by Jackie Ivie
He jerked slightly as if she’d given him a blow. But that was even more nonsense. “I didn’t come about the...baby.”
His voice broke on the last word. Helene thinned her lips. She knew he was an excellent actor. He’d proved it in Paris. But why would he try it on her now? To what end?
“Didn’t you? Strange…but I can’t think of one other thing that’s happened recently to bring about this impromptu visit. Your mother has been blessed with a loose tongue, and I get the brunt of that blessing because now I get to visit with you.”
“I think I rather prefer…your laughter.”
He was looking at the panel over her head and wouldn’t meet her eyes. His chin looked sharper than before as if he set it. Was he thinner?
“What the devil does that mean?”
He shrugged and started unbuttoning his coat.
“It’s not that warm in my chamber, My Lord,” she informed him in a haughty tone.
“You’re obviously not on the receiving end of this punishment, love.”
His gaze moved slowly down the headboard and captured hers as easily as if she actually desired it. She wouldn’t let him get away with it, especially not while using an endearment that sounded like he meant it.
“Punishment? For what you did to me, there isn’t punishment enough!”
“Don’t you think I know that already? I’ve castigated myself through every hour of the last three weeks, Madame. I don’t need you to inform me it wasn’t bloody enough!”
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. He further stymied her by tossing his coat aside and leaning against the bureau beside him to remove his boots. As if she’d let him stay.
“I won’t listen to anything you say, Gillian, so you can just put those boots back on.”
“When I’m damned good and ready, sweeting.”
He spoke in his iron-hard whisper again. Her eyes widened, and that made it impossible not to watch as he unbuttoned his shirt.
He was definitely thinner, and he hadn’t carried extra weight before. The loss was obvious. He was leaner, but that just made every bit of him more angled. Visual. Everything looked to ripple and move as he yanked his arms from the shirt, his gaze never leaving her face.
She needed to find her voice, and soon. Helene swallowed and cleared her throat. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you can’t just walk into my bedroom and expect to be welcomed. Don’t you dare unfasten those!”
He ignored her to pull the side of his trousers open, ripping two buttons off in the process. She heard them clattering and then rolling as they hit the floor. And then they stopped. So did her breathing. Helene didn’t know where to look. What to say. He knew how the sight of him tied her tongue and scrambled her wits.
Still.
The side of his pants gapped open. She had to get her mouth working. Her voice got stronger with each word.
“I...I’ve already told you my wishes…and we both know you can bully me. If that’s how you wish to impress your ownership on me, I can’t fight you. And you know it.”
“Are you quite finished?”
He lowered his head again, to peer at her from under his brows again. This time there was a little line running his forehead. She’d rarely seen anything so stirring. Her body lurched before she could stop it. And that started her tongue.
“Finished? I’ve barely begun! You seriously think I’ll welcome the sight of you? Grant me more fortitude. You might send other women’s pulses flying, but you do absolutely nothing to mine.”
“Is that so?”
She should’ve looked to her defenses. He let his pants slide down his legs. She couldn’t stop her lips falling open or the way she licked her lower lip before pulling it into her mouth and sucking on it. And then he undid the garters below his knees, one at a time and shook them off.
Speak, Helene. Say something. Anything.
“Are you…listening to anything I say?” she asked.
“Depends.”
“On…what?”
“If what you say matches what I want to hear.”
“Don’t do this. Please?”
Her plea stopped him momentarily. He closed his eyes. Helene thought she saw a tremor go through him, but that had to be a trick of the light because a moment later he opened his eyes and started fiddling with the ties at the waist of his under-drawers.
“That is not what I want to hear, love.”
Don’t call me that! “I…don’t usually say things you want...to hear, My Lord. Why would I start now?”
“I suppose I’ll remain suitably deaf, then,” he replied.
“Oh! Why are you here?” And why did that come out in a low tone and breathless-sounding?
“You don’t really need an answer to that, do you?”
