“If there is anything you would like — a glass of water or a cup of tea — you have only to pull the bell rope.”
She nodded. “I — I’m glad you came in. There is something we must discuss.”
“By all means,” he replied.
She glanced at him through her lashes, wishing he were not quite so close. “Are you familiar with these rooms your aunt has given us? If so, you must be aware that the suite contains only a single bedchamber. If we put our heads together, surely we can find some pretext for requesting separate sleeping accommodations.”
“We might,” he agreed, “if there was a reason for putting ourselves to the trouble.”
“You must know there is. No matter what we pretend to your aunt and uncle, ours is not a love match. Why must we continue the farce even into our private moments?”
“Because the private moments, as you style them, are some of the most enjoyable in marriage, with or without the sentimental affection most women call love. No, my girl. You’ll not be rid of me so easily.”
“I don’t understand you,” she said, frowning as she stared at him. “You yourself suggested that ours would not be a true marriage.”
“Did I?” he murmured. “Foolish of me — if I ever said it. Are you quite certain you took my meaning, or did you take only what you wanted to believe?”
“Are you saying that you always intended to — to—”
“To consummate our marriage. Yes, I will plead guilty to that.”
“But you don’t even like me,” she protested.
“Not so. In any case, what does it matter? Liking is a feeble reaction to a woman compared to others a man may feel.”
“I must say I have seen little sign of these strong emotions you hint at,” she said, looking away across the room to where a Queen Anne wardrobe took up a major part of the far wall.
“Have you not?” he queried so softly that she was reminded against her will of that afternoon on the deck of his ship when he had claimed her as his fiancée, sweeping her into his arms before all his men.
“I had the distinct impression,” he went on, “that my advances would not be welcome. If this discussion is in the nature of a complaint on that score, I will do my best to make amends.” He moved closer, leaning to rest his weight on his hands on either side of her body.
Staring up into his eyes bright with laughter, she thought she saw a hint of mischief in their depths. It was galling that he found her attempt to alter the situation amusing, but she could not prevent her startled reaction as he came nearer. “No!” she said sharply. “I meant nothing of the kind.”
“You are quite certain?” he asked, shifting his weight in order to take up a strand of her honey-gold hair, placing it so that it curled across her breast where the sheet had slipped lower.
As his finger brushed the soft exposed curve, every nerve in her body contracted. Without conscious thought, she brought her hands up and pushed with all her might against his chest. He rocked backward, but even as he fell, his strong hands caught her forearms, pulling her with him. The generous width of the mattress cushioned their fall. For an instant, she lay flushed and furious against his chest, and then before she could catch her breath, she was heaved up and over onto her back.
Tangled in the bedclothes with his weight pressing down upon her, she could not move. She opened her lips, and his mouth, warm and vibrant, came down on hers, smothering the cry she had been about to make in her throat. It was an invasion of her senses more probing than she had ever known. Her heart pounded with a primitive mixture of rage and fear and helplessness. She could feel the rasp of his beard on her chin, the press of the buttons and braid of his coat into her side. Urgency mounted to her brain with the shattering force of panic. A tremor passed over her body, and then she began to tremble as with an ague. Tears rose behind her eyelids and squeezed from the corners of her eyes into her hair. She had not meant to cry; it was a weakness she deplored. But, in her mind’s eye, she could feel the marauding hands of Marcel upon her in drunken lust once more.
Abruptly, Rud raised his head. When she opened her eyes, he was staring down at her. The laughter had fled from his expression, leaving it dark and still as he studied her bruised and tear-stained face. With a soft imprecation, he levered himself up and pushed off the bed. Turning his back to her, he adjusted his coat and ran his hand back over his hair. He stood for a moment with his fingers gripping his neck, then moved to the door.
With his hand on the knob, he turned back. “I would advise you not to trouble my aunt with our sleeping arrangements,” he said. “From now on, your place is with me.”
