectively as what I’m doing to you.” He considered. “Though some of these scars represent emotional pain as well as physical. If you ask about one of those, you might produce a satisfactory amount of torment.”

  “Which scars are they?” she asked with interest.

  “It’s up to you to find them among all the rest.” Randall removed two folded blankets from the clothespress and set them on the floor.

  She realized that he was planning to make up another pallet. “Don’t,” she said. “I’d like you to share the bed again, though…no more than that.”

  “Then progress has been made,” he said with a smile that made her want to melt. He thought she was fascinating. She liked the idea even if she didn’t believe it.

  Randall moved behind the screen to change into his nightclothes. Since he was much taller than Julia, the screen revealed his splendid shoulders.

  Needing calm, not confusion, she looked away as she braided her hair and finished the posset. “I’m going to fall asleep as soon as I climb into bed.” She stood and removed her robe, then slid between the covers, keeping to her side.

  Randall emerged from behind the screen and began putting out lights. “Would you like to spend another day here? Charles Townsend suggested we stay longer, and that will give you more time to say your good-byes.”

  “I’d like that, if you’re not in a tearing hurry to get to London.” Julia smothered a yawn. She hadn’t been joking about her fatigue.

  After extinguishing the lights, Randall joined her in the bed. The mattress sagged under his weight and Julia slipped down the smooth sheets into Randall’s side. “Sorry!” She started to push herself back to her side of the bed.

  “No need to run away.” He slid his arm under her neck and tucked her against him. “Why share a bed if we’re on opposite sides and not touching?”

  His embrace was friendly rather than carnal, so she settled against him. Though Branford often wanted sex, he had no use for affectionate cuddling. She felt warm, relaxed, safe.

  Until she moved her hand and her palm brushed against his hard erection. As he caught his breath and stiffened all over, she pulled away with a sound perilously close to a squeak. “I didn’t mean to do that!”

  “I know.” He didn’t pull her back, but he caught her hand and laced his fingers between hers. “Though progress has been made, we still have a long way to go.” His fingers tightened on hers. “Have I mentioned how much I admire your courage in facing your own private hells?”

  She smiled wryly into the darkness. “I don’t think I’ve displayed much courage. Each time you’ve pushed me, I’ve wanted to run away.” She considered. “Though tonight I briefly considered kicking you.”

  His laughter was deep and rich. “I’m glad you didn’t, but fighting instead of running is a good sign, I think. You really are an amazing woman. We grow through adversity. That’s why Mariah is more intriguing than Sarah, even though they’re twins and equally pretty and good-natured. Innocence simply isn’t very interesting.”

  “Surely there are few men who would agree with that!”

  He shrugged. “Tastes vary. I like women who have journeyed through darkness.”

  “Because they understand you better?” Julia asked softly.

  There was a long silence before he said, “I suppose that marriage is meant to be about two people sliding under each other’s skins. You’re rather good at that.”

  “As are you.” Emboldened by the darkness, she asked, “Isn’t it terribly painful to…to be aroused as you are and not satisfy yourself?”

  “I sense Branford’s voice behind that comment,” he said dryly. “Yes, continuing arousal is somewhat uncomfortable, but hardly unbearable. A grown man should not be ruled by his lusts.”

  Branford had been. And she was the one legally obliged to satisfy them. “As a midwife, I’ve spent much of the last years with women and small children,” she said reflectively. “I’m beginning to realize how little I know of grown men.”

  “You’re learning quickly.” He squeezed her hand again. “At least, you’re learning me quickly. As to being aroused—the good outweighs the bad. It reminds me I’m alive. For a long time, I’d forgotten that.”

  She didn’t like to think of his private darkness. But if he hadn’t endured that, he wouldn’t understand or want her. She rolled onto her side and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “Sleep well, Alexander.”

  His whispered, “Sleep well, milady,” followed her into her dreams.

  Chapter 18

  Julia shifted wearily on the carriage seat. She’d spent a dozen years living quietly in country villages, never traveling more than a few miles from home. She had lost the habit of long journeys. Randall and Mackenzie had much better endurance.

  Randall glanced out the window. “We’ve made good time today. We’re coming into Grantham now.”

  She glanced out her own window and saw nothing unusual. “I suppose you’ve been up and down the Great North Road often enough to recognize all the landmarks. Will we be stopping here, or going on for another stage?”

  “You’ve been very patient with all these long days of travel.” His smile was understanding. “Grantham has one of the Midlands’ best coaching inns, so it’s a good place to spend the night.”

  Mackenzie sat opposite them, idly tossing dice, right hand against left. Not looking up, he said, “My mother died in Grantham.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Randall said, looking surprised.

