Beauty in Breeches

by Helen Dickson

  ‘What are you doing?’ she panted, unable to hide her displeasure as she squirmed against him, his glittering eyes and his mouth only inches from hers as he leaned over her, his arms holding her fast.

  ‘This,’ he said hoarsely and his mouth swooped down, seizing hers in a ruthless kiss. For several moments Beatrice was so confounded she made no attempt to stop him. His lips moved over hers, gently, smoothing, his mouth open a fraction. Within moments her tension began to melt in the heat of his kiss and her senses swam dizzily. In a kind of sensual haze, she was aware of his hand roaming possessively over the sensitive flesh above her bodice. Then she came to life, tearing her lips from his, struggling and pushing herself back from his arms.

  ‘Please, Julius, stop it. Don’t do this. I may be your wife, but that does not give you leave to manhandle me whenever you wish. I will not be forced.’

  When Julius tried to reach for her again she flinched, slapping his arm hard and pushing him away with both hands, then returning to the opposite seat. For a second as he looked at his indignant, spluttering wife, he remained dazed. In what she thought was self-defence she had used the very movements of a tavern wench accustomed to dealing with drunks. He had never seen a lady defend herself in this way before. It struck him as both funny and exasperating. Did she really imagine that he was going to leave her alone? Did she really imagine he would force her?

  Frowning with concern over the anxiety and tension he saw on her face, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees, he said, ‘I am not a monster, Beatrice. I will not force you to do anything you do not want to do. You have my word on that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, her tension easing a little on hearing this.

  As Julius looked at her, the sight of her stormy, brilliant green eyes, her white shoulders and that fragile neck and soft lips aroused in him a violent but unfamiliar desire, such as no woman had ever aroused in him. It was not just blind lust. There was about it a somewhat mysterious, almost sweet and gentle allure.

  Something sprang into jubilant life within him and soared. Thank God, he thought, she was not going to be a submissive wife, docile and totally insensate and frozen inside, a woman who would endure his embraces with a sigh and accept that it was her wifely duty to submit to him with compliance. He sensed Beatrice was like a cat, a tigress, ready to fight like one, to match him in strength, to be his equal both in bed and out of it.

  At this moment she was openly defying him, yet he was the offended one. In the beginning she had forced his hand, humiliated him as no man can bear to be humiliated without wishing the other into purgatory, so first he must show her that she was his wife, and then he would make her realise that their marriage would be conducted on equal terms, and that what they did together could be pleasing for them both.

  And yet Julius would have been most surprised at his wife’s thoughts hidden behind her façade of defiance and indignation. Her emotions were all over the place following his kiss. It had left her so confused she could hardly think. Why did she feel like this? she thought wonderingly. A slow realisation of what was happening, born of the moment when he had dragged her into his arms, was moving through her, making its way to her slowly thawing heart, which had been frozen for so long.

  She swallowed and turned her head so she didn’t have to look at the man opposite. He was so formidable, so stern, so oppressive and yet so…so what? Breathtakingly handsome? Strong, compelling and completely masculine? Yes, she thought, he was all those things. A man lean, muscular, with wide shoulders, narrow hips and trim waist, she could not help but admire the fine figure he made—near, if not, perfection. Heat suffused her cheeks and her heart was beating hard against her ribcage, as though it were trying to get out to escape the bewildering pain it felt.

  Dear Lord, what was happening to her—and in such a short space of time? Why had fate turned her feelings, in the blink of an eye, from absolute indifference to this man who was her husband of mere minutes to something so painful she could not understand it? It was blurring her mind. She could feel herself shaking inside, for she was afraid of his passion, afraid of how much it would hurt in the future if she let herself weaken now.

  ‘Fight me if you must, Beatrice,’ he said softly, ‘but I promise you that we will share the more tender moments of our marriage. You say you dislike force. I, too, loathe it, but I could do nothing to get out of paying your forfeit. I did not choose you for a wife, you chose me,’ he reminded her, his words dripping with disdain. ‘But however it came about, I do not intend to take advantage of you. Now you’re angry because you will have to pay the piper, but you do not think what it has cost me to make you my wife.’

