The Wedding Night of an English Rogue

by Jillian Hunter

  “He will not take you from me,” he said.

  “How is your head?” she asked.

  He lowered his hand. “My head is fine. Do you understand the import of what I have just told you?”

  She nodded slowly. “I think so.” To look into his eyes now, deeply concerned but unfathomable, she might have dreamed what they had done last night. “I certainly understand that the danger cannot be underestimated.”

  “Good,” he said, his voice rough.

  She knew that there were different kinds of danger. The danger that Auclair posed. The danger of an affair between Heath and her, the emotional repercussions.

  The truth was, Heath was the only man who’d made a genuine effort to seduce her, and he was good at it. Far too good. Her husband had not needed or understood the art of seduction. She had been an inexperienced, headstrong young woman who’d married on impulse and learned to live with the choice she had made. Adam had been neglectful, but certainly not cruel. He had been passionate about his career, had given his life to it in the end.

  Russell had not bothered with seduction. Pursuit, yes. The thrill of the chase. But Julia had not felt especially desired for herself. Her father’s inheritance was a definite lure. Her experience with passion, perhaps. Russell had been kind to her; she knew he felt at least affection for her, but it was clear he shared a different passion with his mistress. He had never made Julia feel as attractive as she did now. Perhaps he did not even realize they did not belong together. She wanted more from a marriage than what he offered.

  “Danger,” she said, rising to fill his cup. “I should be used to it after living in India.” She leaned over his shoulder. His lean cheek smelled of shaving soap. She ached all of a sudden to touch him again, to feel the intimate pressure of his body against hers.

  The vehemence in his voice startled her. “You have never known the sort of danger that Auclair poses; I guarantee it.”

  “I worry for you, Heath. Until I saw the scars on your body, I did not realize what a monster he is.”

  He studied her as she returned to her chair. “I’ve asked Drake and Devon to help me. I have another man waiting outside to take over those times I must be gone from you.”

  Julia made a face. “Another man?”

  “My footman. He spent the night here with me.”

  She went to the window, gasping as she drew the heavy brocade curtains open and spied the massively built figure standing outside. “I do not see a footman, Heath. I see a giant with ham hocks for hands, scowling at me from the front steps.”

  He took a sip of coffee. “That would be Hamm.”

  “Where did you find him? In a Russian circus?”

  “Not a bad guess. It was Prussia, at the academy. He comes from Yorkshire, actually. He served with me in Portugal.” He put down his cup, smiling wryly. “I took him on originally as a butler.”

  “He was demoted?”

  “Well, it was a mutual decision. The housekeeper said she would strangle him with her bare hands if he broke another dish.”

  Julia drew the curtains back into place. “I daresay he shall curtail my social life.”

  He draped his arm over the back of his chair. “I daresay he will. That is the point.”

  She backed away from the window. “I don’t know what to say. He looks menacing.”

  “Wait until you meet him.”

  Before Julia could object, he rose from his chair to summon the footman into the house. Hamm nodded stiffly as Heath brought him to Julia for an introduction.

  “He’s quite helpful,” Heath whispered over her shoulder.

  “Quite huge,” she whispered back.

  Hamm stood at perfect attention, then said, “Shall I tend the fire, my lady? I notice the flames are low.”

  “Yes . . .” Julia glanced around his massive form to the woman who had just pushed open the door.

  Hermia stood frozen to the spot, her ample bosom quivering. “Dear heavens! Who is this?”

  “Hamm,” Julia murmured, her lips pursing in amusement. Well, she would certainly be well protected now.

  “Not the food,” Hermia said, edging around the carpet. “Him.”

  “This is Hamm,” Heath said from the window. “He’s Hamm.”

  “Whom?” Hermia said, her eye on the impressive footman at the fireplace.

  “Hamm.” Julia frowned. “His name is Hamm. He is a soldier turned footman, and Heath is stationing him here in the house. To protect us.”

  Hermia examined Hamm in thoughtful silence.

