‘Never to buy a mare with a blanket on.’
‘And—who was this wise man?’
‘My father.’
Beatrice shivered under Julius’s unrelenting gaze. He watched her with such a slow, unhurried regard that her skin burned from its intensity. ‘It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? Perhaps you should have taken his advice.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, but, as you say, it’s too late for that. You belong to me now. You are my wife and a husband may do as he pleases with his wife.’ His voice softened until it was almost a whisper. ‘Anything he likes. Now—shall we take off those clothes and see what we have?’
For a moment Beatrice shrank back, her green eyes darkening in fear, and Julius almost turned away, for before God he would not force her. Then, as he had hoped she would, her chin came up, her soft lips tightened and her eyes blazed her defiance, but she turned and presented her back for him to unbutton her wedding gown.
He worked downwards until the garment hung open. She shrugged and it fell to her feet, revealing a sheer, shimmering white-silk petticoat, the shoulders temptingly bare. The petticoat hid nothing from him and Beatrice saw the hard glint of passion strike sparks in his eyes as they moved over her. Her full, ripe breasts swelled against the silk that moulded itself to her bosom and the delicate peaks thrust forward impudently. He saw the inward curve of her waist, amazingly small without any tight lacings, the trim and seductive roundness of her hips and the lithe grace of her limbs.
Julius’s breath caught in his throat. He had already realised that beneath all her clothes Beatrice was what every man dreamed of: a vision of incomparable beauty. His long fingers freed her body from the rest of her flimsy garments until she stood naked to his gaze.
The hardest thing Beatrice had ever had to do in her life was to stand calmly before him and let him look at her as he was doing now, when, feeling like a caged animal newly caught, she wanted nothing more than to find a way out. He stepped back, still smiling, but with a new fire kindled in his eyes. His gaze was direct, challenging, sweeping from her trim and shapely ankles, passing over her slender legs, and then more leisurely over her magnificent body, which was lustrous shades of honey and amber in the flickering flames of the candles and the fire. The triangle of curling fair hair at the base of her belly was now a mysterious dark enticing shadow, her breasts rose tipped and exuberant. His gaze passed on to her face. She had not flinched as she submitted herself for his perusal, but her eyes were large and hot and expectant, and a flush swept up her long shapely legs, her slender curves, staining the glowing flesh right up to her face.
Julius’s lips spoke no word, but his eyes clearly expressed his wants. The bold stare touched a quickness in Beatrice that made her feel as if she were on fire. It flamed in her cheeks and set her hands to trembling as she stared back at him. Out of consideration for her obvious embarrassment, Julius extinguished the candles burning close to her, before taking his time in stripping himself naked. He unbuttoned and removed his shirt and laid it over a chair with his cravat and slipped out of his breeches and undergarments, tossing them atop the shirt.
When he was totally naked Beatrice stared at a certain part of his anatomy in horror, her face as white as the cravat he had just removed. She had always known men were different, but this was the first time she had seen one naked. Appalled by the size and colour of what she was seeing, she wanted to turn her head away, but found that she could not. Raising her eyes, she gazed at the rest of him. He was bathed in a light cast by the remaining candles and was aglow with deep golden shades that rippled along his hard, lean frame. His body was strong, proud, savage, determined and eternally masculine. Beatrice was no less shaken by the sight of him than by his slow perusal of her a few moments before. They weren’t touching, but they generated enough heat between them to light a fire.
As Beatrice dragged her gaze towards the bed, her eyes lit on her nightdress where the maid had left it draped over the quilt. She made a move to get it, but Julius stepped in front of her.
‘Please allow me to cover myself,’ she said, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice.
‘Now why would you want to do that?’
‘Because I never go to bed without wearing my nightdress. As for you—you seem to have an aversion for wearing clothes which I consider to be most indecent,’ she uttered with quiet reproach.
