Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

  Julia sent him a nervous glance from the corner of her eye before moving to the wardrobe. Opening its doors, she took her black nightgown from the shelf and shook it out, tossing it on the bed.

  Rud threw a quick look at the voluminous garment. Julia thought his brows drew closer together over the bridge of his nose, but he said nothing.

  More disturbed than she would have liked to admit, Julia untied her gold bee and set it aside, then took the pins from her hair. She tossed the loose waves behind her, reaching back toward the row of tiny buttons that closed her gown. Rud had fastened them for her earlier, before she went downstairs, but she was in no mood to ask for help now, especially with him in his present humor. At the thought of the maid who could have been waiting to assist her if Rud had not refused the offer, she gritted her teeth in exasperation. In silence, she struggled, her arms bent nearly double behind her back.

  Abruptly, Rud rounded the end of the bed. Before she could move, his hands were on her hair, gathering the silken mass and placing it out of the way over her shoulder. His fingers were warm and vibrant on her bare skin. Involuntarily, she flinched, taking a swift step away from him.

  His hands came down on her shoulders, wrenching her back into place. “Be still,” he growled, holding her until she ceased to resist.

  She stood with head bowed while his hands traveled slowly, almost caressingly, down the smooth length of her back to the low top of her underdress. Even through that thin fabric, she could feel his touch as he dropped lower, to the level of her waist and below it. In the French fashion, she wore nothing beneath the underdress. For the first time in her life, she was grateful that the underdress tied at the waist in front with tapes.

  “Thank you,” she said in a strangled voice when he was finished at last. Swinging away from him, she moved a short distance away before she slipped the sleeves of her gown down her arms. The bulk of the wardrobe was near. She held to its side as she lowered the gown still farther and stepped out of it. Her legs were trembling so that for an instant she overbalanced, nearly falling before she caught herself. Her hair sliding forward made a perfect screen for her features, and she refused to look in Rud’s direction.

  The black nightgown was in truth an ugly thing. Composed of yard upon yard of opaque lawn gathered to a high yoke, it had enormous billowing sleeves caught at the wrist by a narrow band, and a wide white collar turned down over the yoke like a limp medieval ruff. Embellished with ribbon and rose point lace, it still looked to have all the charm of a court jester’s costume.

  In the shop of Aunt Lucinda’s modiste, the nightgown had seemed to Julia a form of protective covering; now, it merely appeared ludicrous. She slipped it over her head, fighting to find the neck opening. Her head protruding like a turtle from its shell, she stepped out of her underdress and tossed it aside. Back straight, she moved toward the dressing room with the black folds billowing around her.

  At the dressing table, she stared at herself in the mirror, shifting her shoulders uncomfortably as the material bunched about her neck scratched her skin. For a long moment, she considered taking the fright of a gown off, bundling it up, and sending it back to the dressmaker.

  Then Rud spoke from the doorway. “What in the name of God is that thing?”

  “It’s the latest thing in night apparel,” she said, catching up a fold on either side between her fingers and pirouetting before him. The spirit of defiance lent a hard edge to her tone. “How do you like it?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why? I believe it is unexceptionable for someone in mourning.”

  “Possibly, for a fat burgher’s widow. It hardly suits a bridal bed, however.”

  “I fail to see how that matters, or what concern what I choose to wear is of yours.”

  “Do you?” he said, a distinctly unpleasant edge to his voice.

  Her head came up. “Yes, I do. In any case, it is what I have bought to sleep in and what I shall wear!”

  “Must I remind you that I will be called upon to pay for that monstrosity? I warn you, Julia, I do not intend to waste my money in that fashion.”

  “I don’t understand you,” she cried. “If you mean to choose what I can and cannot wear, you should have come shopping with me this morning.”

  “Perhaps, I should,” he countered, his voice rising. “My choice for you would have been the merest nothing, nothing at all. In the meantime, you will take off that nightgown.”

  “I won’t!” she said, spinning around, crossing her arms over her breasts as she pressed her lips tightly together. She gave her hair a toss, anger glittering in her eyes.