  “No reason why you should.” Mac scooped up the dice and shook them between his caged hands. “As you know, she was an actress. We were heading north so she could join the theater circuit based in York. Her death was very sudden.”

  Julia caught her breath, remembering that Mac had been very young when his mother died. “You w
ere there? How dreadful for you!”

  He tossed the dice onto the seat beside him and studied the results. His expression was improbably neutral. “Luckily my mother’s maid was a capable woman. She arranged for my mother to be buried in the parish churchyard, then packed me up and took me off to my father’s country house.”

  “Had you met Lord Masterson before then?” Julia asked.

  “Once or twice. I remember him saying I looked much like his son Will, but without the manners.” Mackenzie grinned. “That has never changed.”

  They all laughed, but Julia said, “You were fortunate that the maid knew where to take you, and that she did it.”

  “She kept my mother’s jewels and clothes as payment for her efforts,” Mac said dryly. “But yes, I was lucky she didn’t abandon me to the parish here in Grantham.”

  “Lucky also that Lord Masterson recognized you as his son,” Randall added. “Will Masterson’s father might not have been a model of moral behavior, but he liked boys. I spent a number of school holidays with Will and Mac and the rest of the family.”

  Julia guessed that had been his way of avoiding Branford. A memory struck her. “I haven’t thought of this for years, but Branford had an illegitimate son born shortly before I learned I was pregnant. He taunted me several times for being slow to produce a child, since he was clearly capable of doing so. I wonder what happened to that boy? He must be twelve or thirteen now.”

  Mac frowned. “Did the child live with his mother?”

  Julia thought, then shook her head. “I had the impression that was the case, but I don’t remember any more than that.”

  Mac frowned even more. “I hope the boy wasn’t neglected after his father’s death. He would have been just a baby.”

  “Presumably the mother could appeal to Daventry if she was in dire straits after Branford’s death,” Randall said. He was undoubtedly right, but still Julia wondered about the boy. Every child deserved a decent home.

  They were on the Grantham High Street when Mackenzie signaled the driver to stop. “I think I’ll get out now and walk the rest of the way to stretch my legs. I’ll catch up with you at the inn. Will you book a room for me? I presume you mean to stay at the Angel and Royal.”

  Randall nodded. “If they’re full, we’ll go to the next inn down the high street. I forget what it’s called, but it’s just beyond the Angel and Royal.”

  “I’ll find it.” The carriage rattled to a halt and Mackenzie swung out.

  After he closed the door and strode off, Julia said, “I’m tempted to join Mr. Mackenzie. I’d like to stretch my legs, too.”

  “I doubt he’d want the company.” Randall gestured out the window at an unusually tall, slender church spire. “He said his mother was buried at the parish church. My guess is that he’s going to visit her grave.”

  “Then I shall leave him in peace.” She settled back in her seat. “I’ve stayed at the Angel and Royal, though it was long ago, of course. Grantham was a regular stop for my family on our way north, until my father became angry with the innkeeper for some reason. After that, we stayed elsewhere.” She shook her head in bemusement. “The innkeeper’s name was Beaton. Strange that I remember that.”

  “The present Mr. Beaton is probably the son of the one you remember.” Randall took her hand since they were private. “Was your father often angry?”

  “I’m not sure he was ever not angry. Which made it very easy for him to be angry with me when I proved such a disgrace to the Raines family.”

  The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the wide stone façade of the Angel and Royal. Randall climbed from the carriage and helped Julia down. “Anger is such a tiring emotion. Refusing to patronize an excellent inn is downright foolish.”

  “With friends in the north, you must make this journey often,” Julia remarked as they entered the inn and waited for the landlord to appear.

  “Too often. Usually the Great North Road is a tedious blur of fields and villages and posting houses.” He grinned teasingly. “The very worst journey through England I ever made was accompanying Mariah and Ash from Hartley to London when you were acting as Mariah’s chaperone. I wanted to be anywhere else.”

  She laughed. “You scowled as if you wanted me to be somewhere else.”

  “This journey is far better since I’ve accepted my fate and married you.” His voice was still light, but his eyes were serious. “The miles are still long and roads rough, but the beds are more comfortable.”

  She blushed, but smiled back. Since rejoining her in their bed, Randall had proved himself a gentleman of his word and never forced unwanted attentions on her. He’d been downright embarrassed the morning they woke and his hand was on her breast. Knowing it was an accident of the night, she’d calmly moved the hand and they’d cuddled a few more minutes before rising. The more she trusted him, the easier it was to believe that someday they might be lovers. Though not yet.

