As he drew her down beside him his eyes searched hers, a look both serious and questioning in their dark-blue depths. His fingers went to her hair, probing the soft waves, removing the pins. The thick chignon at the nape of her neck uncoiled, spilling in a golden cascade down her back and releasing its special perfume. He smoothed the lustrous strands, spreading them out, trailing them through his fingers before he pushed them aside to reach the few buttons still fastened on her gown. Her eyelids fluttered shut. His lips sought the tender shape of her mouth, molding it to his. He tasted the sweetness of her response, the gentle surrender as her lips parted.
The confinement of her bodice eased. Obedient to his guiding hands, she moved to allow him to bare her shoulders and release her arms from the clinging folds of her gown. A touch on her naked breast alerted her to the fact that he had loosened her underdress also, pushing it down around her hips.
Her eyes flew open and she tried to push away from him, but he held her fast. His kiss deepened, growing more demanding. His hands moved over her breasts, teasing the nipples to firmness, sliding down over her stomach. Crossing his arms behind her, he rolled off his propped pillows, pulling her with him, easing her to her back. A few swift moves and she was free of her trailing skirts, lying half beneath him.
“Rud—” she breathed in supplication, her hands braced on his chest. He smothered that weak protest against her lips.
It sank into her mind that this time he would not be stayed, this time he had no intention of drawing back. Fear tightened the muscles of her abdomen; still, at the same time, a heady surge of something like anticipation mounted in her. Brushing aside her resistance, he held her against his lean frame. He drank in the fragrance of her hair, the wild, sweet tang of vetiver and jasmine, while his lips felt the smooth silken texture of her skin.
The hard urgency of his need made itself known against her thigh. His hand moved to her breast and his mouth followed. Slowly, with care, he explored her body, leaving a tingling excitement behind. He was her husband, a part of her mind whispered. It was his right. She could not prevent him, was no longer certain she wanted to try. A tremulous sigh escaped her parted lips.
Rud’s arms tightened around her. His caress grew more intimate, pressing deeper. She put her hands on his shoulders, opening and closing them as flame leaped within her. The surface of her skin seemed to grow hot to the touch. Her breath caught in her chest.
Then, Rud loomed above her, his arms trembling with strain. His knee eased between her parted thighs. His mouth possessed hers with hot, passionate longing. Her senses reeled as she felt the first iron probing. Close upon it came an instant of sharp, rending pain that made her gasp, her nails biting into his shoulders. For a fleeting moment, they were still, the frantic beating of their hearts shaking them, and then, he eased deeper, filling her being, sending radiating waves of warm pleasure through her. He moved above her, gently at first with many kisses and caresses, and then more strongly as his lust, so long contained, burst the bounds of his control. She moved to accommodate the shock of his thrusts, accepting in wonder the sharp mounting of her own burning enjoyment. It scaled higher and higher, a white heat, glowing in her blood, consuming her, fed by the one thing that could quench it. They soared, their bodies fused in a mystic union. Ecstasy caught them, hurling them higher still. Julia clung to Rud, certain in the dark recesses of her mind that she could not bear it. Then came the perfect, easy descent by gentle steps to stillness.
Their breathing was loud in the quiet. Rud entwined his fingers in her hair. Julia thought he carried a strand to his lips, though with her eyes half closed she could not be sure.
The mattress was depressed beside her head as he raised himself on one elbow. “I would apologize,” he said, his voice husky, “but I am not sorry.”
Julia felt none of the hate and resentment she had expected. It was as though what had happened between them had been inevitable from their first meeting. The tension and tiredness of the past days were gone, leaving her drowsy with content, and oddly grateful. Slowly, she opened her eyes. In their amber depths shone a clear golden light. “Neither am I sorry,” she whispered.
A fierce gladness blazed in his face. Setting his mouth to hers in ruthless exploration, he swung her over, so that she lay on top of him, the fullness of her breasts pressed against his chest, her hair falling in a curtain about them, the full length of her body resting on his.
She lifted her head, trying to breathe. For some strange reason, she felt the ache of tears in her throat. “You — you are uncommonly active for an injured man,” she accused him.
“Experimenting with a new treatment,” he said.
“I see. And, was it effective?”
“Miraculously so. I am much better, though I am afraid the effects are going to be short-lived. I feel sure I will need to repeat the performance frequently.”
Julia knew a quickening inside her at the promise in his voice, though she had no intention of letting him know it. “Not, I hope, before dark. What if someone came in now? It is the middle of the afternoon.”
“No one will come in without knocking,” he replied reasonably. “Besides, I am a sick man; I am supposed to be in bed no matter what the time.”
“I am not supposed to be in it with you!” she reminded him.
“Aren’t you?” His voice dropped to a low note. His hand on her back began to move, stroking, squeezing.
“No,” she answered, though with less certainty.
Pushing his fingers under her hair, he pulled her mouth down to his. Their tongues touched, hers meeting his hesitantly at first, then with growing boldness. Her cool, shapely arms came up to cradle his head, while his hands took fullest advantage of the higher movement of her hips. She felt the stirring of his manly ardor.
A knock fell on the door.