Julius chuckled softly, delighting in her innocence. ‘There are times, Beatrice, when clothing can be a hindrance. One’s wedding night is one of them.’ His eyes again caressed her from top to toe, touching her everywhere. ‘A man finds them troublesome when a wife wears them to bed.’ He held his arms out wide, his lips smiling about his white pirate’s teeth, proud of his nakedness. ‘This is what it’s about. A man and a woman alone. No maidenly blushes, no resistance, no fumbling with nightgowns.’
The colour deepened in Beatrice’s cheeks and she tried to quell the trepidation that had arisen. When she met his eyes the shock was sharp, for she suddenly realised the moment had arrived when she must pay her dues. Would he seek vengeance cruelly and cause her pain? How could she have cast herself into his grasp so recklessly? She made a move towards the door, but his hand shot out, his fingers fastened about her wrist.
‘Oh, no, my pet, there is no way out. Besides, you cannot leave the room undressed. You’ll likely set the servants all agog. It’s time for bed.’
‘But I’m not in the least tired.’
‘Good,’ he said, his whipcord arms coming slowly around her. ‘Neither am I,’ he murmured thickly against her throat.
The warmth of his body pressed full against the coolness of Beatrice’s own. The jolt of surprise she experienced had nothing to do with revulsion, but rather with the bold, manly feel of him. The alien hardness was a hot brand against her thighs. His face lowered. His mouth was scalding upon her breast and she was devoured in a searing, scorching flame that shot through her like a flaring rocket.
‘Oh, Julius,’ she panted in a whisper. ‘Please—don’t…’ She could not draw breath. ‘Please—stop…’
Leaning down, he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, promising himself every step of the way that their loving would be so perfect for her that she would never fear it again.
His strength was unexpected. He carried her easily, turning her and taking her down with him. His lips caressed her neck and ventured downwards until they were warm and moist upon her breast, rousing her to a heat she had not thought possible. She told herself she should resist what he was doing, that she didn’t want this, but she knew it would be useless, for she was no match against the power of his arms and shoulders, imbued with even greater strength by his charged emotional state.
The body that Julius’s own so fiercely desired lay beneath him and his uncontrollable hunger for her took command. He managed to free one hand and cup her breast. Her hair was spread out on the sheets, adding to her wild beauty. Her lips responded to his. While he held her firm so that their bodies were touching, his experienced mouth parted hers and flirted with her lips, her tongue, his hands caressing her body, her breasts, circling the rosy crests with his thumb until they stood proud and firm. Beatrice shivered with delight and clung to him—but suddenly, feeling her modesty about to be invaded when his hand slid boldly up the inside of her thigh, her wakened senses alarmed, she gasped and began to pull away as if she had been scorched.
‘Please—stop it. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do it.’
Blindly, the tears sprang from her eyes. His hard thighs were between her own, bringing his virile organ inexorably closer to the gateway of his desire.
Julius immediately knew how apprehensive she was and, although she resisted, he held her hips against his. Such was his desire, he was tempted to mount her and seek his release, but he fought it, determined to take her slowly, to cause her as little pain as possible.
‘No,’ he said gently as she tried to wriggle from beneath him. ‘Don�
�t pull away and I’ll do my best not to hurt you.’
But he did hurt her when his manhood, swollen and hard, touched her in brief dalliance, then pressed into the delicate softness of her. A quicksilver pain shot through her and Beatrice bit her lips to keep from crying out, hiding her face against the base of his throat. Her nails dug into the soft flesh of his back, but he seemed not to notice as his mouth touched her ear and with utmost care he began to move.
For a while the pain was fierce, but like the most violent of storms this passed, all the more quickly for its furious nature, and afterwards, as she lay against her husband, she could not understand why her breasts and her belly quivered in hot anticipation for the moment when he would reach for her again.