  The sound of his voice brought her back to the present. Deeply troubled and confused by her feelings, furious at her sudden weakening and hurt by what he had said, she took refuge in anger. Turning her head back to him, she laughed ungraciously. ‘You didn’t have to marry me. You could have walked away.’

  ‘So could you. I recall telling you that as my mistress you would have been treated as a queen,’

  ‘Whereas what I have now is a master,’ she retorted irately, using her anger to fortify her against her nervousness at what was to come later. ‘Is that what you are telling me, Julius?’

  He smiled thinly, his amber eyes nailed to hers. ‘I would never be that, Beatrice. What I will say is that if you consider refusing me your bed, remember that you are only one woman among many. For a man it is easy to find relief for his baser needs.’

  ‘And I imagine you are low enough to do that,’ she said, still wondering and bewildered at the hurt and disappointment that stirred her heart.

  His jaw tightened and his eyes grew cold. Did she really think she could flout him so soon into their marriage? ‘There’s no need to distress yourself, my love,’ he said mockingly. ‘You are quite safe from me for the present.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so,’ she replied, moving as far from him as was possible within the confines of the coach.

  ‘You cannot escape me, Beatrice,’ he said easily, concerned by her distress and attempting to lighten the moment by injecting a teasing note into his voice. ‘You are now and for ever mine. Marriage with me is what you wanted and that is what you shall have for the rest of your life—or mine. But fear not. You are a beauty, my sweet. I shall not grow tired of you and have no desire to leave you too soon.’ He chuckled softly, reaching out and touching her cheek, relieved that she did not pull away. ‘You will find I am temperamental and that I may not be termed a pleasant man to live with—but you have my word that I shall strive to be amenable at all times when we are together.’

  Beatrice managed to smile and turned her head away, looking out of the window as the coach finally drew up before the house—a splendid mansion of which Beatrice would now be mistress. Julius climbed out and turned to assist her.

  ‘Can you manage, my love, or shall I lift you down?’ he asked, a smile twisting his handsome mouth.

  For the sake of appearances and because the nervous fluttering in her stomach was increasing with each passing minute, she allowed him to assist her out of the coach, placing her hand on his arm for him to escort her into the house.

  ‘Smile,’ Julius said in a quiet voice while managing to smile charmingly himself for the benefit of those who had gathered to see the return of the bride and groom and to wish them well. ‘Must I remind you that this is your wedding day, which is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, whereas you, my love, look as if you are going to your execution.’

  Feeling that the quiet reprimand was deserved, Beatrice did as he bade and composed her features into a more agreeable expression as he escorted her inside the house.

  Beatrice was introduced to the curious but welcoming servants, who bobbed their curtsies or respectfully bent their heads, though she felt such an intruder, an interloper, not one face or one name was retained in her memory.

  Julius led her into a green-and-gold salon, where a long table had been
prepared for the wedding feast. It gleamed with silver cutlery and crystal glasses and was festooned with flowers. Standing in the centre of the salon, a smile pinned to her lips and a glass of champagne in her hand, the bride received the well wishes of all those present. The meal went quickly—too quickly for Beatrice—who wanted to delay the time when she would find herself alone with Julius.

  Seated beside her, Julius lounged back in his chair, his arm stretched possessively across the back of hers, his expression thoughtful as he watched her smile and laugh when glasses were raised in toast to the bride and groom. It wasn’t surprising that everyone was in her thrall, for she looked ravishing. She was also lively and amiable in a way that not even he had seen before. She had deliberately set herself out to charm; as he toyed with the stem of his wine glass, it was that effort which both amused and exasperated him.

  If she hadn’t decided to make herself so delightful, everyone would have eaten their fill and gone home earlier—which was, Julius knew, exactly what she didn’t want, for their presence delayed the moment when she would have to go upstairs with him and they would be alone.

