"Thank you," Julia said softly.
"For what? An old woman's babbling?"
"Thank you for coming. Thank you for talking with me. Thank you for being here for Griffin. He'll need you tomorrow."
"That was precisely what he said of you. That you would need him on the morrow."
She knew Lena referred to the consummation of the marriage. "I'll be all right. Simeon won't hurt me."
"He wouldn't dare, the little brat. Else I would rap him on the head with my bony knuckles." She banged on the table with her fist, then delicately wiped her hands with a damask napkin and placed it on a footman's tray. "Now where is that dear husband of mine? I understand from Lady Rolfson that he caused quite a stir prior to my arrival."
Julia removed a handkerchief from her sleeve and blotted her warm face. Time was ticking away on the tall case clock on the first landing of the staircase. It was nearly midnight. She frowned. "Upstairs, sleeping off a drunk, I hope."
Lena grimaced. "I feared he'd do something like that. I shouldn't have let him go. I should have shot him in the leg or something. He didn't do anything too foolish, did he? Declare his love for you before Simeon, or swim in the fish pond?"
"A fight with Simeon's secretary, Mr. Gordy."
She winced. "Ouch. Was Simeon irate?"
"I'm not certain he even knows."
"Oh, he knows. That henchman of his spills every kernel, I assure you." She clasped her ringed hands. "Well, you'd best have a glass of champagne. It's near midnight, dear. Simeon will be ready to retire." She glanced up. "Speak of Satan . . ."
"My Lady Archer, I hope you've found my banquet table acceptable." Simeon approached, retaining the false smile that might have charmed his guests, but didn't fool Julia.
"Quite," Lena said coolly.
Simeon turned to Julia. "It's time we retire, wife. Go to your chambers and I will be with you presently."
Julia's mouth went dry. So, despite his eccentricities, he intended to bed her. She knew it was inevitable—it was what married couples did—but did it have to be tonight?
Lena rolled her eyes. "God's bowels, Simeon. Couldn't you be a little more tender than that? You sound as if you're sending your bride to fetch your dirty stockings."
Simeon's gaze darted to Lena, then back to Julia as if he were a chastised child. "My lady wife, I apologize. That was crude of me." He wrung his hands. "If you would care to retire above, I should be honored to join you shortly."
"Yes, my lord." Julia dipped a quick curtsy to Simeon and then to Griffin's wife. Her heart pounded. This was it. "Good night, Lena."
Lena brushed her fingertips against Julia's cheek in a mother's caress. "Good night, sweet," she whispered in her ear. "Keep in mind my words. Toenails."
Julia turned away to keep from laughing aloud as Simeon stood staring uneasily at the two women. She headed straight for the grand staircase, her hands clasped in tight fists at her sides. She saw no one, heard no one's calls of congratulations or good nights. All she could think of was Simeon naked in her bed and how she was going to get through this.
Julia was ready for Simeon by the time he arrived in her chambers. Susanne had been nowhere to be found, so Drusilla had helped Julia to remove her wedding gown and dress her in the delicate pink sleeping gown and dressing robe Simeon had ordered himself.
To Julia's surprise, he came to her by the rarely used rear staircase that opened directly into her bedchamber, rather than the front hall.
"Good evening, my—Simeon," Julia said shyly. Her heart was pounding. She'd married him to protect Lizzy, she told herself. She could do this to protect her sister as well. "Would . . . would you care for champagne? Mr. Gordy sent it up."
They stood in her inner bedchamber, he still near the small panelled door that led to the rear staircase. The room was illuminated by the fire on the hearth and a few candles Drusilla had lit near the bed. The old woman had drawn back the counterpane invitingly to reveal pale pink bed linens and plumped pillows. The chamber smelled of hickory wood smoke, but even at arm's length, Julia could smell the strong soap Simeon had just used to bathe. His hair was still damp at the temples.
He just stood there in his floor-length silk dressing robe.
"Champagne?" she repeated awkwardly, wishing he would say something, anything. Do something.
Simeon shook his head stiffly. "No. It's late. I should . . . we should get to bed."
