by Jenna Jaxon
Juliet smiled. Such enthusiasm. “To hear you talk, one would think meeting him across swords is the sole joy you share.”
“At one time that was true. Before we sailed for Italy.” Katarina glanced at her expanding lap, then at Juliet. “Duncan never told you how we met, did he?”
Juliet shook her head. She had always suspected something odd about her brother’s marriage. It had been clapped up suddenly, but she’d never been given a reason. “I know you did not get along very well after the wedding. I thought at the time you did not like him very much.”
“I despised him, Juliet. With every inch of my soul.”
She caught her breath at the vehemence in her sister-in-law’s voice.
Katarina put her cup down and rubbed her stomach vigorously. “He is becoming more active now.” She smiled at her rounded belly. “I cannot wait for him to arrive, Juliet. It seems too long to endure.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “March. It will be very amusing if he is born on the same day I…”
She stopped herself, shot a curious look at her sister-in-law then took her hand. “Your marriage is not the only one to endure uncertainty and strife, my dear. In March of this year a gang of ruffians kidnapped me and sold me at auction in Madam Vestry’s brothel.”
Juliet’s heart skipped a beat and she gripped Kat’s hands. Sold in a brothel. Her head reeled and she put a hand on the tea table to steady herself. She must have been…“Oh, Kat. Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry. How terrifying for you. Just after you arrived…” Oh, God. She took a breath, steeling herself. “Katarina, does Duncan know?”
Her sister-in-law stared unblinking into her eyes. “He bought me.”
Her breath blew out with a whoosh, as though she’d received a blow to her stomach. The room turned gray. She slumped back on the sofa. How could her brother have done something so dishonorable? He’d always been the most gentle, most honorable man she had known. She gazed at Katarina, shaking her head, desperate to deny her words.
“He thought me a whore.” Kat shrugged and sipped her tea. “I tried to persuade him of my true identity, but he didn’t believe me. To prevent him from ravishing me, I clawed his face and got away.”
“So that is how his face got scarred. He called it a ‘badge of courage and honor.’ I had no idea.” Juliet shook her head. She simply could not believe it.
“Yes, well. He found out I was in fact the sister of the Earl of Manning and asked me to marry him and I refused. Loudly.” Kat’s face lit up at the memory. “Of course, it did no good. He is as persistent as you, if not worse. In the end, I dueled with him to keep him from killing Jack. I lost, so I agreed to marry him.”
“Amiable said you were going to marry him.”
“I had planned to do just that before I learned of Duncan’s tenacious nature.” She gave Juliet a speaking look. “I’d already boarded a ship bound for Virginia and he purchased the damn thing to keep me from leaving.”
Perhaps he was worse than she. Surely he couldn’t have concocted such a subterfuge just to prevent Kat from leaving. Of course, she’d had no compunctions against sending Glynis away in order to secure Amiable. She sank back in her chair. It did run in the family.
Katarina chuckled and shook her head. “I might have been fonder of Duncan after that duel, except I was made to believe he wanted me for the sole purpose of producing an heir. He’d almost seduced me with kindness and sweet words the night I met him. So I knew he couldn’t be trusted. Of course, his reputation did nothing to recommend him. However, every day after we married he became more caring, more attentive, more wonderful. When we sailed to Italy and I got so ill, he convinced me he’d do anything for me.”
“How?”
“He stopped the ship for me.”
Shocked once more, Juliet stared in mute amazement. She’d never known her brother to act so rashly. “He did what? But how?”
“Held a pistol to the captain’s chest and demanded he stop the ship.” Kat grinned and patted her hand. “I fell in love with him the moment he told me. Life has only gotten better and better ever since. So don’t despair,” she said, hugging Juliet. “This proxy marriage will be proved false, or you will have it annulled, and you and Amiable will have your happy ending despite it all. If Duncan and I could find happiness, I will swear an oath anyone can.”
