Understanding dawned on him. “Julia, didn’t you know…I mean, you had no idea?” He gave up and, with a growl, roared heavenward. “God! Save me from the stupidity of English womanhood!”
Julia didn’t wait to hear more. Mortified, she bolted for the door, flung it open, and ran barefooted down the foyer toward the staircase. The silk flapped around her, exposing bare legs.
Brader yelled, “Julia!” but she didn’t turn to see if he followed her. She took the steps two at a time, barely holding the edges of her robe together, dashed down the hall, opened the door to her room, and slammed it shut behind her.
With a groan, Julia sank to the floor on her knees. She covered her face with her hands. How could she have been so stupid? She didn’t think she could stand to see Brader’s face ever again. Now he knew her for a naïve fool.
And she could hardly blame him. What possessed her? How could she let him do that to her? She wanted to ring for Betty and demand to have another bath prepared, yet she didn’t think she could face anyone at this hour.
Julia forced herself to rise on wobbly legs. Enough! she wanted to shout. It was over. It was done. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
Stepping closer, Julia studied her reflection. She didn’t look any different…and yet her whole life was changed. Her body was rosy where his whiskered jaw had rubbed against her. Her lips were bruised, her eyes still glazed by the aftermath of shock and lovemaking….
Lovemaking.
She and Brader had made love. Julia’s heart quickened. She would have a baby!
His knock on the door was soft, almost a scratch, but it sent an alarm through Julia like a battering ram.
“Julia? Open the door,” Brader’s voice softly demanded.
She didn’t answer. She had no desire to face him. Maybe if she remained quiet, he’d go away.
“Julia.” The voice was more insistent. “Open the door.”
The first time Julia opened her mouth to speak, no sound came out. She cleared her voice and, not trusting herself to say more, answered, “No.”
She could hear him sigh in exasperation. This time, his voice held the silky undercurrent of a threat. “Julia, if you don’t open this door on your own, I am going to enter anyway, regardless of your wishes. We need to talk. Now. Tonight.”
Julia swallowed. Why hadn’t her grandfather placed locks on the bedroom doors? Big, heavy medieval locks that could hold back the Inquisition—or her husband?
He rapped, harder this time. Julia didn’t wait to hear any other ultimatums. She leaped for her dresser, pulled out a drawer, and scrambled through the clothing for her flannel nightdress, which she drew over her head just as Brader turned the handle of her door with a final, “Julia, I’m coming in.”
The door creaked open just as Julia realized she’d donned her nightgown over the gold silk robe. There was no help for it now. She stood mesmerized by the opening door. Brader stepped in.
Again, she was struck by the sheer force of his presence filling her room. Brader shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. He’d tucked his shirt into his waistband, but the neckline opened to a deep V. He looked roguishly handsome.
“Julia.” Her spoke her name as a statement.
She waited for him to say more. She wanted words to cover the sound of rain against her windows and the sense of isolation that they were the only two in the house. But she couldn’t speak. Her hands at her side twisted the flannel folds of the nightdress into knots, but she met his gaze, even if her face flamed in embarrassment.
Brader broke eye contact first. As if deciding that she wasn’t going to invite him in, he walked into her room, started to bend his body to sit in a chair, winced, and stood back up. Frowning, he walked a step over to the fireplace mantel, hooked an elbow on the edge, and gave Julia a very sour look, blaming her for something—she couldn’t imagine what. If anyone had a reason for complaint, it was her.
Julia turned to face him, not wanting him to see the silk robe hanging out from under her hem. She hated being caught off guard. She felt childish and naïve, a feeling she could never endure. Even steeped in the gossip and slander around her affair with Lawrence, she’d managed to hold her head high.
Unable to meet his eyes, she stared at her toes peeping out beneath the gown.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”
Her cheeks grew several degrees hotter. She raised her head, forcing herself to answer. “I’d never dream of discussing such a thing. Besides, would you have believed me?”
“Last night you admitted you slept with that military man.” His statement sounded like an accusation.
“I did sleep with him.” She leveled an accusation of her own. “But he didn’t do that to me.”
“Julia, I didn’t expect you to be a vir—” Seeing the expression on her face, Brader shook his head, confirming something in his own mind. He asked in a conciliatory tone, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Hurt?” He didn’t expect her to answer that question, did he? There had been pain, but the act itself—what he did to her—it was vulgar. “I didn’t like it,” Julia stated baldly, fighting a shiver of distaste.
Brader eyed her suspiciously. “Your mother never—? No, I can’t imagine Lady Markham discussing such a matter…but didn’t anyone ever tell you what goes on between a man and a woman?”
“I’m not about to answer such a personal question,” she snapped back with a lift of her chin, determined to hold together what shreds of her pride she had left.
Brader studied her thoughtfully, before answering his own question. “No, I guess not.” He blew air out between his cheeks. “Julia what happened downstairs”—he paused uncomfortably a moment and then continued, flipping his hands back and forth in the air to indicate the two of them—“between us, is natural—ah—between…a man and a woman.”