Julia nodded, swallowing against the panic that rose in her throat. As she approached the bed, she kept repeating over and over in her head, Lena's words. It will be over quickly, and then he'll roll off. It will be over quickly.
As Julia shrugged out of her dressing robe, her back to him, and slipped into bed, Simeon moved from one candle to the next, blowing them out.
Julia's eyes adjusted to the dim light from the fireplace as Simeon approached the bed.
It was all she could do to keep from clenching her hands with tension. She wanted to close her eyes, but was afraid to. How bad could it be? she asked herself. Women had been doing it since time began. They wouldn't keep doing it if it were so terribly bad.
Julia watched as Simeon lowered himself onto the side of the bed. He moved stiffly, as if in great pain.
Simeon started as Julia slid her hand to lift the counterpane for him.
He bounced up off the bed and out of her reach as if he feared she might touch him. "My goodness." He shook his head as if he had a twitch. "My goodness."
Julia didn't know what to say. What to do. For heaven's sake, she didn't want to do this, but if she had to, she wanted to get it the hell over with. If he was nervous, perhaps he just needed a moment to relax.
"Simeon," she said softly. "It's been a long day. Let me rub your shoulders."
He twitched again, as if just the thought of her touching him disturbed him. She waited. Finally he lowered himself onto the bed again, his back to her.
Julia raised up to reach out to him.
"Just lay down," he snapped before she touched him.
Tears sprang in her eyes, but she did as he said. I can get through this, she thought. For Lizzy.
"Pull up your gown."
She choked back a sob as she slipped her hands beneath the bed linens and gripped her silky gown. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't pull it up and expose herself.
"You do it?" he asked.
She stared at the vaulted ceiling. She could faintly hear the sound of music from the rooms below. "No."
He whipped around, looking at her for the first time since she'd removed her robe. "No?"
She couldn't meet his gaze. She focused on the dancing flame shadows on the ceiling. "Do it yourself."
With a growl of rage he lunged across the bed and on top of her, still fully clothed.
Julia grunted under the assault and turned her head away so that she wouldn't have to look at him or feel his medicinal breath on her face. This close, he reeked so of garlic that she feared she'd gag.
"Go ahead," she whispered. "Do it and get it over with, my lord."
But Simeon made no move. He laid there on top of her, panting as if he'd just climbed a mountain.
"Well?" she said after a moment. His weight pushed her deep into the feather tick. Though he took great care not to bring his face too closely to hers, she felt as if she was suffocating in garlic. "Are you or aren't you, because you're getting damned heavy!"
He reached beneath them and ripped up her gown. Julia flinched instinctively, but she didn't make a sound. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. This is the price I pay for Lizzy's safety, she thought numbly. The real price.
Simeon fumbled against her with his hand, perhaps with himself, but he didn't actually touch her.
"Filthy business," Simeon muttered. "Degrading."
Remarkably, the thought of changing a baby's dirty napkin came to Julia's mind . . . Lizzy's napkin. A giggle escaped her lips. She didn't know what madness possessed her. It just happened.
Julia felt Simeon's c
old hand brush her bare stomach.
Dirty napkins.
Toenails. She clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle another giggle.
"Winged saints in hell, woman!" Simeon rolled off her, over the side of the bed, and crashed to the floor. "Are you mad?" he screamed as he scrambled to get up and cover the tiny bit of skin on his chest that had been bared in the fumbling. "Stark raving, asylum-bent, mad?"
"I . . . I'm sorry." She hid a grin with her hand. "I am. I'm just nervous. That's all. I won't laugh again. I swear it. Go ahead, have another try."
He yanked the silk tie around his waist tightly and hurried to her washstand. He poured water into the bowl, picked up a sliver of scented soap, and began to scrub his hands violently. "Have you nothing stronger than this?"
She blinked. "My lord?"
"The soap. The soap." He threw it so hard into the washbowl that water splattered over the sides. "And hot water! I must have hot water. Warm water will clean nothing. Nothing!"