When the door had closed behind him, Julia sat up. She wiped her eyes on the corner of the sheet, taking a deep, trembling breath, then sat with the material clutched between her fists. Arrogant, insufferable man. She hated him, she told herself. He was so sure of himself, so certain of what was best for her. If he expected compliant gratitude for what he was doing for her, he was going to be sorely disappointed. She suspected that he had taken advantage of her mental malaise following Marcel’s attack. She was not by nature a vindictive person, but if she were ever able to prove her suspicions, one Captain Rudyard Thorpe would live to regret what he had done. It did not matter that she had no means of living otherwise. If she had wanted to trade her favors for financial advantage, she could have been wed any number of times these past five years. She had not taken that degrading course and she did not propose to do so now.
With the effects of her agitation still coursing through her veins, it was impossible to compose herself for sleep once more. In a defiant mood, she slid out of bed and gave the bell pull a hard tug. By the time she had searched her dressing gown out of the wardrobe, a neat, trim maid was tapping on her door.
Julia greeted the girl with a pleasant smile. “I would like a fire, if you please, and then a bath.”
“Yes, mum,” the girl replied as if carrying water up the servants’ stairs for a bath was a regular afternoon occurrence. “Will that be all, mum?”
“A little extra hot water would not come amiss. I would like to wash the seawater from my hair.”
“Certainly, mum,” the maid answered, and went away to do her bidding.
Until she stepped into the hot, steaming tub, Julia had not realized quite how caked with salt she had felt. The only fresh water on the ship had been reserved for drinking. The passengers had been forced to perform their ablutions in seawater or go unwashed. She sighed, reaching for the cake of soap scented with attar of roses as she sank lower into the copper tub.
Taking advantage of her wakefulness, the maid whisked in and out of the room, returning freshly laundered clothing and taking the lavender muslin that Julia indicated she would wear downstairs to dinner away to be pressed. From behind the bath screen set to protect her from the drafts and reflect the heat of the fire, Julia could hear her moving about the room. When she called out that she would be back in a few minutes to pour the rinse water for Julia’s hair, Julia gave a languorous assent.
It was the cooling temperature of the silken water which spurred her into action. Closing her eyes tightly, she ducked her head to dampen her hair, then worked rose-scented lather through her long, honey-colored tresses. Rinsing it by submerging, she soaped her hair a second time. At the sound of the door opening and closing, she called out to the maid, “I’m ready for the final rinse.”
The girl did not reply, but footsteps drew nearer. There was a metallic clank as the can of water left ready nearby was taken up. The water cascaded over Julia’s head in a perfect, steady stream which enabled her to free her hair of the last vestige of lather before the can was empty. Blindly, she reached for a towel to dry her face, and it was placed into her hand. She opened her eyes, smiling a little as she turned with a ready compliment for the maid, reaching to blot the water from her hair.
Abruptly, her smile died. It was Rud who stood with the can balanced on the edge of the tub and one hand resting on his hip. Sh
e brought her arms down, crisscrossing them over her breasts. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded.
“I noticed all the coming and going, and decided to see the cause of the commotion. Seeing it, I stayed for the view—”
“You—” She stopped, unable to find the words to express her outrage. A flush burned its way upward to lie crimson across her cheeks. “Get out,” she whispered, then cried louder, “Get out!”
The maid, choosing that moment to enter once more, turned smartly and went out the door again, closing it behind her.
“Temper,” Rud said with a shake of his head. “Mustn’t yell at the servants.”
“I wasn’t yelling at the servants,” she said, through her teeth.
“I’m glad you realize it at last,” he answered. “You won’t be surprised if I don’t follow orders too well.”
Setting down the water can, he turned his attention to the folding screen. “I’ll just move this out of your way,” he murmured politely. Closing it, he set it back into the dressing room whence it had come. That done, he strolled back into the bedchamber and took a seat on the velvet-covered slipper chair, stretching his long legs before him.
