by Candace Camp
There was a sound of steps at the door, and then a strangled gasp. Juliana’s eyes flew open to catch a glimpse of a footman’s back as he hastily exited the room.
Nicholas cursed beneath his breath, his hands falling away from her, and Juliana, blushing beet-red, jumped to her feet. Her hands went up to her flaming cheeks, and she gazed at him for a moment in an agony of embarrassment.
Then she whirled and flew from the room.
NICHOLAS LEANED FORWARD, propping his elbows on the table and dropping his head to his hands. Silently he cursed himself. He was acting like a randy adolescent. He had made Juliana a promise, and it seemed that he was breaking it at every turn. She had every right to be furious at him.
He knew he was not doing the right thing, not acting the part of a gentleman. Although he had never pretended to be a real gentleman, not in the truest sense of the word, the one person to whom he had believed he would never act with dishonor was Juliana. Yet here he was, letting his desire for her lead him into breaking his promise to her. He had sworn to her that theirs would be a platonic marriage, and it was on that basis that she had agreed to marry him. His actions the last few days must make her wonder if he was capable of sticking to the bargain they had made. He was afraid she would even suspect that he had deceived her, offering her a marriage in name only with no intention of keeping to the pact.
In general, he was not a man who feared much. He had made his way alone in the world and had been more successful than most. Such success did not come to the timorous. But he found himself pierced by fear now. One thing he did not want to face was the possibility of losing Juliana’s trust.
She was the one person in the world who was dear to him. She had been his companion, his friend, when he had felt most alone in the world. He trusted her, and he did not think there was another person in the world about whom he could say that. And for that reason, he could not allow anything to shatter the bond between them…no matter how much he lusted after her.
It had not occurred to him that he would feel this way. The Juliana of his memory had been a child, and he had loved her as a child. She had been like a sister to him. And though he had realized how beautifully she had grown up, how desirable a woman she was now, he had not guessed that desirability would beckon him so strongly that he would be in danger of losing all self-control.
He had offered to marry her without any ulterior motive, he told himself. He had simply wanted to help her. He had hated to see Juliana at the beck and call of people who were clearly her inferiors. She should have all the best in the world, and he had wanted to give her that.
But somehow, knowing her these last few weeks, she had become no longer merely a dear friend from the past but a woman…a very desirable woman. And the marriage that he had offered her no longer suited him at all. He wanted to seduce her, to take her to bed. He found himself looking forward to their wedding night with all the eagerness that was expected of a bridegroom.
But that desire, he knew, was unfair to Juliana. She had, after all, agreed to be his wife on the promise that it would be a marriage in name only. She had, in all likelihood, married him primarily because of her deep sense of loyalty to the boy who had been her childhood friend. She did not love him, had, indeed, been loath to marry him precisely because she did not feel love for him. And for a woman like Juliana, he knew, love and desire were inextricably entangled. She was not the sort of person he was, incapable of deep emotions.
Nicholas knew that Juliana believed he could feel as deeply as she did. But he was well aware that the truth was that she saw only her own reflection in him. It was simply the goodness of her own soul that caused her to see his every act in the best light, to pardon his sins and excuse each mistake. He was to her as she wanted him to be, and when he was with her, he could not help but act the role. But he knew how much it was only a role. He knew the anger that dwelled within him, the cold man he was who had heard of his uncle’s death without a single twinge of sympathy or regret. He still clung to the hatred that had bubbled with every lash of the ferule his uncle had wielded against the backs of his legs. And he was aware of the laws he had broken and the others he had merely skirted, the rules of truth and even honor that he had ignored in his quest for riches.
He was not a good man. Only Juliana believed otherwise.
But he was not about to let the vision she held of him be tarnished. While he did not care what most people thought of him, what she thought was essential to him.
It was not that he thought she would struggle against him if he came to her on their wedding night. He knew she would give in to his wishes, his desire. She would, after all, believe it her duty as his wife. If nothing else, she would doubtless feel that she owed him whatever he asked for in return for giving her the better life she would have as Lady Barre. Nor was he modest enough to think that he could not make her feel desire, as well. He had felt her pliancy in his hands, had heard the catch in her breath, felt the racing of her pulse in her throat. His kisses and caresses aroused her.
But despite her desire, she did not love him, and that fact would tear at her. He did not want her obligation, her capitulation to his wishes. He did not want her to feel divided in herself, a slave to lust where she did not feel love.
Most of all, he could not bear to let her realize that he was not the man she believed him to be. It would be the worst stab of pain to have her look at him in disillusion, to know that she saw him for the man he was: one who would break the sacred promise he had made to her simply for the gratification of his animal lust.
He would not allow that to happen. Whatever it took, he would stick to his vow of celibacy in their marriage. It should not be so hard, he told himself. After a decent time spent here with her, he could avail himself of the services of some lightskirt in London.
Of course, he had to admit, the thought held little appeal. Quite frankly, the thought of any other woman paled beside Juliana. Even the most appealing of his mistresses from the past now seemed dull and undesirable compared to Juliana. He had no desire to turn to another woman to ease his lust, and that thought made the prospect of married life even grimmer.