She didn’t want to discuss this, not with him. As far as she was concerned, he’d schooled her enough! She hid behind her anger. “Don’t talk to me as if I were a child.”
“If you were more of a woman and less naïve, I wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place,” he shot back.
“That does it!” Julia stomped toward the door. “I’ve had enough of you for one day.”
Her body was jerked backward in midstep by Brader’s foot, firmly planted on the hem of the gold silk robe beneath her flannel nightdress, catching her up short. Now her cheeks burned like firebrands as she cursed herself for forgetting that ridiculous silk robe.
“You’re not in line for the throne yet, Lady Julia, so don’t adopt that tone with me.”
“Let go of me,” she said through clenched teeth.
Brader rocked his foot back on his heel, releasing Julia, who angrily snapped the robe behind her like the train of an evening gown. She felt tears well up in her eyes but fought them back. One slipped by her defenses and silently ran down her cheek. She refused to acknowledge it.
But Brader saw the tear. Reaching out, he caught it on the tip of one finger. The hard look in his eye softened. “What I did must have come as a shock to you, especially unprepared as you were. But you must believe I thought you were a willing partner. You asked me to make love to you.”
“I said no such thing!”
“When a woman walks in—uninvited—to a man’s private study and reveals she is naked underneath a silk robe”—Brader paused for emphasis—“she’s not asking for directions to Saint Paul’s.”
Julia wouldn’t dignify that statement with an answer. She stared stonily at the wall opposite him.
Brader swore softly and ran a large hand though his dark hair. “Julia, I’m not good at this. I don’t know what to say to you.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“Julia—”
“In fact, I wish you’d leave.”
“I’m sorry.”
Incredulous to hear those words from her husband, she was struck speechless. Brader? Sorry
? She whirled to face him.
He continued, “I misjudged you. And considering that this was your first experience with a man—ah—making love, I’m afraid I didn’t handle the situation as I should.”
Surely, he mocked her. But she could read no mockery in the depth of his brown eyes. The anger left her body. Her admission came out as a whisper. “I was bold.”
The gold flecks in his eyes danced. “I truly don’t mind your boldness…Mrs. Wolf.”
Julia’s heart leaped to her throat, responding to the honeyed warmth of his voice. Her eyes met his and she smiled shyly, unable to speak.
He stepped closer. “I didn’t mind your boldness at all.” The husky tenor of his voice trilled through her. Her toes curled into the worn pile of the carpet, the hypnotic power of his voice wooing her.
She could feel the heat from his body. His pulse beat against the bronze skin at his throat.
Lifting her hand from her side, Brader pressed her fingers to his lips. “In fact,” he began, the heat of his breath tingling against her skin, “we could pick up from where we left off downstairs.”
Julia’s eyes opened wide at his suggestion.
Brader slipped his fingers through hers. “It won’t be like it was in the study. You know more about what happens, and I will be ever so gentle. It’ll be good between us. I promise.”
Julia yanked her hand out of his. “I didn’t like it,” she stated flatly.
Exasperated, Brader tried again. “Julia, we’re married. It’s meant for us to be together. What we started downstairs is what married couples do.”
“No, it isn’t. You told me yourself time and time again, we don’t have to be together. In fact, you haven’t wanted me anywhere near you!”
“Julia, you are running me through the gamut.”
At the warning tone in his voice, she stepped away quickly to put distance between them. “I think we are quit with each other now, Brader. You have your mistress and you can do that with her. And I have what I want. I will have your baby.”
Brader’s mouth dropped open, dumb stuck. He stared at her for so long, she wondered if he was epileptic and having a seizure. Certainly, she could push him over with a touch of her finger.
Brader came back to reality with a shake of his head. Or at least she thought he did, until he asked in an amazed voice, “You’re going to have my what?”
“Your baby,” she announced proudly.
“My baby,” he repeated like a simpleton. “Is this a ruse?” He studied her face a moment and then broke into laughter. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Should I tell her?” he asked, addressing the room in general.
“Tell me what?”
Brader laughed louder.
“What should you tell me?” Julia demanded, placing her hands on her hips. “What is so funny?”
Brader rounded on her. “I should tell you why I find it difficult to sit down,” he said. “I’m talking about why I can’t even stand comfortably. Why my trousers are so tight right now with all the blood in my bal—”
Brader broke off with a roar and marched past her. At the door he turned and scowled.
“You don’t know, do you?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re ranting and raving about,” Julia admitted.
He raised his eyes and arms heavenward. “God, what did I do? Why are you punishing me?” His angry eyes came down to rest on Julia. “I have a wife who looks like a goddess, with the reputation and actions of a whore, and the sexual knowledge of a five-year-old.”
“Not true!”
He jutted out his chin. “ ’Tis so!”
Julia bristled. “Get out.”
“Gladly!” Brader flung back. “I’ll be pacing around my room trying to work out this damn—this excitement you’ve created in me.”
“Excitement?”
Brader snorted and spat out, “That. Remember? The word you so tastefully used: ‘that’? Well, ‘that’ is driving me to madness.”
Julia shook her head. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” he shouted, completely out of control.