Without the protection of the screen, the chill air of the room wafted about Julia’s wet shoulders. She shivered a little as cold water from her hair trickled down her bare back. “I would like to get out of the tub — if you would step outside the room. Please,” she added as a closed look came down upon his face.
He stared at her, his eyes on the pearl sheen of her skin as the firelight played over her shoulders and struck highlights across the curves of her breasts. His throat moved as he swallowed. “It pleases me to stay exactly where I am.”
Tension seemed to vibrate in the air between them. Julia clenched her teeth, holding onto her anger like a shield. “I cannot get out with you in the room.”
“Have you forgotten? I am your husband.”
“How can I forget?” she asked, bitterly aware of the water fast growing cold around her.
“I will admit that it seems difficult to me under the circumstances. Could it be that is the problem?” he mused. “Perhaps, you have some blemish you would like to hide from me, bowlegs or six toes on each foot!”
She flashed him a fulminating glance. “I have no blemishes,” she informed him without the least inclination to prove it.
“No, I thought not, from what I could see last night.” He gave a slight shrug. “Of course, the light was not the best.”
“Last night?” she said warily, her eyes wide as she stared at him.
“When I put you to bed,” he explained in a matter-of-fact tone that was belied by the intent look in his eyes as he studied her face. “Could it be,” he went on before she could open her lips to speak, “that I am being dense? Could it be that you are waiting for me to offer my assistance in removing you from your bath? Such gallantries are beyond the knowledge of a mere sea captain. I am afraid you will have to prompt me if I fail to move quickly enough in these matters.”
As he gathered his feet under him and started toward the tub, Julia’s eyes widened with alarm. “No,” she said, holding out a hand as if to ward him off. “I was waiting for no such thing. I — I can get out myself.”
Her words had no effect. He continued to advance. Julia scrambled to her feet, sending water splashing over the rim of the tub. The linen hand towel she held was woefully inadequate for the task she expected of it; still, she did her best to pull it about her. Her gaze on Rud, she stepped back, making ready to leave the tub on the side opposite her husband, hoping to place its width between them. She had forgotten the cake of soap. As the sole of her foot came in contact with it, she slipped. Flinging her arm out for balance, she dropped the towel. Her cry of despair was cut off as Rud sprang forward, one hard, sinewy arm catching her about the rib cage. An instant later, she felt his other arm beneath her knees as she was lifted, wet and dripping, against his chest.
For long moments, she kept her lashes lowered while the heat of a furious blush suffused her. Her embarrassment was so acute she could not move. She felt clumsy and bedraggled with her wet hair coiling snakelike about her shoulders. If she could have caused herself to vanish, she would have done so instantly.
At last, she raised her eyes to a point where she could see the damp stain on his chest. “You are getting wet,” she said in a low voice, touching her fingers to his jacket as if to be certain of the actuality of her statement.
“So, I am.” There was a peculiar tightness in his tone that was not caused by the effort of supporting her weight.
“You can put me down.”
“I wonder.”
The muscles of his arms were corded like steel. She could feel the hard, steady beat of his heart. His breathing was deep, not quite even.
Almost against her will, she lifted her gaze higher to where a pulse throbbed in the strong column of his neck. The muscles of his jaws were ridged. From behind the screen of his lashes, his eyes burned fiercely blue. As they raked over her, an uncontrollable ripple of gooseflesh moved in their wake. Despite the warmth of his body where she lay against him, Julia felt chilled. Her eyes grew enormous, deepening to amber pools, and her nerves stretched, teetering on a scream.
Soft and warm, his breath drifted over her as he let out the pent-up air in his lungs. He set her feet on the floor, reached for a Turkish bath sheet which lay warming near the fire, and wrapped it around her. His hands moved over her, brisk and hard, bringing, a welcome rush of warmth to her cold flesh. An instant before such a ministration became unbearable, he drew back. Stepping to the bell pull, he gave it a yank.
It was plain that the maid had been waiting outside in the hall from the promptness with which she answered the summons. There was a passive look on her plain face, and over her arm, she carried Julia’s muslin gown, freshly pressed.