He swore to himself that he would not bed Juliana when they married. The only problem was that he had no idea how he was going to make himself obey that vow.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE DAY of the wedding dawned bright and clear. As the last two days had brought a dreary rain, the sunshine seemed a good omen to Juliana. She was too nervous to eat much breakfast, gulping down a cup of tea and a bit of toast.
She wished that Eleanor were there to support her through the day. Winifred came in to help her maid with the dress and hair, but though the girl was goodhearted, it was not the same as having someone who had been Juliana’s close friend since school. Eleanor would have taken over in her brisk way, eliminating any problem that arose and sending everyone scurrying about their business. She would have reassured Juliana and kept her calm.
As it was, Juliana vacillated all morning between moments of terror that she was doing the wrong thing and moments of anticipation in which she felt that she could not wait to get to the ceremony. She was certain she was doing what she wanted to do, but she was far less sure whether it was the right thing for her.
Adding to her uncertainty was the fact that for the past few days she had been thinking about whether, when her wedding night came, Nicholas would take her to bed. He had said that their marriage would be platonic, of course, but the way he had kissed her only recently made her wonder if he had changed his mind. What would she do if he came to her bedroom tonight? She knew how she had responded to him; he would have every reason to think she wanted him.
The problem, of course, was that she did want him, but she feared that if he took her to bed, it would lead to eventual heartbreak for her. She would consider herself a real wife, but she suspected that Nicholas would not feel the same way. He had declared himself immune to love, and while Juliana did not believe that he could no
t love, she knew that his statement showed he had not fallen in love yet—which meant, therefore, that he did not love her. To fall in love with a man who did not love her, to grow deeper and deeper in love while he perhaps tired of her, would be a disaster. She would end up lonely and heartsore.
It would be far better, she thought, simply to remain friends with Nicholas, to refrain from venturing into deeper waters. If he wanted to sleep with her and she refused, she was certain that he would not insist on his rights as a husband. But she was far less certain that she would be able to resist the desire she felt for him. Would she have the strength to turn him down?
She was plagued by such thoughts, and Winifred’s idle chatter did little to take her mind off them. It was a relief when the time finally arrived for the ceremony, and she could shove her thoughts aside and simply go forward.
They were married that afternoon in the church in the village, an old gray structure with a square Norman tower. The guests were small in number, mostly the local gentry and a few far-flung family members. Neither Nicholas nor Juliana knew many people, given their time out of the ton, and none of the Barres had shown much interest in inviting their friends. Indeed, Juliana had been rather surprised when one of Crandall’s friends had arrived from London the day before, a young man by the name of Peter Hakebourne. Crandall, too, had looked stunned when he came into the room, and the two of them had gone off immediately to talk. Juliana wondered if, perhaps, Crandall’s visitor was one of the gentlemen to whom Crandall owed money.
Still, the sparseness of the crowd did not bother Juliana. The simple ceremony moved her, and when she turned to face Nicholas, their hands linked, and they said their vows, her heart swelled within her. She smiled up at him, her eyes filling with moisture, and she knew that whatever came, she had made the right decision. Her life was intertwined with his, and their future lay together.
After the ceremony they returned to the house and received their well-wishers. Inside would be the wedding supper and ball for the bride and groom and their friends and family, but first they had to receive the congratulations of the tenants and villagers, all invited to a hearty feast outdoors under the trees. Juliana smiled and greeted the people, some of them remembered from her life here years ago and others strangers to her. Mrs. Cooper had come, brought in the pony cart that Juliana had sent for her. She beamed, taking Juliana’s hands and assuring her that her life would be blessed. The tenants and their wives passed in dizzying numbers.
Even the blacksmith from the village was there, a blond giant of a man, taller even than Nicholas, and with the broad chest and thickly muscled arms that went with his profession. He said very little, nodding his head to them in a way that showed respect but no servility, and introducing the pretty young woman beside him as his wife.
As they moved on toward the table of refreshments, Juliana leaned closer to Nicholas and whispered, “Is he not the man who gave Crandall his black eye? I am surprised he would come to this house.”
Nicholas nodded. “Yes. But he is a fair man, I think. I liked him. He knows that Crandall and what he does are a very different thing from my character and actions.”
Juliana looked at the couple as they strolled along, the wife’s arm curled through her husband’s and his head bent down protectively toward her as he listened to her. “She is quite lovely.”
“Yes. It’s easy to see why Crandall was attracted to her.” He grimaced.
“Do you know Crandall’s friend?” Juliana asked curiously.
“The chap from London?” Nicholas responded. “What’s his name? Something fishlike, wasn’t it?”
Juliana chuckled. “Hakebourne. Peter Hakebourne.”
“Ah, yes. No, I don’t know him. But I find it somewhat curious that someone we don’t know and did not invite should show up for our wedding,” Nicholas commented.
“I don’t think Crandall knew he was coming, either,” Juliana commented.