He pulled the top two laces out of their holes and wrapped them about his index fingers. She didn’t know what expression was on his face — she couldn’t move her eyes to look that high.
Damn him for being the best-looking man she’d ever seen. And damn the silence that surrounded his statement. Helene tried closing her eyes, but they disobeyed again. He was toying with those strings, wrapping them about his fingers and then letting them loose. Over and over. Without looking. And everything on her body was reacting. Her heart was racing. Her limbs were trembling. Her lower belly twitched. With need. Want. Desire.
She had to say something to stop this, or she was going to be welcoming him. With open arms…and everywhere else. And that would just make her another of his conquests.
Again.
So Helene opened her mouth and went after that male pride he claimed to have.
“Of course I don’t discount the obvious, My Lord. I believe there are one million of them at last count.”
That struck. She didn’t have to ask. He bent his head and his entire frame went taut, defining ropes and sinew and hard masculine lines. And if he didn’t want her to know how much it bothered him, he shouldn’t be on display, making it easy for her to spot. He almost looked to be shaking, too, but that couldn’t be. The light was lying. He lifted his head and stared at her with the strangest glitter visible atop his blue eyes. She looked away first.
“I don’t want your money, Helene. And if you think I’d be undressing in a woman’s bedchamber for any amount of payoff, you’re sadly mistaken. I don’t need to pay for a woman’s favors, remember? And I sure as hell don’t accept coin for mine. Besides which, I’m fairly certain Linden told you of my attitude. So, if you wish to trade cutting remarks, you’ll need to sharpen them a bit more than that.”
Her eyes narrowed as his words did one thing at least. They brought a spark of anger to the fore. And that helped mute the attraction that was tangling her tongue.
“You might as well leave, Monsieur Tremayne. I won’t accept you and if you don’t quit my chamber this instant...!”
“Yes?” he prompted.
“I’ll scream.” She raised her chin.
“Scream away, darling. Hasn’t it occurred to you this is Tremayne Hall? I’m the master here. And you’re my wife. No one will rescue you.”
“They will!”
“Why? They might think it the throes of ecstasy.”
“You...barbarian! You...disgusting beast! You—you Hun!”
“Christ, Helene. At least be original.”
He was right, and she knew it. She couldn’t possibly trade remarks with him if he insisted on standing there, twirling those damned laces in his fingers. Hadn’t she learned that much yet? He cheated any way he could. Showing off that body of his was just one method.
“All right, Lord Tremayne, I’ll play your little game.”
She forced herself to talk calmly and smiled at the indecision that flitted across his face for a moment. And then he narrowed his eyes and spoke in that icy whisper..
“You call my attentions...a game?”
“I believe I just did. And since we’re in such a malicious mood, let me remind you that you once refer
red to my virginity as one. I believe that makes it even.”
“Oh…if only anything could.”
If he wanted to rebut her comment, he’d have to do more than whisper that, sag a bit, and cover his eyes. And a moment later, she doubted she’d seen it as he straightened, shoved his shoulders back, and looked back at her, clenching his jaw so that a nerve jutted out one side.
“You’re…not leaving?” Oh no. Her voice squeaked.
“Too much at stake.”
“What does that mean? And no. Don’t answer that! I don’t want to know!”
“What the hell do you want, Helene?”
“I want you to take your odious presence and leave! Take your randy…lusts to someone who’ll appreciate them.”
“You don’t?” He was deceptively still.
“You mean if you had a decent reason for coming to me, not just because some interfering gossip told you about our baby? Pardon me while I recover from my swoon! I don’t want you, Gillian Tremayne. Not anymore.”
That cost her, and his reaction made it harder to say, but she did. She had her pride at stake now. Montriart pride.
“Isn’t that too bloody bad, then? I can’t seem to keep from wanting you.”
She laughed but it was a high and brittle sound.
“You don’t want me, Gillian Tremayne. Speak fair. And if you do it’s because of either the money or the baby. How do I know? You didn’t want me three weeks ago, and the only things that have changed are my financial and breeding status. I’m not blinded by love for you, anymore. I can see quite clearly now. I don’t think it was even love. I think it was…more of…an infatuation.”