  Julia cleared her throat. “Isn’t he impressive?” she prompted.

  Hermia started. “What did you say, dear?”

  Heath leaned back against the window and smiled at the look of exasperation Julia shot him. “Isn’t it a horrid idea to take Hamm away from his other duties, Aunt Hermia?”

  “Hamm.” Hermia shook her head. “I mean, ahem. A well-trained footman is a treasure, and he certainly cuts an intimidating figure. How kind of Boscastle. I shall feel quite well guarded between the two of them.”

  Julia sat down at the table in resignation. She did not object to Hamm’s presence; it never hurt to have a capable man at one’s call. But she was concerned that Heath had decided to go on a personal hunt for Auclair. The evil that Russell had intended to confront had come home. And Heath would be the one in the most danger. He would be the one to face the man who had almost destroyed him. Only now was she beginning to realize how much was at stake.

  He stirred. “Ladies, I will be gone for only a few hours on some business matters. Hamm will not leave your side until then. Isn’t that right, Hamm?”

  Hamm dropped the brass poker on the hearth with a loud clatter. “Not for a second, my lord.”

  Julia’s heart lodged in her throat as she watched Heath make a quiet exit. In a bittersweet flash of honesty she realized that she had not felt anywhere near this much anxiety when Russell had left her for France. It was all she could do not to run into the street after Heath. Where was he going? Did he have friends to help him? She held her emotions in check. She ought to be worrying about what would happen when Russell returned.

  Her fiancé. Her betrayer. The hero of the hour. She could not picture herself standing before him, taking her wedding vows. The image was murky, dissolving all too swiftly. It felt wrong. Yet lying half naked in Heath’s arms had not. She could not bring herself to ask him if he knew about Russell’s infidelity. It did not matter. Heath was the only man she had ever wanted like this. Russell’s deception merely gave her reason to face the truth.

  She reached across the table, shaking herself inwardly. “Coffee, Hermia?”

  Her aunt nodded as she took her chair, whispering, “Perhaps we should have our footman pour. Except he does look a trifle heavy-handed.”

  “Heavy-handed?” Julia stifled a giggle, whispering back, “He looks as if he could uproot an entire forest with his little finger. I suppose we could try to hide him. Do you have any Ionic columns close by?”

  She and Hermia turned to study the massive footman. Julia whispered behind her cup, “I don’t think there is a chest, or even closet, large enough to conceal him.”

  “Could we put him in another room?”

  Julia gave a helpless shrug. “Heath has ordered him to follow me everywhere.”

  “My goodness.”

  “Shall we put him to the test?”

  Julia waited until Hamm turned back to the fire, then made a beeline for the door. Before she could twist the knob, Hamm lurched around from the hearth and moved forward to open the door for her.

  “Are we going out?” he inquired in his soft grumbly voice. “Shall I have the carriage brought around?”

  Julia glanced back at Hermia in resignation. “Are we going out today?”

  Hermia nodded. “You received an invitation to Audrey Watson’s house—she would like to have tea with you. I would like a new turban to wear to the club tomorrow.”

  Shopping. With Hermia and Hamm
. An invitation to have tea with a courtesan. Julia did not want to think how Russell would react if he saw them, not that she much cared. He deserved to be engaged to a scandalous widow. Perhaps he deserved even worse. “Bring the carriage around in twenty minutes,” she said decisively. She was suddenly curious to find out why Audrey Watson would issue her an invitation. “I have a call to pay before we shop.”

  Chapter 20

  Julia instructed her coachman to drive her to Audrey Watson’s two-story residence on Bruton Street in Berkeley Square. Hamm and Hermia accompanied her into an anteroom, where she asked them to wait while she spoke in private to the celebrated courtesan. She had never been inside Audrey’s house, but she’d heard a few stories about the scandalous parties its owner gave. Despite the fact that she did not know the woman well, she had instinctively liked her. But why had she invited Julia here today?