Their second union was so very different. Even as she tried to turn from him, Beatrice felt the betraying moisture from her loins and she could resist no longer. This time there was no pain. It was forgotten in the heat of motion and the sensation of Julius filling her, thrusting, touching all of her. Surprised, she felt herself respond to him and swell against him in pulsating waves of pleasure as he brought her body to life. And then bliss as a wonderful aura burst around them. Deep inside the sensations started to build and expand through her as his life-giving seed erupted and spilled into her, warming her, combining their minds and souls in physical release and the act of love.
She knew then what it was to be a woman, the hard, powerful body of a man pressed against her, his manhood still swollen and warm, still moving, but gently now. The pulsating contractions continued to build until the heat slowly subsided and left her body quivering with the after-effects. The parting of their bodies was jarring, like a bereavement from which she could not imagine recovery. Unbidden tears came to her eyes and she turned away, burying her face in the pillow, weeping silently so he would not see. How could she explain to him how she felt? Everything was changed now. Nothing was the same—she wasn’t the same. She wanted nothing more than to revel in this new discovery of herself and the fullness of the moment. Wanted desperately…what? What did she want? If only she could understand what had happened to her. What had she done? What had he done to her? Suddenly she knew a feeling of loneliness, for she had found such pleasure—a pagan pleasure in his arms—and something else, something dangerous to her, a feeling that shouldn’t exist, but it did. For what she wanted more than anything else at that moment was for him to speak her name in that tender tone—and to say I love you.
No matter how hard she tried to conceal her tears, Julius heard her muffled sobs. As if her need to hear him speak communicated itself to him, he spoke, but not with the tone or the words her heart yearned for. He spoke quietly and without emotion.
‘I apologise if I hurt you. I tried very hard not to. It would have hurt no matter who took you the first time.’
She shook her head and drew an unsteady breath. ‘No, you didn’t hurt me.’ Misery engulfed her. The words he uttered were a long way from saying I love you, which was what she wanted him to say. At that moment she sorely wished he would go away, for his presence wreaked havoc on the serenity she so desperately sought.
Julius reached out his hand to draw her back into his arms, but when he heard her say, ‘I would like to sleep now’, he hesitated, then withdrew it, sensing she wished to be left alone, yet reluctant to do so. He wanted to test her honesty and ask her again, for her to reassure him that he hadn’t hurt her, but he did not want her to tell him that she hadn’t felt all the things he had when he’d taken her. He lay still, listening as her breathing slowed and she drifted into a deep sleep.
Hearing some imperceptible movement coming from his own chambers, he was wide awake at once. In one fluid, easy motion he got out of bed. The sight of the rumpled sheets so like a battleground brought back the sensuous memories of their lovemaking. All the emotions, the crashing waves of a tortured sea, surged and eddied in his mind. His gaze lingered on his wife a moment, thinking she was asleep. He felt a great wave of surprising tenderness wash over him. How vulnerable and utterly lovely she looked—how incredibly beautiful she was with her hair spilling over the pillows and gleaming in the pale dawn light.
He had done his level best to hurt her as little as possible. He was tempted to lean over and lay a hand on her naked shoulder before thinking better. Remembering her tears, he backed away from the bed, telling himself she would not miss him and would be simply relieved that he had spared her the unwanted task of another nocturnal pursuit.
In his own room Julius heard a controlled knock on the door. Opening it, he was presented with a footman holding a small silver tray with a letter on it.
‘A message has arrived for you, sir. The courier said it was urgent, otherwise I would have waited until morning to give it to you.’
‘Here, I will take it.’ Julius tore open the letter and read it quickly. The news was bad. Cursing silently, he strode to the door to issue orders to have his valet wakened to pack his bags.
Feeling the man beside her stir, through half-closed eyes feigning sleep, Beatrice heard the bed creak as Julius moved away from her and returned to his own chambers. She opened her mouth to call him back, but the thought that he might not want to strangled the words in her throat.
Drawing the sheet over her nakedness, she rolled on to her back. The movement caused her some annoyance, for in certain parts of her body she was sore and bruised, yet at the same time that small electrifying pulse, which surged just at that part of her that ached the most, flared in the most amazing way.