He wavered. She didn’t think he’d really fall, and besides, the wall stopped it. And then he glared at her before standing back upright. Helene didn’t know what else to say. He wasn’t leaving? The last lie had burned her lips.
“I suppose I deserved that, Madame Frost Bitch. I don’t believe it, but I do deserve it.”
If she believed the tremor in his voice, it would silence her. Besides, he knew how to act. He was doing it deliberately. He wasn’t undressing in her bedchamber because of love and devotion. There had to be another reason.
She forced herself to a calm she was far from feeling and tried another tack. Reasoning with him.
“I’m sorry about the child, Gillian. I didn’t want it, and I—”
“Stop! Please. Don’t say that. It’s done. You’re carrying my heir. I’m here. And I haven’t looked my future in the eye for three weeks now. I’m not leaving, Helene. And I don’t think you really want me to.”
Everything she’d said simply made him more determined to bed her. She couldn’t think of anything else. She hadn’t begged yet. She didn’t want to, especially after the last time, but the memory of how difficult it had been to recover from his desertion strengthened her, making it easier for her eyes to fill with tears and her shoulders slump.
“Gillian. Please. Don’t do this.”
“Always a pleasure to see your acting, Madame.”
“I don’t want you, and yet you won’t go. Why, Gillian? Why?”
“I seem to be making a habit of taking advice.” He shrugged and started pulling the rest of his crotch ties out.
She flushed. Trembled. Her mind went blank. It was his fault.
He had the leather strings out and twisted them together, his blue eyes like glowing stones in his face. His features were shuttered and closed. She’d likened him to a statue, more than once. Now, he truly looked it.
Her mouth opened, and she spoke words her mind hadn’t cleared.
“Wasn’t...a blond available for your lusts, Lord Tremayne? Surely you could’ve found one? Maybe the signora could have a little tea party in your honor? I’ve seen how she looks at you. She wouldn’t have to be forced. A gentleman wouldn’t force his wife, you know. A gentleman—”
“Shut up, Helene! Just bloody shut up!”
She’d reached him finally. A red flush started at his chest and spread outward, alarming her more than the sight of his clenched fists.
“You win, damn it! I can’t do it! I can’t! I’m not a gentleman, Helene. I never have been! All right? I shouldn’t have acted the Hun the night of my mother’s godforsaken ball! I shouldn’t have pretended to be drunk, and I shouldn’t have taken you to France!
“Christ, there’s no end to it! I shouldn’t have taken Bridget’s hellish advice. I shouldn’t have molested you in that damned gazebo. I shouldn’t have left you three weeks ago, either. Do you think I haven’t lived with that thought with every single, agonizing beat my heart keeps sending? You think I’m made of stone? If only I could find that state, I’d bloody well embrace it for life!”
“You pretended to be drunk...at your mother’s ball?” Her voice rose to a scream. “You knew I was a virgin, and you still made me go to France? You bloody bastard!”
“Yes, Helene, yes! I’m a bloody bastard and a cad. Are you satisfied? I left because I couldn’t possibly face you, damn it! I mean look. I can’t face you now, and I’ve got everything to lose! Yes, I came tonight because I heard of our baby. I thought I could actually try to see if you could care for an unprincipled, ungentlemanly cad like me. And look. I failed. I admit it. Goddamn it to hell! I should’ve stayed in London, where at least the walls have pity! Oh…Christ.”
He’d snagged his shirt from the pile of the floor and wiped moisture from his cheeks with it. It was an angry motion, and then he shoved an arm through the sleeve and ripped it.
“Damn cheap material!”
His shirt was probably fashioned of the finest material known. She’d have pointed it out, but he wasn’t looking anywhere near her anymore. He lifted a leg and slid it into a pant leg, leaning against the wall to do so, and ignoring where his drawers gaped open.