  “Oh, won’t you?” he queried softly, advancing with slow controlled strides. “Would you prefer that I took it off for you?”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “You think not?” Rud drawled.

  There was such menace in his voice that she hastily abandoned her defiant pose. Wariness entered her gold flecked eyes. “You — you can’t!” she said a little wildly. “Besides, what difference does it make?”

  “I can,” he said, “and the difference is, I refuse to share my bed with someone who looks like a pregnant nun.”

  The calculated insult stung her into action. With sudden speed, she darted to one side, ducking underneath the arm he flung out to stop her. Her bare feet were nimble. She dodged as he lunged for her, then swung through the door into the bedchamber.

  In the middle of the room, she paused. She could not go running out into the hall in her nightgown. What if she were seen? It did not matter. With Rud pounding after her, she could not stay!

  In an instant, she was at the door, twisting it open. She sped down the hallway toward the marble stairs that rose to the third floor. Up there were other bedrooms, closed, unused, where she might hide or even pass the night. As she neared the flight of wide steps, she yanked up her nightgown with her left hand, her right reaching out to grasp the banister so that she could pull herself upward. Her feet slapped on the cold, hard treads. Her breath rasped in her throat as she strained her eyes in the darkness to see where she was going.

  Despite the lifted hem, the excess fullness of the nightgown flapped and twisted about her feet, dragging over the stairs. Once, twice, she stepped on it and recovered. And then, she stumbled, her feet entangled in the treacherous lawn. There was a rending sound as her knee went through the fragile cloth. Tearing at the gown, searching for purchase, she looked over her shoulder.

  Rud was on the stairs behind her, taking them three at a time. At the sight of his dark form bounding toward her, her heart leaped in her breast. Careless of damage, she surged to her feet, making a half dozen more steps before the trailing material tripped her again. She fell headlong, a small scream of fury and despair and pain forcing its way past her lips as her ribs struck the sharp-edged marble.

  And then, Rud was upon her. He grasped her wrist, dragging her upward, passing her arm behind his neck. Like bands of tempered steel, his arms encircled her waist and clamped about her knees. She was lifted as though she weighed nothing.

  As her feet were disentangled, she kicked out, pushing against his chest with such strength he had to shift to keep his balance. His hold tightened with a jerk, crushing her against him, burying her face against his neck.

  The uselessness of her flight, the ease with which he had caught her, added fuel to her anger. “Let me go,” she hissed, raking his chest with her nails, reaching for his eyes.

  Abruptly, he loosened his grip, letting her sink toward the floor before tightening it again. Her clawing hand caught at his shirt, clinging to him. A hard note in his voice, he said, “Try that again and I will drop you indeed, over the banister.”

  “Put me down at once, or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” he said, his voice low. “Scream?”

  How could she? The last thing she wanted was to call attention to her humiliation. Even if she did, what then? The servants would not dare interfere with the pleasure of the nephew of their
master and mistress. There were few of any class who wished to intervene in a quarrel between a husband and wife. Aunt Lucinda, for all her kindness, could not be expected to take her part against Rud. Doubtless, Thaddeus Baxter would think the whole thing vastly amusing. “No,” she answered at last, “but I will make you sorry if it takes the rest of my life.”

  He laughed, an almost exultant sound. Without answering, he strode down the stairs and back to their room. The bedchamber door was standing open as he had left it. He shouldered through and kicked it to behind them. Crossing to the bed, he dropped her on the smooth counterpane.

  The springs jounced with the force of her fall, and she gasped for the deep, lung-filling breath of air that had been denied to her by the pressure of his arms. Before she could recover enough to move, he placed one knee on the bed and leaned over her. He inserted his fingers at the neck of her gown and with a mighty wrench tore it open to the yoke. Her hands came up, clutching at his wrists, but it was too late. Another effort and the nightgown was split to the hem.

  He pushed his hand beneath her back, lifting her as he pulled the sleeves down over her arms. Stripping her of the black lawn, he let her fall while he rolled the offending garment into a ball and threw it across the room.

  Rage pulsated in a red haze behind Julia’s eyes. She pushed away from him. “All right!” she cried. “I hope you are satisfied!”

