by L. R. Olson
“Say it, Jules,” he hissed. “Say you want me.”
“I want you,” I somehow muttered as he rocked into me over and over. “I do.”
My clothes were too tight, I could barely breathe. Yet none of that seemed to matter as his shaft sank into me…deeper and deeper. My entire body tightened around him, and all the anxiety and fear I’d been feeling for weeks fled. I only wanted to know that life-shattering bliss I’d experienced before with him.
“Come for me, Jules,” he said.
His hands gripped my hips as he thrust into me, rocking forward. That all too familiar shiver of awareness whispered through my womb. I tightened my arms around his neck, clinging to my husband. “Yes, Jamie, yes.”
I came as he did, both of us sharing an intimacy we couldn’t find anywhere else. My entire body seemed to explode into a billion white stars that danced across the heavens. It came quickly. Exquisitely. I trembled as I floated, floated down, back into a reality I wanted to avoid. For a long, breathless moment he held me. Our chests pressed tightly together, I could feel his heart beating against mine.
Slowly, he moved back, letting me slide down his muscled form and pulling himself free. I collapsed against the wall, too tired and weak to move. My wet skirts slipped back down around my body, hiding me from view. Somehow, in some way, things had changed between us.
James buttoned his trousers. I didn’t miss the way his hands trembled and wondered over it. Physical exhaustion, or something more? “You need to get out of your clothes.”
Why did he care? Surely he held no compassion for me. Still, I wasn’t a complete ninny and knew I’d be ill if I didn’t dry soon. I turned, giving my back to him. He didn’t hesitate, but undid the buttons and pulled the bodice from my arms.
“Thank you,” I muttered. Now that our intimate moment was over, the cold world invaded. Rain still slashed against the windows, but the fireplace did its best to warm the room. The heat of our intimacy was fading, leaving me standing there vulnerable and bemused.
James shrugged off his jacket and began to undress. I turned away, and with cold, numb fingers, I took off the rest of my clothing. Why had I ever thought I could survive alone in this hell? Unable to stop myself I peeked over my shoulders. James was nude, his broad, muscled back gleaming under the firelight. How I wished I could be as at ease with my body.
“Have you gone without while you have lived with me? Have I not sheltered you? Fed you?” he asked, standing near the hearth.
“You have.” But I needed more. I needed sunshine and conversations. I needed…life. How could he not understand? I rested my clothing on the back of the four chairs around the small table. Hoping they would dry soon. I didn’t want to be here alone with him. He’d placed his clothing over a screen near the hearth.
We stood silently for a few moments, his back to me. I had the oddest feeling I was finally seeing the real James in this unguarded moment. He wanted to understand, yet for some reason…couldn’t. He needed honesty, no games, no half-truths. I knew that to get him to open up to me, I had to be open with him. Wear my heart on my sleeve.
I swallowed hard. “My father is dying.”
His shoulders stiffened, yet he didn’t call me a liar, as he had in the past. It was something, at least. Without word he moved to a trunk and pulled out a blanket.
“He has less than a year to live.”
He handed me the blanket, his gaze meeting mine and holding. There was something in his gaze I’d never seen before…a softness, an unguarded moment. “I see.”
Did he? I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. Hope swelled dangerously close to the surface. He moved back to the fireplace and knelt, stoking the flames, not saying a word.
The hope that had surfaced began to dissipate. Perhaps he couldn’t understand because he’d not felt the love of a parent. But he didn’t say a word, as if the statement meant nothing to him.
Desolate, I moved to the bed and settled on the edge, pulling the patchwork quilt tightly around me. As the rain pattered against the roof and windows, he merely stoked the flames.
“Why did you run?” he asked.
I could have lied and told him any perfectly presentable reason. Instead I told him the truth. The God’s honest truth. “I hate you.”
And I had. But saying the words aloud didn’t sit well. Did I hate him? My shoulders sank with acceptance. No. Because deep down I knew that this was my fault as much as it was his. If I hadn’t gone to him that day, intending to trap him into marriage…
“I thought we had an agreement.”
“An agreement?” Yes, I’d give him two sons and my soul, and I’d gain my freedom. Supposedly. But how could I possibly trust him? “You gave me no choice in the matter. An agreement is when both parties choose.”
He stood and faced me. The frustration in his gaze mirrored my own. “Then tell me…what would you have me do so we are both content? You married me for a reason, Julianna. To benefit you and your family. I married you—”
“To punish me,” I interrupted.
He glanced toward the windows. “Perhaps a little. But I need children, Julianna.”
The nanny’s words came to mind. “He’s obsessed with continuing the line.”
“What would I like?” I swallowed hard. What would I like? “I’d like to go back in time and not take that walk to the creek.” Hot tears burned my eyes. “I’d like to have never met you.”
His jaw clenched. If I would have known better, I would have thought I’d hurt him. Once the words were out I regretted it. Why? I wasn’t sure. He’d hurt me upon more than one occasion. Why did I care for his feelings now? I thought he’d be angry with my response, and I admit I said the words to destroy him. But he remained silent, unreadable, continuing to stare at me with those dark eyes.
“Did you kill your father?” I asked bluntly.
Why not? I’d already been more than truthful with the man.
“I did not,” he replied.
There was no guilt in his gaze. For some strange reason I believed him. But then he’d never lied, had he? Not really. But I had. I looked at the fire, feeling guilty. I’d ruined his marriage with Penny, I’d tried to manipulate him when I thought him the gentleman farmer. But I knew he was no innocent. He’d manipulated things to get exactly what he wanted too…to punish me. He’d betrayed Penny by sleeping with me, damn him. For months we’d been playing at war. Was it time to call a truce?