“Gillian?”
“Don’t! Please? I can’t face you. Not now.”
He raised his hand. He must’ve been telling the truth, because he wasn’t looking at anything other than the floor.
“I forfeit the field, Madame. Pray don’t make it any more difficult. Please? I concede defeat to the frost bitch, but I’m begging Brandywine to allow me a bit of.... Damn these cheap trousers!”
He tried to button them, but his hands were shaking badly. She’d never seen anything like it.
“Gil?” She whispered his name as she slid from the covers.
“Helene, please? I’m begging you. Don’t say another word. I think I can make it to my own chamber, but not if you insist on taking my heart and stomping on it. Do you know what it’s like to know you’ve kicked the most wonderful emotion in your life in the teeth…and unable to do a damned thing about it? Damn me!”
“Gillian, listen to me.”
She was almost to him, and he looked up, jerked back a step, stumbled, and then he fell. Hard. She felt the thud of his landing through the soles of her bare feet. It looked painful. Sounded worse. She went to her knees beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Gillian?”
“Oh…Jesus!” He shrugged her hand off. “Can’t you give me anything, Helene? Please? A little discretion? Maybe a little turn of your head for my loss of dignity? No? Well, that bloody well figures, too, damn it. You won’t give me any quarter, will you? Fine! Just bloody fine! I suppose I deserve that, too.”
“Oh, Gillian.”
She whispered it, but he had to hear her. His voice got more desperate-sounding.
“Get Brandywine to release me! I won’t bother you again, I swear. I’m sorry the baby makes an annulment impossible, but you can get a bill of divorcement. Hell, you’re rich enough to get anything you bloody well please. I won’t fight it. You’ll be free.”
“I can’t just let you go, Gil. Surely you know that?”
In answer he dropped his head into his hands and shook. Helene wrapped her arms about him and held on as his sobs tore through both of them.
“Gillian.... Lovely, tender Gillian. I didn’t know.”
“Uh…no. I’ve been there. It’s not pleasant.”
“And this is? Get away from me, Helene. Please? Allow me something. I’ll concede to anything you wish, just get the hell away from me!”
He swiveled and pushed at her, and only by strength of will did she manage to hang onto his neck. But he wouldn’t raise his head and look at her. And that scared her.
“Gillian, look at me.”
He shook his head.
“Well, you’re going to have to look at me sooner or later, because I’m not giving you freedom that easily. I’ve heard how much the marriageable misses pine for you! It’ll be a cold day in hell before I give you a divorcement. Think of your mother, for pity’s sake, and the scandal! Think, Sir, of your son growing up with that cloud over his head.”
“What do you want of me, Helene? You’ve brought me to my knees, and now you tease?” He gave a heavy sigh and continued looking at the floor. “I suppose I deserve that, too, don’t I? Go ahead. Tease. Pick. Cut. Slice. Finish off whatever is left of my male pride, and then let me up. I’ll leave. Trust me. You won’t have to ever see Gillian Tremayne again. I doubt I can face the bastard in the mirror, and I have little choice.”
“Oh, Gillian, surely you’ve mistaken the part of your anatomy I’ve brought you to. You, most definitely, are not on your knees.”
“Is that supposed to be amusing?”
“Well…I admit I’m not quite as adept as you, Gil. I doubt anyone other than a Shakespearean actor could approach your dramatics, but I am trying here.”
“All right! I mistook the emotion. You’re not trying to be amusing, you’re rubbing salt into the wounds.”
“I’m trying to stay married to you, Gillian, and you’re not making it easy with all this self-hatred. Sweet heaven, you rescued me!”
“Come on, Helene. I put you in Napoleon’s clutches in the first place. The least I could do was mount a rescue.”
‘”I’m not talking about Paris! I’m referring to the sanatorium and my nightmares and the blank episodes I used to experience. Do you realize how much Chateau Montriart affected my sleep? How often I relived the executions? How frightening it was to wake and not know what you said? What happened?”