Rud swung from the window at her entrance. He surveyed the gown with grim displeasure. “Madame will not be dressing for dinner,” he said. “Convey our regrets to my aunt and tell her that we require a meal — a high tea will do — to be served in our room. And, request a footman to come and take away this cold water and prepare a hot bath for me.”
The maid bobbed a series of curtsies in token of her understanding of this spate of orders. She was at the door when Rud called her back.
“Before you go, my wife needs her dressing gown.”
“Yes, sir.”
With deft hands, the maid searched out the required garment, divested Julia of her towel, and, standing as a screen, wrapped her in the garnet velvet dressing gown with its deep cuffed sleeves. As an afterthought, she handed Julia her silver-backed brush and comb.
When the girl had gone, Rud unbuttoned his jacket and stripped it off, flinging it at a chair. He began to slip the studs from his shirt, his gaze on Julia as she stood watching him.
“I would advise you to take advantage of the drying effects of the fire for your hair,” he said, dragging the tail of his shirt from his breeches. “Unless, of course, you would like to perch on the side of the tub while I take my bath? No? I was afraid you would not find that suggestion appealing!”
6
The window of the bedchamber allotted to the newly wedded couple looked out over a small park. The soft green of new leaves shone like jewels on the gray branches of the trees within the iron fence, while nearer the house was a single apple tree, white with blossom. Yellow daffodils nodded along the brick walks, their heads heavy with rain. A fine mist had begun to fall once more from the gray sky. It glistened on the tree trunks and speckled the puddles on the walks. The clouds seemed to press down upon the house, bringing an early twilight. There was an intimacy about the gathering dimness, the rain, and the warm room behind her that Julia found disquieting.
The footman who had brought the water for Rud’s bath had also brought a brace of lighted candles. As Julia stood at the window staring out, she discovered that the glass panes with the deepening dusk behind them formed a
mirror. In their reflective surface, she could see Rud, his long length folded into the tub, sluicing his arms and shoulders with the steaming hot water. There was a certain fascination in the way the muscles of his back rippled as he leaned forward, reaching for the face cloth. The broad expanse of his shoulders was sun-bronzed, as though he was used to going without a shirt in sunny climes or when he had no female aboard his ship. The red glow of the coals in the fireplace lent a copper sheen, giving him, with his dark hair growing low on the back of his neck, the look of a red Indian.
That impression was dispelled the instant he stood up. Below his waist, the skin was pale, leaving a sharp line of demarcation across his flat belly. Broad chest tapering into slim hips and muscled thighs, sculptured planes and hollows; for an instant, Julia was aware of the strength and symmetry of masculine beauty. Then, as Rud glanced in her direction, his eyes on her rigid back, she dragged her eyes away to concentrate on the lily pattern of the spiked iron fence below.
Nevertheless, she was conscious of Rud moving about behind her, of the casual, almost deliberate way he reached for a length of toweling to wrap about his waist, the way he ran his fingers back through his sleek, wet hair. It was an inexpressible relief when he tossed the towel aside and strode to the bed to don the dressing gown of snuff-colored velvet which had been laid out for him. By the time the heat had left her face and she had regained her composure, the high tea Rud had ordered had arrived.
They sat down to a small table between two chairs in front of the fire. The room had been tidied and all sign of their baths cleared away. The only reminder was in the damp carpet beneath their feet. The hot tea was delicious, and, after her light lunch, Julia found herself well able to do justice to the smoked ham, hot buttered scones, and dark fruitcake which accompanied it. The iron restraint Rud appeared to have imposed upon himself might also have had something to do with the revival of her appetite. Twice he had broken through her defenses, and twice he had drawn back. Should she credit him with the instincts of a gentleman, or was he intent on some deeper game? Glancing at him as he lounged across from her with his hair falling in a close-cropped curl onto his forehead and his dressing gown open to the waist, she could not guess.
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets) Page 11