Nicholas frowned. “Knowing Crandall, I can’t think his friend is here for any legitimate purpose. I’ll ask a few questions, see if I can discover what’s behind his visit.” He glanced at Juliana, a faint smile on his lips. “Do you think it’s unkind of me to find it difficult to believe that anyone would visit Crandall out of sheer friendship?”
“I’d call it intelligent, rather,” Juliana retorted.
There was a great deal of food and drink, both inside and out, and later there was dancing. Nicholas led Juliana out onto the dance floor for their first waltz as husband and wife, and when he took her into his arms, she could not help but remember the night, only a month ago, when she had seen him again for the first time in fifteen years.
She remembered how it had felt to have his arms around her, to look up into his face. It had not been long, yet it seemed almost a lifetime. She would never have dreamed then that only a month later, she would be Nicholas’s wife.
And tonight…tonight, would she be his wife in truth, not just in name? It was a question she still could not answer.
After their dance, there were obligatory dances with the other guests. These, Juliana thought with an inward sigh, were not nearly as enjoyable. She was piloted around the floor by Sir Herbert and later by Peter Hakebourne. Sir Herbert danced as if struggling to remember his lessons from years before; she could almost hear him counting as they twirled through the steps. When the song ended, the smile he gave her spoke more of relief that the dance was over than of any enjoyment of it. Hakebourne, on the other hand, was a passable dancer, but very poor as a conversationalist. By the time the song ended, despite her gently probing questions, she knew little more about him than she had when they started. Juliana was unsure whether the man was adept at avoiding questions or simply shy.
He bowed and left her when the dance was over, and Juliana watched as he wended his way across the room to where Crandall stood, a glass in his hand, moodily watching the festivities.
It took little imagination to see that Crandall was less than happy to see his friend. He scowled at Hakebourne when he arrived and cast a quick look around the room as though seeking escape. Hakebourne, however, planted himself before Crandall and began to talk with all the volubility he had lacked during his dance with Juliana.
At that moment Mr. Bolton, the middle-aged gentleman bachelor of the village, asked for her hand for the next quadrille, and she was too busy remembering all the steps to spare a glance for Crandall and his friend. However, when Mr. Bolton, who had turned out to be an accomplished and graceful dancer, led her back to a chair after the music ended, Juliana saw that Crandall and Peter Hakebourne were still talking.
They were, in fact, arguing, their voices rising. Surprised, the guests were turning toward the noise. At a gesture from Lilith, the string quartet quickly started up the next number, masking the noise of the men’s argument.
Lilith crossed the room to Crandall, stopping in front of him and issuing a few short words. Hakebourne looked abashed and fell silent, nodding to Lilith in acquiescence. With a last look at Crandall, he moved off through the crowd. Crandall cast a sullen look at his mother and swallowed the last of his drink with a defiant air.
Juliana watched with dismay as he then turned and strode through the crowd straight toward her. He bumped against one of the dancers, stumbled, and pressed on without an apology. Juliana would have liked to turn and flee, but she knew it would be too obvious that she was avoiding Crandall. Heaven only knew what he might do in his inebriated state—shout across the room at her, perhaps.
Since the last thing she wanted was a scene on her wedding day, she stood her ground and watched his approach with a falsely pleasant look on her face.
“Ju-Julanna,” he mumbled, sweeping her an extravagant bow that nearly toppled him over.
“Crandall, please…” Juliana whispered. “You’re drunk. Go up to your room and lie down.”
He leered at her. “’S that an invitation, m’dear?”
Juliana gritted her teeth. “Don’t be any more of a fo
ol than you’ve already proved yourself. Please think of your family, your wife—just think of yourself, for pity’s sake. Do you want to humiliate yourself in front of all these people?”
“I want to dance with the bride,” he told her, his words slurring together so that had she not already perceived his intent, she was not sure she would have been able to understand him. “Don’t I get a dance with the bride on her wedding day?”
His voice had risen in volume during his last sentence, and Juliana could see heads turning toward them. Hastily she said, “All right, Crandall, I will dance with you. But only if you promise that you will leave right afterwards.”
“’Course I will. Day’s complete then, isn’t it? Dance with the bride. Beautiful bride.”
Crandall wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her onto the dance floor. Juliana suppressed her irritation and turned to face him. It would be a trial to dance with Crandall at any time, but especially when he was drunk. He took her hand and put his other hand on her waist. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, even though she was standing as far away from him as she could.
The music began, and Juliana did her best to follow Crandall. His hand was heavy on her side, and it seemed to her that he was pressing his fingers into her flesh far more tightly than was necessary.
“Beautiful bride,” he said again.
“Thank you,” she replied shortly.
He leered down at her. “Always wanted you, you know.”
“Crandall…this is hardly an appropriate conversation.” The man was incorrigible.
“’S the truth,” he continued, as if she had argued the point. “Ever’time I came home from school, there you were…teasing me.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Juliana retorted indignantly. She knew it was useless to argue with a drunk, but she could not let his statement go unchallenged. “I never—”
“Oh, you may think you didn’t,” Crandall allowed, winking at her. “But I saw you. I know.”