  Audrey, clad in a pale mauve gauze gown, was entertaining a young Cossack when Julia was announced. She gave her disgruntled lover a gentle shove toward the door and ordered him to go for a lengthy walk while she greeted her arrival.

  Julia stood in the doorway, staring at the clutter of trunks and traveling bags that covered the floor. A plump white poodle barked at her from the sofa. The Cossack swept past her, his hat in his hand.

  “Julia, it really is you,” Audrey said, extending her arms out in greeting. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

  Julia waited until Audrey’s handsome footman closed the door, leaving the two of them alone. Rumor had it that more than one widow admired Audrey and had accepted her invitation to become a lady of pleasure. Becoming a wealthy man’s mistress was a desirable position for many young women who found themselves without resources. Audrey was an infamous hostess, a well-liked former actress, and a sponsoress of the arts. Or of the artists.

  Audrey was also privy to more of London’s secrets than anyone else Julia knew. She entertained poets and politicians. She trained the mistresses of powerful men.

  “I’ve heard the most delicious rumor,” Audrey said, pressing a finger to her cherry-red mouth. “It involves an absolutely sinful sketch of Heath Boscastle, au naturel, to be auctioned for charity. I shall outbid anyone for the chance to display it in my receiving room.”

  Julia sat down beside Audrey, hoping her cheeks weren’t as fiery-red as they felt. How quickly word spread. “I have a feeling this mystery sketch will not ever be on public display.”

  “I am crushed,” Audrey said, her hand dropping to her heart.

  “If this rumored sketch even exists,” Julia added for good measure.

  Audrey subjected her to a sly look. “Have you seen it, by any chance?”

  “Audrey, really.”

  “I collect nude men, you see.”

  “Do you?” Julia glanced around in amusement. “Where do you keep them? And don’t they get cold?”

  Audrey laughed. “Paintings of nude men. Oh, Julia, my naughty heiress, you must come with me to Paris.”

  “To Paris?” Julia’s gaze strayed to the assortment of trunks on the floor. Paris was where many of London’s ton had gone to celebrate peace . . . and the other pleasures of the city they had been denied during the war. Fashion, haute cuisine, beautiful women. She sighed. No doubt Russell had availed himself of all the delights and decadence that Paris had to offer while Heath protected her. “Are you traveling alone?” she asked Audrey.

  “No. I’m taking my Cossack for company. My current lover is in the House of Lords. He’s older, well, practically an antique, and does not travel well.” Audrey lifted the poodle into her lap. “Julia, I know you must be wondering why I invited you here today. . . .”

  “I am, actually.”

  Audrey gave her a frank look. “There are very few women who talk to me in public, Julia. Men do, but the ladies of the ton, although curious about my profession, are more cautious about my company.”

  “I am past the age of worrying about what the ton thinks of me.” Especially when most of what the ton thought was true.

  Audrey stroked the poodle, her gaze direct. “Your fiancé is unfaithful, Julia. The woman involved has been set up in private lodgings. She is expecting a child in the spring. Russell buys her jewelry and confesses at parties that he adores her.”

  Julia shook her head. So that was it. Audrey meant well. She was suddenly grateful that Odham had prepared her for this. “I appreciate your candor, Audrey, but I already know.”

  “And you will forgive him?” Audrey asked curiously.

  “Of course not.” Because she also knew in her heart that he would never love her as she wished to be loved. Russell had his good qualities. To most women he was considered a catch, and he probably thought that having a mistress was perfectly acceptable for a man in his position. But Julia had agreed to marry him for all the wrong reasons, and she was old enough not only to know her own mind, but to change it.

  “Russell set her up in lodgings on Half Moon Street with his brother for safety,” Audrey added after a moment’s silence.

  “Isn’t he thoughtful?”

  “That man thinks mostly of himself,” Audrey said, indignant on Julia’s behalf. “Shall I have my Cossack take care of him for you?”

  Julia hesitated. “It is tempting, but I need to think about it first.”

  “You wouldn’t consider working for me, would you?” Audrey asked half jokingly.

  “That is not quite as tempting.”