  The landlord appeared, a younger man than the one Julia remembered, but with a similar affable expression. “Major Randall, how good to have you with us again. Will you be staying long?”

  “Just a single night,” Randall replied. “I need a room for myself and my wife, and another room for Mr. Mackenzie, who will be here shortly.”

  Mr. Beaton’s face lit with real pleasure as he bowed to Julia. “Allow me to congratulate you, Major. My felicitations, Mrs. Randall.” The landlord consulted his guest book. “You’re in luck. A large party is expected, but the corner room you like is available, and there’s a smaller room two doors down for Mr. Mackenzie.”

  A heavy rumble of carriages pulling to a stop sounded outside. Julia guessed that it was the large party Mr. Beaton was expecting. As Randall signed the register, Julia removed her bonnet, thinking that with luck and good weather, they’d be in London in a day and a half. She fervently hoped so.

  A grand footman entered the inn and turned to hold the door open for his master. A compact, dominating man of inbred arrogance swept into the Angel and Royal, his entourage dimly visible behind him.

  Julia’s gaze met his, and she made a strangled sound, scarcely able to believe her eyes. Dear God, no! Of all the inns in England, why this one?

  The newcomer stopped in his tracks as shock, disbelief, and finally fury rippled across his face. The moment stretched until he spat, “You’re supposed to be dead!”

  Julia wished she could faint to escape the horror of this meeting, but there was no way out. A tremor in her voice, she said, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Father.”

  The Duke of Castleton’s contemptuous gaze swept over Randall, who had turned when she spoke. “Is this your current lover, Julia?” her father sneered. “I presume you’ve been supporting yourself on your back since you’re good for nothing else.”

  The virulence in his voice was like a physical blow. She swayed, on the verge of collapse. Then Randall’s large, warm hand locked onto her elbow. Eyes narrowed, he said, “You may be a duke and Julia’s father, but I will allow no man to insult my wife.”

  “Did she tell you she murdered her first husband, a most distinguished young gentleman?” the duke snapped. “For all I know, she’s murdered a dozen husbands since!”

  “That’s absurd and you know it,” Randall said calmly. “Any normal father would rejoice to see his long lost daughter alive, but if you were a normal father, you wouldn’t have abandoned her to cruelty. You are a disgrace to your name and lineage.”

  The duke gaped at him. “How dare you, sir! Who are you?”

  Randall gave a slight, mocking bow. “I’m Major Randall. If you wish satisfaction, I shall be happy to oblige you. But you should be aware that I am generally considered to be a crack shot and expert swordsman.”

  The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Are you related to Daventry?”

  “His nephew and heir.” Randall gave a glinting smile. “So your daughter will someday be the Countess of Daventry, but with a husband of her choice, not yours.”

  His glare poi
sonous, the duke snarled, “Remove these creatures, Beaton. I will not stay under the same roof with them.”

  The innkeeper, who had been watching with shocked fascination, said politely, “I’m sorry, your grace, but they are already registered guests. I assure you that there is no need to see them again since your rooms are at the opposite end of the house.”

  The duke stared at Beaton incredulously. “You prefer their custom to mine?”

  “I have no grounds to expel Major Randall and Lady Julia,” the innkeeper said. “And they’re courteous.” The implication that other guests weren’t was unmistakable.

  “You’re as bad as your father!” the duke spat.

  “I am honored by the comparison,” Beaton said, still unruffled. “I admired him in all ways.”

  “I shall never set foot in this pestilential place again!” Her father’s icy gaze shifted to Julia. “I had a certain amount of respect for you when I believed you took your own life as expiation of your sins. Now I find that you’re deceitful and cowardly. You are no daughter of mine.”

  The duke was pivoting to stalk from the inn when Randall said in a hard voice, “Julia is better off without such an unnatural father, Castleton. But she has property rights that cannot be denied by you. Prepare to honor those obligations. My solicitor will communicate with yours.”

  Her father cast a fulminating glance over his shoulder before he slammed out of the inn, accompanied by his entourage. After a moment of vibrating silence, Beaton said mildly, “His grace stopped coming here in my father’s time but decided to give me another chance when I inherited. Once more the Angel and Royal has failed to meet ducal standards.”

  “I’m sorry for the loss to your business,” Randall said.

  The innkeeper shrugged. “Castleton doesn’t stop often and he has always been a difficult guest. You and your friends are frequent visitors, and always most welcome.” He returned to business. “Would you care for a private dining room tonight?”

  Randall studied Julia’s face. “We shall dine in our room. I’ll order later.”