Julia raised her head. Rud muttered something blasphemous, a scowl drawing his brows together, though he did not release her. “Who is it?” he called.
“Masters, sir,” the butler said, coughing respectfully.
Julia broke Rud’s grasp, scooting, sliding from the bed. She bent to retrieve her gown and underdress. Noiseless in her stocking feet, she flitted into the dressing room and started to shut the door. Abruptly, she noticed her slippers tumbled beside the bed, looking just as though she had kicked them off before climbing in.
Rud was hurriedly straightening the rumpled covers. At her frantic motion, he leaned over the side of the bed and batted the slippers out of sight underneath it. Lying back, he said in an irritable tone in no way feigned, “Come in, then!”
“Your pardon, Captain Thorpe,” Masters said, stepping into the bedchamber. “You have visitors below, sir.”
“And, who might they be?”
“The name given was Lord and Lady Cathcart, sir.”
“What! Tell them I am not receiving visitors.”
Julia, listening through a crack in the door, paused in tying the tapes of her underdress. The expected visit from Rud’s mother at last, and he was not going to see her.
She ducked into her gown, letting it billow down over her shoulders, pulling it into place about her waist. She listened a minute to be certain Masters had gone, then stepped back into the other room.
Her color a trifle high, she moved across to the bed. Rud watched her approach with a possessive smile, his gaze on the gentle swing of her hips. She turned her back, presenting her buttons.
“So, you aren’t going to see your mother,” she said over her shoulder.
“No.”
“Why? To punish her, to make her pay because she would not live with your father, wouldn’t make a home for you to enjoy.”
“You know nothing about it,” he said in easy dismissal.
“You think not? Well, perhaps you are right. I have no idea whether your mother was innocent or guilty of the death of your father, but I do know that you cannot be an impartial judge. When I was a child, I used to hate my mother for dying, for going away and lea
ving me with no one to chaperon me, or to give gay little entertainments for my friends, no one to talk to about becoming a woman.”
His busy fingers paused at the small of her back. “The two cases are entirely different.”
“Are they?” she inquired gravely. “My motives were based on self-pity. What is the basis of yours?”
Catching her elbow, he swung her around. “That woman downstairs arranged to have my father killed. What am I supposed to do? Pretend it didn’t happen?”
“You are not her judge, but even if you were, don’t you think it would be best to be absolutely certain of your facts before you pass sentence?”
“My mother was the only one who knew my father was on English soil.”
“How can you be so sure? His message to her might have been intercepted, or a patrol may have come upon him accidentally. He was a Yankee privateer on enemy soil, indulging in a dangerous, even foolhardy escapade. The wonder is not that he was found out, but that he could think that he would not be.”
The angry scowl that drew Rud’s brows together was an indication of how close her thrust had come. “There is more to the matter than appears on the surface.”
“If that is so, then enlighten me,” Julia said, meeting his gaze squarely.
“I would prefer that you accept my word, and my judgment.”
“On faith,” she asked with a lift of her chin, “like the word of God?”
“Bravo! Oh, bravo!”
The cry of approval came from the doorway. A woman stood in the opening. In their involvement with their argument, they had not heard her enter. Behind her stood Masters, his face as well as his upper body stiff with disapproval and offended dignity.
The woman advanced a few steps into the room. “Well done, my dear,” she said to Julia, her eyes moving with a wry amusement over her unbound golden tresses falling about her shoulders and the still-open back of her gown. “He has needed just such a set-down for some time. You must forgive the intrusion. I rather suspected Masters of prevarication when he told me Rud was not in a condition to receive visitors. I see, however, that he spoke nothing more than the truth. Still, you need not be embarrassed on my account. Such scenes are not precisely unknown to me, and as strange as it sometimes seems to me, the man who is handling you in such a familiar manner is my son.”
9
Lady Georgina Baxter Thorpe Cathcart was surprisingly small, not quite as tall as Julia, and had the slender frame and aquiline features of a thoroughbred. Her hair, though elegantly dressed, was a henna brown, while her blue eyes lacked either the depth or the intensity of Rud’s. The only feature she had bequeathed her son was the firm turn of her lips. Dressed in the height of fashion, in a walking costume of ecru taffeta trimmed in silk floss, and a modish bonnet with braided ribbon and dyed plumes, she did not look her fifty-odd years in spite of the fine lines radiating from her eyes. Regardless of her audacity in entering where she was not wanted, and in carrying off the situation as she found it, Julia thought she was not so self-assured as she appeared. Her eyes, as she turned to her son, were over bright; the lace fan and silver calling-card case in her hand were clutched a trifle tightly.
Something had to be done. They could not stand there forever without speaking. Rousing herself, Julia gave a nod to Masters, who went out, closing the door behind him. “Won’t you sit down, Lady Cathcart?” she said.
Rud’s mother glanced at the deep armchair near the fireplace. “Thank you, no. I prefer to stand. In any case, I will not be here long. Cathcart is waiting for me below.”
Rud spoke at last. “Ah, yes. Cathcart, the new husband. Permit me to congratulate you.” There was such a cold light in his eyes that Julia was surprised the other woman did not wither under it.