Immersed in her reflections, feeling languid yet clear headed, she stared up at the canopy. What Julius had done to her had left her bemused and possessed by him. She had not expected her body to respond to his in such an overwhelming way. He had done things to her that should have disgusted her; instead she had clung to him, encouraged him, even, her treacherous body glorying in it, the evidence being the red-black smears of her blood on the sheets—a sign of his entry—his gain, and her loss.
Chapter Seven
Beatrice was unable to quell the anxiety she felt as she left her room after breakfasting in bed. She did not relish the idea of confronting Julius again right now, when her emotions were still so raw and all over the place. But that was not to be. He was in the morning room waiting for her. He was dressed immaculately, fastidiously even, the cut of his expensive jacket setting off the powerful width of his shoulders, his legs smooth and shapely in the well-tailored perfection of his dove-grey breeches. His dark hair was smoothly brushed, his handsome face drawn.
This man she had married was compelling, resolute and complex, for would she ever know what he was thinking unless he told her? He was also arrogant and proud, and she believed he would fight for what he wanted, for what he believed in, and she had no doubt that he believed that he could master her, subjugate her, turn her into the wife he wanted.
With what she incorrectly imagined was his supreme indifference to her, he lounged against the fireplace, his hands in his pockets, his face carefully blank, his eyes directed away from her, as if he couldn’t be bothered to look at her face.
Beatrice stared at him, her mind screaming for him to look at her. Her heart beat agonisingly with yearning, despairingly. She could not help but admire the fine shape of him, how she had come to know and like the male beauty of his naked body which overwhelmed her. She liked the hardness, the darkness of him, the width of his shoulders, the narrow grace of his hips, his flat, taut stomach, the long shapeliness of his legs. Yes, she loved all this—though it also disturbed her that she should want to see him like that again. She wanted to feel his arms about her body, his lips on hers, kissing her the way a man does when he loves a woman. But Julius had been unable to wait to leave their bed. In short, he didn’t love her. He never would and she must accept that and learn to live with it, no matter how hard that would be.
Closing the door, she moved to stand in the centre of the room with more confidence than she was feeling. ‘Good morning, Julius,’ she said stiffly.
He glanced at her and nodded. ‘Good morning, Beatrice.’ His voice was clipped. ‘I trust you slept well after I left.’
‘Yes—perfectly,’ she replied, thinking this man bore no resemblance to the one who had made love to her with such passion. This man was a stranger to her, a cold, forbidding man who looked at her with cold blatant uninterest. How could he be so nonchalant after the night they had spent together? At that moment all she could remember was her husband making love to her in a thousand tiny ways. Now his detached tone caught her off guard; his expression was as if he were studying an interesting document instead of his own wife.
Julius straightened and, with his hands behind his back, turned and strolled to the window, where he stood looking out. ‘I have to go away for a while.’
Beatrice stared at him in surprise. She hadn’t known what to expect when she had entered the room, but it certainly wasn’t this. Had she been such a disappointment to him, then? She felt her cheeks burn. He might as well have torn her heart out, but even worse, he dashed all her hopes, her romantic dreams.
‘Oh? Am I allowed to ask where you are going?’
‘Portsmouth. I received a message earlier. It appears that two of my vessels returning from India were badly damaged in a storm coming through the Bay of Biscay. One of the vessels is missing. Several of the crew on the surviving vessel lost their lives and there has been considerable damage to the cargo.’
‘I see—and—you have to go yourself?’
‘I have agents capable of assessing the damage, but I would like to see it for myself. There’s a loyal crew and thousands of pounds worth of cargo on the missing vessel, so it is imperative that I locate it.’
‘And do you expect to be gone long?’ she enquired, staring at his stiff back.
‘No longer than necessary—two weeks at the most. Meanwhile you are to remain here—where Lady Merrick can keep an eye on you.’
Beauty in Breeches Page 14