Julia wasn’t intimidated by his shouting. If anything, she felt more confused. “Brader, I’m not sure I understand what you are saying.”
He appeared to struggle for reason, his words spoken between clenched teeth. “I’m telling you, you’re not pregnant.” He opened the door before belligerently adding, “Now, what do you think about that?”
Julia’s mouth dropped open. “But I should be pregnant. You did tha—” she stopped, afraid to finish the word “To me,” she ended meekly.
Brader looked out at her from under brows pulled together in frustration. His voice shook with strangled emotion. “Julia, I am not a sane man right now. I don’t think it wise to pursue this matter further.”
Distressed, she repeated to herself, “I’m not pregnant? Brader?”
Brader groaned, threw open her door, and slammed it shut behind him. She heard him kick a hallway table, in his short walk to his room, and then came the slam of his door and the sound of heavy objects, probably some of his precious books, being thrown across the room.
She didn’t have the courage to cross the hall and demand an answer. But there was one person who would answer her question—without roaring and carrying on. Tomorrow, she’d visit Emma.
The next morning, when Julia woke from a restless sleep, Betty presented her with a message from Brader that he planned to be in London on business for several days. Julia wondered if he’d known the night before that he was leaving or if this was his excuse to avoid her.
She’d been forced to listen to him move heavy furniture around his room for at least an hour after he’d left her room. Why Brader had chosen the middle of the night for such a task and did it himself without the servants’ help was beyond her understanding.
At least he’d left her a message as to his whereabouts, which was definitely an improvement.
Three hours later, Julia was seated at Emma’s kitchen table studying her thumbnail, trying to phrase the questions in her mind.
Working at her hearth, Emma poured two cups of tea and asked with a sly smile, “Did my suggestion help, my lady?”
“Yes.” Julia hedged.
Emma beamed. Wagging a finger in Julia’s direction, she said, “You’re a healthy young couple. I didn’t think it would take much to start a spark.”
Julia winced. Spark wasn’t the word she would have chosen for what had happened between them last night. Volcano, inferno. Those words came to mind before spark.
She took a deep breath to get her courage up. “Emma, I have another question.”
The housekeeper smiled indulgently. “Ask, my lady. You know you’ll get a straight answer from Emma Beal.” She picked up the cups in their saucers and began walking toward the table where Julia sat.
Emma was right, Julia decided. She could trust Emma. “What does my husband have to do to make me pregnant?” she blurted out.
Her answer was the sound of two more of Emma’s precious teacups shattering on the cottage floor.
Ten
Emma’s answers to her questions did not bring Julia any peace of mind. If anything, the answers burned in her mind over the next three days. She did everything she could to erase Brader, that night, and her own foolish responses from her mind.
Emma answered all her questions, patiently and with a wisdom known only to women. Julia just wished she’d had the foresight to ask specific questions before she married.
To ease her unsettled mind, she threw herself into the role of being the Lady of Kimberwood. At Danescourt, she’d promised herself that if she ever had the opportunity she would see that the tenants were treated better than they were under her father’s care.
Now she had opportunity and money, but she soon discovered Brader had seen to the needs of the tenants himself. Everywhere she traveled, she was forced to listen to the crofters’ praises of her h
usband and his newly appointed land manager.
Julia felt useless.
Still, she traded Emma’s home remedies for the croup with the parson’s wife, who was thrown into a dither over how to address Julia: Lady Julia or Mrs. Wolf? Julia chose Mrs. Wolf. She commiserated over the aches and pains of pregnancy with a farmer’s young wife and admired the work of a traveling smith who was considering Kimberwood as a base of operations. Every afternoon she spent an hour with Nan, enjoying their deepening friendship.
And all the while she thought of Brader.
Her mind replayed their conversation of that night, finding satisfaction in rewriting the whole evening. She should have played her role differently, been more sophisticated, made him come to her, not vice versa. Her repartee should have been brighter, livelier. Brader would have been humbler, smitten by her charm, her looks, grateful she’d deigned to give him attention.
Or she would have simply never gone down the stairs—especially since the idea of a humble Brader was beyond her imagination.
But sometimes, late at night while she was alone in her bed, her senses stirred and roiled with memories of the feelings his touch evoked. Her conversation with Emma haunted her, and she discovered a bone-deep hunger for—what?
In those late hours of the night, she found no peace. She felt she’d opened Pandora’s box and now there was a price to pay…and she didn’t know if she could afford it.
Daily, Brader received reports wherever he was in London on the state of Nan’s health. Julia decided the messengers were fortunate London was only a hard three-hour ride away, since he also fired back dozens of messages to his land manager, his stable manager, Fisher, his mother…and one to Julia.
She almost didn’t have the nerve to open it. The message inside was a noncommittal how-are-you-doing-I-wish
-you-well. Studying the bold, black slashes of his handwriting, she wondered if he truly wanted to know or if he felt it good form in front of his mother and the others to send at least one letter to his wife.
She made no return reply. She considered replies but her mind went blank when actually penning words on paper, nor did her pride allow her to expose to her husband the childish scrawl of her handwriting.
All Things Beautiful Page 12