Oh, if only that were true. She gripped Kat’s arms and tears sprang into her eyes although she’d had no intention of crying. Such a relief to let the fears and frustrations out, though. Particularly with someone who had also faced uncertainties and adversities. “I am sorry to be so weepy. We have been under such a cloud and the little happiness we have is all illusion. It could vanish with one word from Mr. Grimes.”
“It will not vanish.” Kat drew her closer and put her arms around her. “Amiable would never let you go now. Trust him and Duncan to get this all sorted out.”
Her sister-in-law sat up straighter and pursed her lips. “Now you must excuse me, my dear. I find I must use the necessary much more often these days. Do you not?”
Juliet nodded and rolled her eyes.
Kat’s hand shot to her belly and she winced at an apparent kick. “I can’t wait until he’s born, Juliet. For many reasons.” They laughed together as she left the morning room.
More settled in her mind than she had been in many days, she helped herself to another cup of tea. She didn’t care much either way whether her own child would be a boy or a girl. Of course, Amiable would want a boy, an heir to follow him, but he would cherish either son or daughter. The door opened as she set her cup on the side table.
“I don’t know which I want to have, Kat, boy or girl. Either would be lovely, don’t you know?”
“If he or she looks like their mother, then I will agree with you absolutement, mon chére.”
The oily voice shot a jolt of fear through Juliet. She jerked away from the sound and banged her hand against the cup she had just set down, sending it crashing to the floor. With unholy dread, she made herself look at the intruder.
A quick, cruel smile flashed in his handsome face, revealing predatory teeth. From the doorway, St. Cyr glanced at the remains of the teacup. “Shall I call someone to clean that up, chérie?”
* * * *
Amiable had ridden long and hard, embracing the brisk morning in Hyde Park. He cantered easily down the wide sandy lane. Few horses and no carriages stirred this early in the day. He reveled in the solitude and bracing air. Once Juliet had recovered from the birth, he would enjoy riding with her at his side here. Or at Cheswyck. Perhaps they would remove there before the child’s birth. Pray God they get this matter settled soon.
As he came into the southern stretch of the Row, he noticed two horsemen in the distance, stopped and apparently deep in conversation. When he trotted a bit closer, he recognized his brother-in-law, although not his companion. Urging Vociferous into a gallop, he closed the distance to the men quickly.
“Here’s my brother-in-law now, Tris,” Dalbury said as Amiable pulled his horse up. “At least the one I claim. Lord Trevor, I make known Mr. Amiable Morley.”
He nodded to the pleasant young man atop a powerful bay hunter then cut his eyes toward Dalbury. “I didn’t know you were riding this morning.”
“Weather’s too good to stay inside, wouldn’t you say?”
“Indeed. Though it seems few have had the same thought.”
Trevor eyed him, a pensive frown on his face. “I say, were you related to Pax Morley by any chance?”
“My elder brother.”
“Ah, you are the prodigal.” Trevor lifted his chin. He gathered his reins to one side. “Army, wasn’t it? In the colonies?”
“Yes, until I received word in April. You knew my brother?” His chest grew tight, though he fought not to show his distress. He had pushed all thoughts of Pax out of his mind, but the memories still simmered.
“Quite well, in fact. My condolences, Morley. Devilishly sorry. Great fellow, Pax. On
e of my older sisters was mad for him for a time until her current husband leaped in and offered for her. Must have been almost ten years ago. I was just a lad, but I remember him well. Awful shame.” Lord Trevor’s boyish face held a twinge of adoration. That had always been the way of it with Pax. Everyone had loved him and with reason.
“Want to come back to lunch, Tris?” Dalbury asked. “It’s early, but you may make your bow to the ladies and entertain them for a bit. They will want to hear about your prospective bride.”
“Congratulations are in order then, Lord Trevor?” Amiable broke out into a smile.
“Yes. I have just offered for Miss Dora Harper, Lord Downing’s youngest daughter. It will be announced in a day or two.”
Despite the enthusiasm in his voice, Trevor shifted on his horse, gripped the reins tighter than necessary, and looked away. Odd. But as he had none of the circumstances, he could not pass a judgment. What betrothal did not have some sort of strain attached to it?