Julia sat up in the bed and drew up her knees. Was he done? was that it.? Was that his attempt at consummating their marriage? It was all she could do to keep from laughing again. "I could call for hot water, or a pan and heat it myself if you like."
He grabbed a clean linen towel from the stand and whirled around to face her. As he spoke he rubbed his hands and forearms so hard that it must have hurt. "You stay where you are! You think you're so clever. You throw your legs open to me like a whore! You open your dirty, wet self to me as if you want it! As if you've had it before!" He shuddered.
Julia set her jaw. "I have never been with another man, and you know it. If you don't believe me, call a midwife and let her examine me. If you don't believe her, have the wedding annulled. My sister and mother and I will be on our way by first light."
"Ah hah! That's what it is!" he proclaimed. "You think to escape me!" He pulled something from the waistband of his dressing gown as he stalked the bed. "This was all just a ploy to keep from me what is rightfully mine."
Julia was close to tears. "Just tell me what you want me to do! You told me I had to wed you. I wed you. You told me I had to submit to you. I have. What do you want now?" She rose on her knees, shouting her last words. "You want me to mount you myself to get it over with?"
He seemed not to hear her as he crammed his hands into cotton gloves.
Julia stared, his intention suddenly registering in her mind. Surely he wasn't going to wear gloves?
Simeon stepped toward the bed, and she sat back and pulled the counterpane to her chin.
He grabbed the edge of the blanket and ripped it off her, exposing her naked to the waist. She shrank back, but made no attempt to cover herself. If he hit her, what would she do? Her gaze darted wildly to the bed table, where she spotted a silver candle snuffer. She'd hit him back—harder.
Simeon's eyes glazed as he stared at her pale, naked flesh.
"Go ahead," she dared him. She knew she was treading dangerous waters, but she didn't care. She could only be pushed so far.
He slipped his hand beneath the waist of his own robe.
She crossed her arms. "Well, my lord? Are you ready now?"
He closed his eyes and fumbled beneath the silk of his gown. He gritted his teeth, panted, groaned.
Julia stared at the ceiling through tears. "I'm still waiting, husband."
He groaned and yanked his hand out from under his gown. "You think you're so clever? You think you can torment me? Emasculate me?"
The anger that flashed in his eyes frightened her. Had she pushed him too far? Would he kill her here and now? No, he was too cruel for such an act of kindness.
"If you feel emasculated, my lord, I would think that feeling comes from within."
"Oh, you're witty now. Let us see how witty you are before your guests in the morning, strumpet!"
He snapped off the gloves and strutted away.
Julia sat up in surprise as he jerked open the door to the rear staircase and disappeared into the darkness. Where was he going? Back to his own bedchamber? Please, God.
Julia crept out of the bed as she rolled down the hem of her sleeping gown. Cautiously, she tiptoed toward the staircase.
Was it too good to be true? Was he really gone?
Chapter Fifteen
Julia, hand trembling, closed the door softly behind her husband. "I've certainly made a muck of that." She gave a little laugh that caught in her throat and threatened to become a sob. "A fine wedding night, indeed."
At the hearth, she lit an oil lamp. She desperately wanted light, needed it to chase away the ugliness of the night.
Now what?
She wished she knew what was going on in Simeon's head right now. Did he intend to return to her chambers in another attempt to consummate the marriage? Would he come tomorrow night? Was it too much to hope for that he would never again come to her bed? Of course that would mean no children. Julia had always wanted children. But the thought of being intimate with a man who thought her so distasteful that he needed to wear gloves to touch her made her sick to her stomach.
The hollow sound of a footstep on the back staircase startled Julia, and she grasped the base of the lamp and spun around.
He was back.
For an instant she was immobilized with a sickening combination of fear and disgust. What did she do now? Her duty as Simeon's wife, her duty by God and by law, bid that she lay in his bed and surrender.
She stared at the closed door, the echo of Simeon's slow, steady footsteps pounded in her head like a carpenter's hammer. She had wed St. Martin to save her sister. In willfully exchanging those wedding vows, she had made a bargain—total possession by Simeon, in exchange for Lizzy's life.