  “Especially not with Heath Boscastle as your protector.”

  “It is a temporary position, Audrey.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw him chasing after you in the ballroom that night, Julia. In my professional opinion, his instincts were not entirely protective.”

  Julia smiled at the thought. Russell’s deception had made it easy to follow her heart, to force her to face what she really wanted. She would never be happy being the wife of a man with political aspirations. She would, on the other hand, be perfectly content marrying a rogue.

  “Take him,” Audrey said in such an impassioned voice that both Julia and the poodle jumped.

  Julia stared at her. “Take him where?”

  “If you have to ask me that, then perhaps you do need my professional expertise.”

  “No, thank you, Audrey. I shall manage this ‘journey’ on my own.” She rose, clutching her reticule in her hands. “You have been most kind.”

  “The sketch of yours would be lovely repayment.” Audrey stood in a flutter of mauve gauze to kiss Julia on the cheek. “The Boscastle men are beautiful, every one of them, but Heath is probably the most intriguing. I suspect that he would be difficult to resist in the bedroom.”

  “I suspect he would,” Julia replied. Which of course she already knew.

  “Are you absolutely sure you won’t take a few secrets with you? You could use them on Russell to teach him a lesson if nothing else. Leave the bastard breathless for you. What a wonderful revenge.”

  Julia wavered, more tempted than she wanted to show. Not to apply any such teachings on Russell, but on Boscastle. He was a highly sexual man. “It isn’t really the sort of thing that can be taught, is it?”

  “Oh, Julia, for a wicked widow, you do need your education broadened. Sit down.”

  Julia would never quite look at sexual relations in the same way again. Audrey’s instructions had been simple and yet shockingly explicit. Julia did have a broad base of knowledge to build upon. But . . . she had never thought of pleasing a man as a skill to be acquired, much as sewing a sampler or speaking French.

  “It would seem,” Julia had said after a very graphic description of a certain act, “that a woman might be better off just doing what comes to her naturally.”

  Audrey’s throaty laugh of delight had filled the room. “But nature always can use a little help. After all, one does not plant cucumber seeds in a strawberry patch.”

  Julia examined the book that Audrey had shown her. “Interest
ing positions. I’m suddenly feeling a little warm.”

  “We cannot cover every pleasurable act in a single day,” Audrey said.

  “I do not think my heart could take it.”

  “You have a crude understanding of what pleases a man,” Audrey said thoughtfully. “Your instincts are your best assets in bed.”

  “I’m not sure that anybody outside this room would agree with you.”

  Audrey smiled slowly. “Boscastle would.”

  Julia felt a blush mount her cheeks. “That remains to be seen.”

  “It remains to be proven. Just think of me as passing on the torch of passion, Julia.”

  After she left Bruton Street, her mind brimming with sexual images, Julia kept her promise to go shopping with Hermia. They visited a perfumier on South Audley Street, then a bookshop and milliner’s on Stafford Street.

  Hermia tried on every hat in the shop. “What do you think of this one?” she asked from the mirror for what seemed to Julia to be the hundredth time.

  “It’s a lovely hat,” Julia said absently.

  “I’m not wearing a hat,” Hermia snapped. “I knew you were not paying attention. What did you and Mrs. Watson discuss that has made you so distracted?”

  Julia pretended to examine a pair of green gloves on the counter. “Cucumber seeds.”

  “Seeds?”

  “Yes.” As in planting them in places where they did not belong. Which was apparently what her faithless former fiancé Russell had done.

  A child. A child changed everything. It meant family, obligation, a long-term association, and not just a sexual one either. Part of Russell’s cucumber, well, his seed, anyway, belonged forever to another woman. Julia wished all three of them happiness. Without her.

  Audrey had known, and Russell was comfortable discussing his love affair at parties. What about Heath? What did the inscrutable, seductive Sphinx know? Shouldn’t he have warned her? Or had he been waiting for her to find out for herself?

  She tossed down the gloves and followed Hermia out of the shop.