“Thanks, Duncan. I believe I will renew my acquaintance with both lovely ladies. Has your wife not managed to skewer you yet?” Trevor laughed as all three started their horses toward the south entrance to the park.
They had almost gained the southern gate when Amiable spied a rider galloping toward them at breakneck speed. That fool would kill himself if he…
The blue and gold livery of Dalbury’s household glinted in the sunshine as the man drew closer.
Amiable’s heart leapt into his throat and he spurred his horse toward him, leaving Dalbury and Trevor in the dust.
He met the groom—Fenton—at a dead run. A miracle their horses didn’t collide. Amiable pulled Vociferous up so suddenly the huge animal reared and pawed the air.
“What is it, man?” he shouted to the panicked groom.
“Lord St. Cyr—”
He didn’t wait for the rest of the sentence. A quick squeeze of the knees set the stallion off at a gallop, due north across the park, regardless of rules or decorum. He simply prayed he would be in time.
Chapter 28
“Philippe. How did you get in here?” Juliet shrank back against the sofa, fear running coldly through her veins.
“I merely told the footman I had been summoned by you, petite.” He leaned against the doorjamb, his evil smile broadening. “Quite accommodating, your English servants.”
This could not be happening.
He pushed the door shut, the latch clicking into place with a sickening finality. As he sauntered into the room, the air seemed to thicken with his presence. The warm, cheerful chamber turned cold, as though she sat in an icehouse. The walls seemed to shrink as he strutted toward her, the heels of his black boots tapping loudly on the polished floor. Each beat sounded like ticks of a clock until he stood before her.
She had run out of time. No hope of escaping him, especially as she’d become clumsier with the child. “Why are you here, Philippe?”
“Why should I not call on my wife, ma chère? We have things to discuss, Juliet.” He crossed his arms, his eyes large and soulful. And false. “I cannot be pleased you resist our marriage. That you flaunt your lover before me and carry his child instead of mine.” His eyes gleamed. “However, I cannot wait until I am the proud papa of nos enfants.”
“You will wait an eternity, Philippe.” She scowled, trying to convince him of her courage. “I am not married to you and I will never have your children. I am Amiable’s wife, no matter what you want or say. I am his.”
He waved away her protests and sprawled on the sofa beside her.
She scooted as far as she could but ended up crouched on the edge. Nowhere to go. She started to get to her feet.
He seized her wrist in a brutal hold. “As I said, mon petite amour, we have much to discuss. Do not try to leave me again.” Steeling his grip, he jerked her back onto the sofa and leaned toward her, pure menace from his black eyes to his hawkish nose to his predatory teeth. He ran an icy finger down her face in a travesty of a caress. “I suggest you take care not to anger me.”
“Why are you doing this, Philippe?” She strained in vain to hear sounds of Kat’s return. Should she shout for Grayson? That would anger Philippe even more. No telling what he might do. She must not let him take her from the house. At any cost.
“You are married to me and one day soon the law will allow me to claim you as my wife. At that time you would not want me to remember any unkindness you had done me, would you, pauvre petite?” His scent, part perfume, part excitement, echoed vividly the night in the Ambassador’s rooms.
“But a short time ago you burned for me, mon amour,” he whispered. “I can make you burn again. I can make you forget everything but the passion we shared once you are in my arms.” He moved closer, easing his arm around her shoulders.
She could not conceive of a time she had thought she loved him. She shifted on the narrow sofa but had to sit still or land on the floor among the sharp shards of the shattered teacup.
He cradled her face. “My beautiful Juliet. Shall I remind you, petite, how it was between us?” He leaned toward her and she braced herself as his lips brushed hers.
She jerked her head backward, clamping her mouth closed.
He chuckled, urged her head back toward him, and opened his mouth to claim her again as his.
She squealed, a muted cry no one would hear. She couldn’t even open her lips to scream. He’d construe such an action as an invitation to ravage her mouth. Instead, she twisted her face away from his and tried to push him away.
Neither ploy worked.
