The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  She looked up. "I don't suppose you wish to come. I'm sure you must be very busy."

  "Not too busy to spend time with my family," he said curtly.

  Once upstairs, Stuart asked, "Would you please read us this one, about Robin Hood? He's my favourite."

  "An excellent choice."

  Lawrence noted she had a wonderful speaking voice, and was able to adjust her tone according to the age, gender and character in the story. The boys were so enthralled they begged her to read another story, and another. She caught Lawrence's eye.

  "No, lads, it really is time to settle down for the night. Plenty of time for more stories in the morning, and some proper study of literature and classics. There are excellent stories in Latin and Greek to be had as well, as I shall show you."

  Lawrence thought resentfully of what an actress she was. Her performance reading had been wonderful. She was now trying to pretend that she could teach them better than the tutor he had hired for them to come at the end of the week.

  She tucked the boys in and left one candle burning up high.

  "I'll look in on you in a little while. Sam is in the next room if you want anything or get scared. Good night, lads."

  "Good night, Uncle Lawrence and Aunt Juliet," they both chorused.

  She strode out of the room and headed for her own chamber.

  "I want a word with you, Madam."

  She stiffened, steeling herself for yet another attack. "In the bedroom, or the library?"

  "The library," he said in clipped tones, for he was sure that any proximity to a bed would be his undoing.

  She went down the stairs, entered the room, marched over to the desk and stood at attention in front of it like a soldier.

  "First of all, I want to know what you think you're doing telling them you will provide them with lessons."

  "Forgive me, I thought I could help with their education. I know you intend them for the tea trade, but the truth is they will be looked down upon if they do not have the classics, and I assume you would want them to have the best opportun--"

  He flung a copy of Caesar's Gallic Wars down on the top of the desk. "Translate it by sight, if you please."

  "Gaul is divided into three parts," she began without hesitation. She closed the book and continued, "One of which the Belgae inhabit, the Aquitani another, those who in their own language are called Celts, in ours Gauls, the third. All these differ from each other in language, customs and laws. The river Garonne separates the Gauls from the Aquitani; the Marne and the Seine separate them from the Belgae.

  "Of all these, the Belgae are the bravest, because they are furthest from the civilization and refinement of our Province, and merchants least frequently resort to them, and import those things which tend to effeminate the mind; and they are the nearest to the Germans, who dwell beyond the Rhine, with whom they are continually waging war; for which reason the Helvetii also surpass the rest of the Gauls in valor, as they contend with the Germans in almost daily battles, when they either repel them from their own territories, or themselves wage war on their frontiers."

  He took down another book, which as chance would have it was Plato's Symposium, in Greek. He opened to the middle of the book. "Start there."

  "Thus numerous are the witnesses who acknowledge Love to be the eldest of the gods. And not only is he the eldest, he is also the source of the greatest benefits to us. For I know not any greater blessing to a young man who is beginning life than a virtuous lover or to the lover than a beloved youth. For the principle which ought to be the guide of men who would nobly live at principle, I say, neither kindred, nor honour, nor wealth, nor any other motive is able to implant so well as love. Of what am I speaking? Of the sense of honour and dishonour, without which neither states nor individuals ever do any good or great work. And I say that a lover who is detected in doing any dishonourable act, or submitting through cowardice when any dishonour is done to him by another, will be more pained at being detected by his beloved than at being seen by his father, or by his companions, or by any one else. The beloved too, when he is found in any disgraceful situation, has the same feeling about his lover."

  She looked up from the book, directly into his eyes. "Shall I go on?"

  "Where on earth did you learn?"

  "I had an excellent tutor."

  He scowled. "I'll bet you did. A young Adonis just down from Oxford or Cambridge who said he would teach you about love and ruined you."

  "A matron lady and her brother, both elderly, who have since passed away, and were kind enough to say I was their brightest pupil."

  "Well, if the tutor doesn't work out, I might ask you to step into the breach," he said grudgingly. "But now I wish to know why you are garbed in so ill a manner. It was rude to the boys and myself. I shall expect you in evening dress when we dine as a family from now on."

  Juliet's shoulders slumped for a moment. This really was too much. To her horror she could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks, though she had sworn to herself she would never cry in front of him.

  One would have thought he would be happy to have an educated wife who could teach the boys. Instead of praising her fluent Latin and Greek, he was relegating her to the level of a fluff brain interested only in fashion.

  The worst of it was he knew full well she had nothing... For he had allowed her to take nothing, and had given her nothing. And what did she mean to him?

  The answer was all too evident.

  Nothing....