“Thank you,” his mother answered, her composure intact. “He is my new husband but an old friend. You must not forget that.”
“You may be certain I have not,” Rud replied.
His mother looked down at her hands, visibly relaxing the grip on her card case.
Julia, uneasy, put a hand to her hair, pushing it behind her back. She was acutely aware of her bare feet and the crushed look of her gown. She would be much better able to cope with this if she did not feel quite so bedraggled. “Perhaps, you would like to be alone?” she suggested. “I can wait in the dressing room—”
“No,” Rud said, reaching out to place his hand on her forearm.
His mother shook her head. “That will not be necessary. As I said, I will not be long. News came to me of the shooting incident. I wished merely to satisfy myself that my son had come to no harm. Despite everything, I do still have some maternal feeling.”
“I am well enough,” Rud answered when she did not go on. His tone was clipped, shaded with suspicion.
“I have come also to ask a favor. I find it uncomfortable to have people saying behind my back that my son and I are estranged because he feels I am responsible for his father’s death.”
Rud’s grip slipped from Julia’s arm to her hand. “Go on,” he said to his mother, though his attention was on the slender fingers he was toying with as he ran his thumb over the smooth knuckles.
“I thought that as soon as you are well enough to be seen out and about, you would not mind being a bit more, shall I say, attentive? There should be time enough to scotch the rumors before you are ready to sail.”
“Sail?” Rud said as if such a course were the furthest thing from his mind.
“You need not pretend with me,” Georgina Cathcart said. “If you will remember, I have my sources of information in the Foreign Office, usually most reliable. Becoming Lady Cathcart has not changed that. A few other interesting rumors have come to my ears of late concerning your activities, my dear Rud. Must I go into details?”
“No, I think not,” Rud said slowly.
His mother glanced at Julia, with an odd smile curling the corner of her mouth. “I rather thought it would be unnecessary.”
Frowning, Julia stared at the other woman. Was she suggesting that she knew of Rud’s association with the Bonapartists? If so, she must not realize his wife was also involved, for Julia was certain the woman was hinting that she could mention things Rud would prefer his wife not to hear.
“Who else is in possession of this information?” Rud was saying.
“No one. Naturally, the person who informed me thought I would be interested beyond the ordinary, and he has long been in my debt. Beyond that, he is the soul of discretion.”
Rud released Julia’s hand and sat up. “You are certain?”
To Julia, he had become once more the man she had met aboard the Sea Jade, alert behind a pleasant mask, armored with cynicism and hard self-reliance.
“I am certain,” his mother answered, smiling a little, though her light blue eyes remained watchful. “Under the circumstances, I believe you can understand my feelings, and my need to have you pay me some small attention?”
“I believe I do,” Rud answered, his voice grim. “What exactly do you want of me?”
“Only to be seen once or twice in public with me, and to attend a small reception I will give for you and your new bride. That is not so much to ask, is it?”
“I never thought to hear you admit to needing the countenance of anyone else.”
The woman drew herself up. “That is neither here nor there. Do you intend to fall in with my wishes?”
“You leave me no choice,” Rud said with a mocking half bow from where he sat in the bed.
“That was my intention,” his mother answered. “We will call it settled then. I will not stay longer. Only let me tell you once more how delighted I am to see you so well, my son, and express my pleasure in making the acquaintance at last of the charming young lady you have married, and I will leave you to your rest.”
There was a definite shading of irony to that last word. Julia, catching that pale-blue glance, lifted her chin.
The other woman smiled a little, with something like pity in her gaz
e. “You needn’t ring for Masters to show me downstairs. I can find my own way.”
As the door closed behind her, Julia let out her pent-up breath. She had known many women, but none with quite the confidence, the quiet power, of that one. “How much do you think she knows?” she asked after a moment.
“That,” Rud said, staring with narrowed eyes at the closed door, “is a good question.”
“You don’t really think she would betray you to the authorities?”
Rud glanced up at Julia. “With scarcely a qualm.”
“But you are her son!”
“Yes,” he answered, his tone grim, “so I am.”
It appeared Rud was right. Any woman who could threaten her son with the exposure of an offense punishable by imprisonment, even death, could well have caused the demise of her husband. How much easier to betray a partner in a loveless marriage than a son! What a terrible woman; without heart, without any of the tender feelings that would make such a thing impossible. And yet, that woman had actually pitied her. Why? How dared she?
“Don’t frown so,” Rud said. “The David sails within the week. A few more days, and that will be the end of it. It will not hurt us to do as she wants until then.”
“I suppose not,” Julia agreed. “But, I would like to be sure that she will remain silent if we keep our part of the bargain.”
“Oddly enough, I believe she can be trusted to do that. My mother’s political beliefs are not strong. Her first loyalty, now as always, is to herself.”
His voice was dispassionate, as though the words he spoke had long since lost their power to wound him. In spite of that, Julia said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” be inquired lazily, brushing the blue-veined underside of her wrist with his thumb.
“Sorry that your mother is the way she is, sorry I doubted what you had to say of her.”
“Turn around,” he said, giving her arm a tug, so that her back was to him again. His arm slid like a hawser around her waist, making her sit with a bounce on the bed.
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets) Page 18