  His hand shot out to catch her shoulder. “No,” he said, his eyes growing dark as he stared down at her. He allowed his gaze to roam over her blush ivory skin, to linger on the pink-tipped mounds of her breasts, the smooth indention of her waist and the curve of her hips, before he spoke again. “No, I’m not.”

  She flung out a hand to ward him off, catching him a blow on the chin. Immediately, her wrist was grasped and jerked above her head. His weight came down on her and she was pressed into the pillows.

  Julia heaved against him, turning and twisting, digging her heels into the bed. He shifted so that the hard length of his body lay along hers, making movement impossible. The studs left hanging in his shirt bit into her skin, while one arm was trapped between them. Still, she did not give up. Eyes glittering, she drew in her breath, jerking at her confined wrist until the skin felt bruised and raw, arching her back and neck, wriggling, trying with every ounce of her strength to dislodge him.

  That useless, prolonged effort left her almost spent. In that instant of weakness, his mouth captured hers. Lightheaded from strain, she felt her senses beginning to whirl, drawing her down into a whirlpool of feeling. His mouth moved on hers, firm, demanding, ruthlessly invading her being. Her eyelids fluttered down. Her tingling lips parted with a naturalness that sent a tremor of surprise and dismay through her.

  It was too late to raise her guard. He tasted the sweetness, probing deep. The pressure of his lips lessened, becoming more gentle as she ceased to resist him. His thumb moved, caressing the inner surface of her imprisoned wrist. Her fingers clenched, then slowly relaxed. She felt a sense of detachment creeping over her, paralyzing her will. A remote portion of her mind identified the taste of wine on his lips, the steady jar of his heart against her, and the muscular hardness of his thighs as they pressed into her.

  By imperceptible degrees, his hand moved from her wrist downward, exploring the tender turning of her arm, the hollow of her shoulder, pausing at the crested peak of her breast. She shivered as he brushed his open palm across it, gently cupping the fullness. And then, as his caress moved lower, over the flat expanse of her belly, her stomach muscles tightened in mingled dread and anticipation, and a small moan of distress sounded in her throat.

  Rud raised his head. He drew a deep breath, his eyes on her face in the candle lit room. She opened her eyes, staring up at him in bewilderment, the tender curves of her mouth moist and tremulous.

  With violent decision, he flung himself away from her, rolling to land on his feet on the floor. He watched her a moment longer, the expectancy of his expression fading to a look of doubt. With an abrupt gesture, he turned on his heel and strode to the window, where he braced one hand on the frame. He leaned his head on his forearm, clenching his other hand into a fist, resting it on his hip. The sound of his breathing was harsh in the silence as he strove for self-control.

  Rud, she thought, had not passed unscathed through their encounter. That was some consolation. She needed any she could discover, for she was forced to confront the treachery of her own body. Staring at the silhouette of his tall frame against the window in horrified fascination, she allowed the truth to seep into her brain. Before he had left her side, she had lost the will or even the desire to resist him. At some time, not tonight or tomorrow, but someday, there could come a time when she would not want him to leave her at all.

  Her movements were clumsy, her legs heavy as she slid from the bed and turned down the coverlet. Climbing back onto the mattress, she burrowed into its softness, curling into a ball, pulling the linen sheet and the fat comforter over her head. But she could not hide from herself. It was a long time before she slept.

  She awoke to pitch darkness. The mattress sagged away from her, and as she lay still she heard the muffled thump of Rud’s boots striking the floor and the rustle of his clothing as he undressed. Scarcely disturbing the covers, he slid into bed beside her. A tingling sensation ran down the length of her body as his bare skin touched hers. She turned her head on the pillow, staring blindly in his direction.

  At the sound, he shifted to his side, reaching for her. He ignored her murmur of protest, nesting their bodies together with her back against his chest. Julia lay stiff and unyielding long after his chest had begun the steady rise and fall of sleep.

  His skin, though it had quickly grown warm, had been cool to the touch when he had first come to bed. Had he been all this time staring out into the night, conquering his lust? It seemed laid to rest, but she did not dare believe it. She was acutely uncomfortable, she told herself; her shoulder was stiff from lying upon it, the weight of his arm constricted her breathing, and the hair that covered his body rasped against her skin. And yet, she could not risk waking him by moving.