  Because this was her wedding day and because he knew she was probably anxious about what was to happen later, for the last hour he had been willing to indulge her, using the time to enjoy her company and to savour the anticipation of what was to come. Now, however, he was growing tired of the wait.

  Leaning close to her, he said, ‘I’m sorry to put an end to your day, Beatrice, but I think it’s time you and I left.’

  As he stood up and held his hand out to her, Beatrice realised the moment she had dreaded all day had arrived. A delicate flush spread over her features as she rose and placed her trembling hand in his. It was growing dark and, not wishing to linger without the bride and groom, the guests began to leave. Beatrice looked pleadingly at Lady Merrick when she came up to her.

  ‘Must you go now?’ she asked in a quavering voice.

  The kindly woman nodded her head and gave her a motherly kiss upon the brow. ‘Yes, my dear. It’s time the two of you were alone. We cannot stay any longer. Be happy, Beatrice,’ she said, glancing up at Julius who stood beside her. ‘I know you will be well cared for.’

  Beatrice watched her go. She looked at Julius. ‘If you don’t mind, I would like to go to my room now.’

  ‘It’s been a long day and I’m sure you must be feeling tired. I shall escort you there myself. I hope you will find it—comfortable. And there is a connecting door to my room.’

  When her eyes snapped to his he straightened, his face set in lines of challenge. His lips curled over his white teeth. ‘There is nothing wrong with that, Beatrice. It is perfectly natural for a husband and wife to have connecting rooms.’ As he came to stand beside her, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear, ‘I trust you have no objections to the sleeping arrangements. Are you afraid of being alone with me, my love, of fulfilling your part of the bargain we made?’

  Beatrice coloured hotly and turned away in sudden confusion. His hand slid about her waist and she started slightly as his hard chest pressed against her back.

  His deep voice seemed to reverberate within her as he announced softly, ‘I think it is time for bed.’

  In that moment her mind flew from all rational thought. A bolt of doubt blasted her confidence. She turned to face him.

  ‘You—you spoke of a bargain. What bargain might that be? I do not recall having made any bargain with you.’

  He raised a sardonic brow. ‘Ah, but you did. Think about it, Beatrice. When you asked me to be your husband and again when you spoke your vows.’ Seeing her uncertainty, he chuckled softly. ‘Did you think I would have entered into this if I had nothing to gain?’ He laid a hand against her cheek in a tender caress. ‘I have fulfilled my part of the bargain. It is time for you to fulfil yours. It is the price you have to pay. You belong to me until death.’

  Fully realising the truth of what he said, Beatrice shrank away from him in disbelief, aware of the trap that slowly closed around her—a trap of her own making.

  ‘Tonight you will see the real price of your predicament.’ His voice became gentle, almost a whisper. His eyes were hungry with yearning and touched her everywhere. ‘You sought me out for a cause dear to you and I have given you my name—a high price for me to pay. Now I ask the same of you. Do you find the price too dear that you suddenly want to reject it—to deny the bargain?’

  ‘No,’ she replied stiffly. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I am happy to hear that, Beatrice. Come, we shall go up together’, and without further ado, in silence he began to lead the new Marchioness of Maitland up the stairs, along the landing in the direction of their chambers. Not until they were inside Beatrice’s room and the door closed against the world did he release her, relieved to have her alone at last.

  As his bride she was certainly lovely to look at. Golden strands shimmered among the carefree copper curls, crackling and alive in the light from the candles. The soft brows arched away from eyes that were clear and green—sea green in this light, brilliant against the thick fringe of jet-black lashes and as unfathomable as any sea he had ever gazed into. The soft pink lips were tantalising and gracefully curved. Under his penetrating gaze the golden skin flushed slightly.

  Feeling desire stir in his loins, with a will of iron Julius clamped a grip upon himself.