He held her face immobile, a mere hairbreadth away from his. With his powerful body pressed into hers, any attempt to shove him away became futile. His ragged breathing rasped loudly in her ear and she braced herself for the horror of his mouth on her again.
The quiet click of a pistol being cocked penetrated her terrified mind.
Philippe froze and in the momentary distraction, she wrenched her head away from him toward the center of the room.
Amiable stood, arm outstretched, with the barrel of the flintlock pistol pointed at Philippe’s head. Her husband’s eyes focused on the target, a snarl on his lips.
“I suggest, St. Cyr, that you release my wife this instant. I have shot men this close before, and the effect is quite spectacular.” He took a step forward, the gun inches from the man’s face. “Release her. Now. I promise I will not hesitate to kill you. Would you like to try me?”
Small drops of sweat appeared on Philippe’s brow and his skin gave off a sharp, metallic smell. His evil smile turned into a grimace. Finger by finger he released his grip, keeping his eyes trained on Amiable and his pistol.
She snatched her wrist away, bolted up off the sofa, and ran to her husband.
Amiable put his arm around her and drew her to his side. “Now get out of this house. Before I decide to splatter your blood all over my brother-in-law’s carpet.” He motioned him toward the door.
St. Cyr rose to his feet, his eyes flitting from pistol to Juliet. He shrugged and crossed to the door. Poised on the threshold, he turned back, his glittering, cold eyes singling out Juliet. “I will not forget this morning, ma petite. When we are finally alone again, I will make sure you remember it also.”
The memory of being bound to the wall sconce, her handkerchief stuffed in her mouth during their encounter in the French Ambassador’s guest room leapt to mind. She whimpered and her legs went weak.
Amiable aimed the pistol at St. Cyr’s forehead. “Out.”
A parting sneer from the Frenchman and he whirled out of the room.
* * * *
Amiable lowered the flintlock and just managed to catch Juliet as she slumped against him.
“Damn it. Grayson!”
The butler appeared instantly.
“Take this.” He thrust the pistol at the startled man.
Grayson took it gingerly by the grip and pointed it downward. Frowning, he turned around in a c
ircle, looking about the room.
Amiable gathered his unconscious wife to his chest and lifted her body, limp as a rag doll. “Grayson, put that down on the desk before you drop it and shoot yourself.” He hurried from the room, taking the steps of the marble staircase two at a time.
When he arrived on the second floor, he turned to the right, calling for Glynis. He reached the end of the hallway and grasped the knob on the door to the right, only to have it snatched out of his grasp and jerked open. He almost dropped Juliet at the feet of a startled upstairs maid who let out a squawk.
The girl’s eyes widened and the bucket of ashes she carried fell to the floor. “Oh, Lady Juliet. Sir, what’s happened to her?”
Amiable brushed past her, bent on reaching the bed.
“I just finished her ladyship’s room, sir.” She cast a glance at Juliet and motioned him to the bed. She wrung her hands as Amiable laid Juliet on the rose satin cover. “Can I fetch something for you?”
“Get Glynis. Send for Pritchett.”
She scurried out of the room, calling for a footman.
He sat on the bed, chaffing Juliet’s cold hands, searching for some signs of life. She lay still, unnaturally pale for his usually blooming wife. Could the shock of the altercation downstairs somehow have killed her? Life would cease to have meaning if anything happened to her.
Someone knocked softly. “May we come in, Amiable?” Kat called through the half-open door.
“Come.” Amiable barked as he felt Juliet’s forehead. Too cold and clammy.
Katarina hurried to the bedside. “How is she?”
Amiable shook his head. “I don’t know.” He shot a look toward Dalbury, his face drawn and grim, and Lord Trevor, who had apparently followed them to the house. “I’ve sent for Pritchett. Where the devil is Glynis?”
“Be easy, Amiable.” Katarina peered at her sister-in-law’s white face, then made straight for the dressing table. She returned with a small vial, snapped the lid open, and waved the bottle under Juliet’s nose.
Gasping, Juliet sat up and looked around, blinking at the unexpected crowd. Her gaze settled on his face.