  A sense of ill-usage gradually took possession of her mind. She was not Rudyard Thorpe’s plaything or his bed warmer. Why should she lie where he placed her? Slowly, carefully, she inched away from him until she could lie flat on her back. For all her efforts, when daylight filled the room, she awoke to find herself enclosed once more in his embrace.

  Her eyes flew open and she turned her head. Rud was staring down at her with his head propped on one hand while the other measured the fit of her breast.

  “Perfect,” he said softly, almost to himself.

  In a flurry of bedcovers, Julia slapped his hand away and rolled beyond his reach. He made a swift movement, then checked as she stopped, hovering on the edge of the bed.

  “Careful,” he said, letting his hand fall. “You’ll land on the floor.”

  “That would be better than some places I can think of,” she snapped.

  His eyes narrowed briefly, and then a smile wry in its self-mockery curved his firm mouth. “That’s right, Madam Thorpe,” he said. “Put me in my place. Give me not the slightest shred of encouragement. I want you as I have wanted few things in my life. You are everything soft and warm and beautiful that I have ever lacked. Making love to you would be like standing at the wheel of my ship, racing before a strong wind on a fine, clear day; a glorious excitement in the blood, endlessly pleasurable. I crave that the way I crave the feel of my ship’s wheel beneath my hands when I am away from her. Still, I have given my promise; I will not take you against your will. But I warn you! I will take advantage, instant and complete advantage, of the least sign of weakness. So, sweet Julia, make up your mind to resist me with all your strength — or surrender, now.”

  His words vibrated through her, leaving her curiously shaken. She recognized the painful honesty of his warning, but was unable to appreciate it.

  “Leave me alone,” she said,
her golden eyes unconsciously pleading. “Just leave me alone.”

  His gaze held hers like a trap. “Never,” he answered. “Never as long as I live.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The days slipped past. The English spring advanced, turning the countryside into a wildflower garden. Though the days continued cool and rainy with fitful outbursts of sun, no one seemed dissatisfied with the slow progress toward summer.

  Julia could not help thinking that at home in Louisiana it would be hot already during the day, and warm enough at night to sleep with the windows and doors thrown open to the heady scents of roses and magnolias, of honeysuckle and lush new growth. It was the time of year when everyone moved from New Orleans into the healthy country air at Beau Bocage. How her father had loved it, riding in the fields to oversee the planting of the new crop, counting over the half-grown calves, colts, and lambs, the baby chicks that ran peeping everywhere, even the new additions in the quarters. What pleasure he took in the fecundity of his land and the season! In the evening, he would preside over his table groaning with the fruits of the plantation. Friends, neighbors, even stray travelers were made welcome. No one was turned away, not even the Methodist circuit riders who dared to attempt to turn him from his Catholicism, preaching parsimony while they enjoyed the bounty of his board.

  What did London have to offer compared to the rich earth, the friendly smiling faces, and the marvelous sense of freedom that were Beau Bocage? Julia yearned for home, still, the mere thinking of it gave her courage to continue with the mission she had embarked upon. If she did not, there was every chance she would never see Beau Bocage again.

  Rud, when he was not off on matters of business with his uncle, did his best to entertain her. Together, they rode in the park, trotting sedately along Rotten Row. They visited the declining wonders of Vauxhall Gardens, and hired a discreetly placed box for a viewing of The Duchess of Malfi at Covent Garden. When Rud was not available, Aunt Lucinda acted as her guide for a few of the historic places about the city, though she had a tendency to duck out of sight when she thought she might be seen in them by any of her friends. The elderly woman was so ill at ease doing such a countrified thing as viewing the sights of London that Julia usually allowed herself to be dissuaded, accepting the offer instead of the latest issues of the Journal des Modes or a small, intimate tea party. On the whole, she discovered, she preferred Rud’s company. For all their skirmishing, or perhaps because of it, he was a stimulating companion who cared not at all who might see them, or what they might think.