  With tension twisting within her, Beatrice rubbed her arm and warily considered her husband. His face was extremely handsome above a froth of white lace, his dark hair smoothly brushed and his white teeth shining in his gypsy-brown face. With a surge of admiration, she thought how ruggedly virile he looked. He also looked relaxed as he stood watching her, his amber eyes warm and intense, a spark flaring in their depths.

  She felt the bold touch of his hungry gaze and inwardly shivered. Her knees quaking violently, she walked slowly around the room that was to be hers. It was a tastefully furnished, elegant room, the bed large and canopied in the same mulberry and gold as the rest of the room. There was no sign of a maid to assist her out of her wedding finery, but the bedcovers had been turned down and the lacy white jasmine-scented sheets.

  Seeing her stiffen and stare with stricken paralysis at the bed and noting how her fingers that flew to her mouth trembled, with long, easy strides that always looked both certain and relaxed, Julius walked towards her.

  ‘Come, Beatrice, there’s nothing to fear, so why are you trembling?’

  She turned and looked at him, unable to tear her gaze from his, unable to hide her fear. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted with a tremor in her voice.

  ‘Don’t you?’ he asked softly, one eyebrow raised in question. ‘You do realise what is to happen between us, don’t you?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And is it now your hope to avoid keeping the bargain we made?’

  Lifting her head, Beatrice faced him, trying to tell herself that the act she was about to commit wasn’t sinful or anything like that, that in submitting herself to her husband she was actually doing something noble. But confronted with his size, his strength and his indomitable will, Beatrice found her reasoning did nothing to quell her fear.

  Instead of lying to him, which Julius half-expected her to do, she surprised him by saying instead, ‘It is my hope, but I am prepared to become your wife in every sense. I will not deny you the rights of my own vows. You will have what I promised you.’

  ‘Yet you fear it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you fear me?’

  ‘No—only what will happen. But I will submit—if that is what you want.’

  ‘Submit?’ Julius repeated, annoyed by her choice of word. ‘The marital act is not some kind of punishment to which you should submit. Don’t fear it,’ he ordered softly as his fingers caressed her cheek. ‘And for God’s sake, don’t fear me. You’ve never feared me before. Don’t begin now.’

  The deep, husky timbre of his voice, combined with the tantalising exploration of his
skilful fingers caressing her face and neck, was already working its magic on Beatrice.

  Julius considered his wife, seeing the set of her chin that brought a smile to his lips. ‘I hope there isn’t going to be a battle, my love. I wouldn’t like to have a fight on my hands—not tonight. In order to make you understand that we are husband and wife, that from this night on we will share a bed, share our bodies, there is no other way.’

  Beatrice started to protest, but his finger came across her lips and shushed her. Bending his head, he placed his lips close to her ear.

  ‘I want you to relax, my love. There will be a drifting of the senses, soft kisses, an initiation into the art of love, moving towards a climax that will please us both, which is what I want,’ he murmured, taking her face between his hands and kissing her sweet lips, lightly to begin with, offering her love, then deeply and tenderly. After a few moments of tense passivity, she placed her hand on his chest and began to kiss him back.

  Raising his head a fraction, he asked, ‘Did it concern you that our wedding was not the grand affair most young ladies dream of?’

  ‘I didn’t want a grand affair. I was perfectly satisfied the way it was.’

  ‘You made a beautiful bride. You are so lovely your beauty blinds me. But that is not what this is about.’

  Tilting her head to one side, relaxed by his kiss, she managed a teasing smile. ‘No? Is it not more important to have a wife who is pleasing to look at than an ugly one?’ she provoked.

  ‘Ah—but it is not the face that is important, Beatrice.’ Very slowly he walked round her, deliberately, examining her as she stood rooted to the floor, not touching her with anything but those amber eyes—and they were enough, boldly evaluating her assets. He halted and, bending his head close to her ear so that the warm breath caressed the back of her neck, said softly, ‘When I was a youth, I was given some sound advice from a very wise man.’

  Unable to move, Beatrice swallowed audibly, nervously, her heart beating wildly. ‘What was that?’