  The walls closing in around her, she fled out the door and into the garden once more, and began to cry as though her heart would break. She would see Eswara in the morning and borrow the coach fare to get to home to her little cottage in Dorset. She would walk if she had to. Enough was enough. No food, warmth, money, clothes, a baby on the way who would end up suffering from her deprivations if she didn't have some relief soon ...

  "Juliet, where are you!" she heard him call. "It's pitch dark. You're going to hurt yourself."

  She hugged the walls of the garden shed and tried to cower out of sight, but a stray light from the lantern he had brought outside lit on the blue of her gown. She tried to cry silently, but a sniff betrayed her whereabouts.

  "Come, lass, whatever's amiss, it will do no good to sit here on the cold ground."

  She continued to cry, and he raised his brows in surprise. He reached out and touched her cheek, and saw it was indeed wet.

  "Are you ill?"

  "Aye, sick of being made sport of," she wept. "Sick of being a failure, a disappointment. Sick of your hatred, which provokes such cruelty."

  "Cruelty? I don't understand. All I asked you to do was put on a nice gown. Most women adore-"

  She took a deep breath, thinking of all the poor women in the world who had one ragged frock and an uncertain future. It was foolish to weep for what she couldn't have when she ought to feel fortunate for what she did own.

  She gulped hard. "I suppose you're right. I'm not that badly off compared to a lot of women. I should be grateful for the little I do have. It is apparently more than I deserve. I'm sorry to have cried over something so foolish," she said in a monotone as she swiped at her tears with her sleeve.

  "I don't understand why you're so upset."

  "Now you're mocking me again."

  "No, I'm asking you why you're crying," he said as patiently as he could considering how utterly at a loss he was to deal with her. Her tears were like a dagger through his heart.

  "You aren't the least bit pleased I'm educated, but you want me in a nice frock."

  "I am pleased. Just surprised. But as to the gown-"

  "If all a man ever wants is a dressed-up doll, you wonder why women are flighty, and whores?"

  "Now I never said-"

  "It's what it sounded like," she fired back.

  "I would of course expect your gown to be modest. That one is perfectly fine, but rather dirty."

  Juliet lost all patience then. "Well, since you're so fond of controllin
g me, why don't we have a look at my wardrobe, eh? You can select what you would like me to wear tomorrow evening."

  She marched into the house through the kitchen door stiff-backed, grabbed the nearly dry gown off the line, rammed it onto a hanger, and continued up the stairs to her room, with her husband trailing along behind in confusion.

  Once there she flung open the empty wardrobe and hung it, then took off the gown she was wearing and hung it while he watched her in confusion.

  "Please tell me which you prefer."

  "I don't understand. Where are-" But he already knew the answer just by looking at the expression on her face.

  He slammed the wardrobe door shut and stormed out. Damn it. What kind of a fool was he? And what the hell was wrong with him...

  She undressed, put her garments away, and slipped naked between the sheets, but started as he came back into the room and began to open all the drawers in the dresser. Apart from the top one, containing two ragged pairs of stockings, a couple of gray swathes of linen he didn’t bother to examine further, and the dingy petticoat, chemise, and drawers she had just doffed, all were empty.

  "Damn it, Juliet, why didn't you say anything?"

  "To whom? You weren't here. And I did mean what I said, about being better off than other women."

  Lawrence sighed. "And about your educational achievements as well, I'll warrant. I've shamed you dreadfully again, punished you, without even realising how badly. I'm sorry. Please, don't cry."

  She snuffled and wiped her eyes with the corner of the sheet. "I'd rather you be indifferent to me than falsely nice."

  "Damn it, Juliet, this isn't how I expected..." He flapped one arm helplessly and began to pace in front of the cold, empty hearth. The sight of it on top of what he had just seen in the drawer cut him to the quick.

  "Expected what?" she asked softly, when he remained silent for some time.

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Expected married life to be. So, so fraught with pitfalls, and you so dependent upon me for everything."

  "You said you wanted nothing from my family. It was only because the maid ran and placed a bundle in the coach when you weren't looking that I even have as much as you've seen."

  He shook his head. "I am sorry, truly." He stroked her cheek lightly.

  "I could almost believe you, except that this is not the first time, nor will it be the last, that you've been cruel and heartless. You berate me for being a whore. I try to show you I'm not one, yet you expect me to dress, I don't know, alluringly. I don't know how! Your world isn't mine! I don't know what you want. If all the dreadful things you've said to me are true, I have no wish to know your world. That someone could try to harm those two innocent boys, for example."

  "I could almost believe you, except that I've known your brother for years-"

  "I'm not Matthew. I wasn't even brought up with him!"