If Simeon wanted to lie with her, she would have to submit. What choice did she have? She set her jaw, determined that it would be on her terms.
Julia strode to the panelled door and opened it. Simeon wouldn't expect her to meet him on the stairs. He would expect to find her cowering in the bed. By meeting him halfway, she would catch him off guard. She would establish her own position, meager as it was in comparison to his.
"Simeon?" She stepped onto the first riser and lifted the lamp high to get a better look at her bridegroom. The dark shadow took shape as the yellow light fell upon him.
Julia's blood turned to ice.
"M—Mr. Gordy?" She was unable to suppress the quaver in her voice. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
He was wearing the same silk robe Simeon had worn only a few minutes ago. It fell open as he climbed the staircase. His ugly, cold-hearted gaze locked with hers.
He was naked beneath the silk.
Julia pressed the heel of her hand into the rough wood of the wall and backed up into her room, her entire body shaking with fear. "Mr. Gordy, what do you want? Where is my husband?"
But she knew Simeon had no intention of coming to her aid. She knew it, even before Gordy spoke. This was Simeon's idea. This was what the knave had meant when he had said she would be ashamed to show her face to their guests in the morning.
"The master sent me to do what he couldn't." Gordy's voice was as chilled and lifeless as the November air in the stairwell.
Julia's first impulse was to fling the door closed and run. Scream. But run where? Who would hear her? The half-deaf Drusilla? Sleeping Lizzy? Surely not the drunken guests below. And even if they did hear Julia's cries, who would come? Who would dare cross the threshold of St. Martin's wedding bedchamber?
Julia glanced down at Mr. Gordy as he took his time to climb the long, narrow, seemingly endless staircase. Beneath the open robe she could see his manhood, red and purple-veined, already half-engorged in anticipation.
She trembled from head to foot. A weapon. She needed a weapon. But what? She had no pistol, no knife. Gordy was much taller than she was, much heavier. She would be no match against his strength.
Her fingers gripped the lamp until her knuckles whitened. She didn't care what the laws said of her husband's right to total c
ontrol over her. She would not lie with his secretary. She would not be raped—not by him, not by any man.
"Mr. Gordy." She gripped the lamp, her voice steadier this time.
"M'lady."
"Stop where you are, or lose your life to the flames of everlasting hell." She took one step down as proof of her sincerity.
Gordy halted and the stair tread squeaked beneath his bare foot. "M'lady?"
"Come a step closer, and I will throw down this lamp." She felt stronger now. In control. "Would you care to hear the details? The oil will soak your robe as well as that hairy chest of yours. It will light quite easily. Even if you can manage to tear off your dressing robe, your flesh will already be on fire. Once one of our grooms burned to death in a barn fire." She grimaced and wrinkled her nose. "It's rather unpleasant. The smell of burning flesh makes me gag, Gordy. Doesn't it, you?"
He stared at her with anger and fear etched on his haughty face. "The master sent me. I've no choice."
"What of my choice? What if I choose not to lie with you or my husband?" She paused. "But I know how angry St Martin can become. I understand that you must fear losing your position." She beckoned him with a crooked finger. "Approach if you must, and take your chances."
Gordy raised one foot to place it on the next step.
Julia lifted the lamp a little higher. It was strange how calm she felt now. How utterly confident.
Mr. Gordy lowered his foot. He was caught. He knew he was caught. It was his mistake not to sneak up the staircase, and her saving grace that he didn't.
He gritted his teeth. "It's not that I want to do this."
"Mm hm."
"You know what kind of man he is. What he's capable of."
She gave a little sigh, as if bored.
"What do I say to him?" He opened his hands beseechingly. "He will be very, very angry with me. He expects me to consummate the vows on his behalf."
"Say what you like. Say you did. I care not." She smiled with a clever thought. "Better yet, say you could not. Say the thought of touching my filthy body so disgusted you that you went limp." She laughed lightly as if she were mad. "That explanation my husband will understand."
In Love with the King's Spy (Hidden Identity) Page 15