  But he wasn't listening, he was gazing at her violet eyes. She could see his intent as he gazed at her and reached for her bare shoulder. "No, Lawrence, please, can you not hear me out-"

  But his lips were already on hers, and when he lifted them a long time later he was already half-undressed and she had no idea what she had been about to say next.

  She also had no idea how he could manage to get around her with one simple kiss or touch of his hand, but the contact was like fire and ice.

  "I don't want to fight. I just want to curl up inside you, beside you, and sleep for a month," he admitted in a tone so low as to be scarcely audible.

  She relaxed against him with a sigh, relief and longing flooding through her in equal measure. "Then we won't fight. Not in here, not tonight, anyway."

  He rose from the bed to remove the last of his clothing, while she slid over to make room for him on that side.

  "Lie down flat, on your back, and close your eyes, your arms under the covers."

  Her heart sank. Damn. He was back to giving orders again. And just when he had said he didn't want to fight. She obeyed him though, for the desire sizzling in her veins was enough to get her to agree to anything.

  She tried to stay calm. He didn't seem angry. And what was the thing that Eswara had taught her about rubbing his muscles? It had felt so good on her hands....

  He slid the sheet down off of her so slowly, it was a sensual caress all of its own. It crept down over her suddenly peaked nipples, to her tender belly, over her fluffy curls, down all the way to her feet.

  "And everywhere that sheet touched, my hands are going to touch, and then my mouth."

  Her breath caught in her throat as he stroked her shoulders, and began.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Juliet opened one bleary eye as Sam clattered into her room and began to do the fireplace for the master. She tried to sit up, but her hips were firmly pinned to the bed, with Lawrence laying half on top of her, his head buried in the apex of her thighs. She tried to cover her bare breasts, but took some comfort from the fact that the sheet was covering his nudity at least.

  She stroked his hair tenderly. He had not exaggerated about trying to climb right into her, nor about the sheet. He was so needy and driven in bed, it made her wonder what sort of hellishly lonely life he must have led until he met her.

  But no, she was flattering herself. This was the man who had been engaged to Matilda. The man who had had more professionals in his bed than she'd had gowns in her entire life. To expect him to be faithful would be the height of folly. No, he had to be some sort of uncontrollable degenerate who couldn't exist without assuaging his overwhelming sexual appetite at least six times a night.

  She had seen Lawrence so seldom, she was not going to complain, for she had most certainly missed him. But he would be leaving again tomorrow or the next day at the latest. Then she would have nothing except the torrid memories to sustain her until the next time he came home.

  As soon as the serving lad was gone, his tongue flickered out and down in a languid caress that had her thighs parting of their own accord.

  "Has anyone ever told you how breathtaking you are down here? Pink perfection. I could look at you all day, stroke you all the time." His fingers moved now to accompany his words.

  "Is this a new way to shame me?" she asked bitterly.

  His head shot up. "No, no! Not at all. Come here, see for yourself."

  "What?" she exclaimed in shock.

  He swept her up into his arms and brought her over to the wardrobe. The empty mirror filled with their reflection as he sat her in front of it and pointed. He spread her legs wide. "Look at yourself."

  "Oh, no," she said, blushing.

  "No, really, you're lovely. Like the most gorgeous rose. And you go from a fresh tea rose pink, to almost deep red when you get really excited. And do you see your lovely petals and little bud? They --"

  He continued whispering to her, and from describing he went on to touching, and from touching, seating her on him and making love to her while they both watched.

  His running commentary on how beautiful and alluring she was, the tempestuous heat, made the moment a feast of the senses that left them completely, explosively satiated. She was sure this was just another way of hurting her, and waited for something nasty to leave his lips.

  But in the end he simply scooped her off the floor and carried her to the tub, brought Juliet her cleanest gown and some underthings, and told her to get ready to go to Bath.

  "You want me to go with you?" she asked in surprise.

  He gave her a long lingering kiss. "I have some errands to run, and I simply cannot do them without you."

  "I don't have to come. I have a list of all the things I think the boys are going to need. They grow so quickly. I mean, I can mend Stuart's clothes and pass them down to Andrew but it will take a bit of time and-"

  He kissed her again.

  "Move forward and I'll scrub your back. In fact, moved forward and I'll come in with you."

  "Will we fit?"

  He grinned lustily. "Never had any trouble
before."

  "Oh, Lawrence, that's not what I meant—"

  "But I do."

  He got in and lifted her by the waist.

  "Oh. Oh!"

  It was some time before they were ready to leave for Bath.

  Lawrence took her hand to lead her downstairs.

  Juliet hesitated a moment. She whispered shyly, "We really ought to at least try to clean up the bathroom and change our sheets."