“You didn’t kill your father?”
“No.”
“And do you know who did?”
He paused for a telling moment. “I can’t speak of it.”
A shiver of unease whispered over my chilled skin. It was a family secret. “You won’t tell me the truth.”
He went to the trunk and pulled out another blanket, wrapping it around his waist. “It’s not mine to tell.”
Of course not. Because he still didn’t trust me and I didn’t blame him. He shouldn’t. I didn’t trust him either. He’d be a fool to tell me the truth. He pulled a chair from the table and settled near the hearth, his gaze on the fire. The light shone against his bronzed skin, and highlighted his profile. He was so handsome it wasn’t fair. He could have had anyone, yet he had wanted me. For the hundredth time I wondered why. Was it the mere challenge?
“The moment our clothes are dry, you’re going back home with me, Julianna.”
When we’d been intimate he’d called me Jules, I realized quite sudden. For some reason it bothered me, although why, I wasn’t sure.
“You are mine, Jules. Mine.”
In those few moments he was a different man. An entirely different person altogether. But he’d reverted to calling me by my full name. He was back to business. The stone wall he’d erected had been rebuilt. Merely thinking about the future ahead was exhausting. How long could we go on this way?
I studied my husband wondering if he was just as exhausted with the games as I. The broadness of his shoulders, the muscles in his smooth
back, his dark hair curled from the rain…he looked like a Greek God. But he was a man. A handsome, strong and powerful man…but still merely a man.
“Can we be civil to each other, James? Do you think that’s possible?” He paused for a long, long moment. I knew this was difficult for him, but I wouldn’t relent. “Can we call a truce?”
“Perhaps.”
I frowned, needing more. Needing something from him. Anything. I wanted a promise. I wanted a part of his heart, but I would be content with an agreement. “You’ll try?”
He met my gaze. “I’ll try.”
My chest felt tight with an emotion I didn’t truly understand. For the first time since meeting him, I felt a peace the likes of which I’d never known. “I’d like to visit my father.”
He was quiet for a moment, studying me warily. “And if I let you go, will you return?”
I didn’t miss the fear in his gaze. It was a small glimmer, hidden behind the harsh façade of a stoic man, but it was there. He wanted me to return. Perhaps…just perhaps he cared. I nodded, swallowing hard. This was the real James. “I swear it.”
“Have dinner with me tonight,” he demanded softly.
My hope soared. He was trying, it was all I could ask of him. “I will.”
****
James
I’d sent the invitation. I’d expected her to arrive.
Frustrated, I settled back in my chair at the head of the table. I’d only eaten in the dining room when we had guests. Usually I took my meals in the library or my chambers. I’d never felt lonely. Until now. She was safely back in my home. I should have been content. But knowing Jules was here made me want more. More of something I didn’t quite understand.
My wife was bold, daring. A warrior. Damn it all, I found her fascinating. Rafe had been right…I wanted her. I’d had no intention of ever marrying Penny. When the chit had left with the stable lad, my relief had been immediate. I’d married Jules because I’d needed her with a desperation that could not possibly be explained.
All I knew was that I didn’t want this anymore. I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to hate her. Certainly I didn’t have to love her. I didn’t have to trust her. But we could live in peace, couldn’t we? Could we not come to some sort of understanding?
“Did you kill your father?”
She had asked the question so bluntly.
As much as I respected her for not hiding behind veiled questions and hints, hearing the words come from her lips was like a punch to the gut. Why? I knew the entire ton thought I had murdered my father. I’d assumed the rumors had reached her parents, but they had overlooked the gossip for a good match. Or they hadn’t heard after all.
I glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. She was five minutes late. She wasn’t going to come. The anger I should have felt didn’t arrive. Instead, I felt only disappointment and frustration.
“Can we be civil to each other, James? Do you think that’s possible?”
I promised to try. I had. She had not.
Tossing my napkin upon the table, I stood to leave.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Jules said breathlessly, appearing in the doorway. “I got lost.”
She wore her hair in a simple braid that looped around her head and left loose tendrils to curl next to her heart-shaped face. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted as she breathed heavily, as if she’d raced down the steps to get here. Hell, I could feel my cock hardening at the mere sight of her. I wanted her desperately, completely.
She had come. The relief and pleasure I felt was disconcerting. “It’s fine.”
Perhaps a week ago I would have thought she’d left me waiting on purpose. But her blue eyes held only innocence. The footman raced forward and pulled out her chair. She seemed startled by our close proximity. I’d ordered her plate set next to mine, refusing to yell down the table, or worse, sit there ignoring each other as my parents used to do. She wore the same blue dress with white flowers I’d seen her in the other day. The guilt I’d been trying to ignore burst to life. I realized that I’d neglected her in so many ways.
“I’m sending for a seamstress,” I said, as she settled at the table. “For you to be fitted for new gowns.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to.”
“I want to.” The sudden urge to see her dressed in satins and silks overwhelmed me. I couldn’t love her. I might not ever gain her trust, but damnation, I would see her taken care of. “You’re the wife of an earl, you should dress like one. Unless you wish to let the world believe I neglect you.”
“Of course not.”
“I’ll send someone to town this evening.”
She stared meekly at her plate. “Thank you.”
I hated that she had to thank me for something that should have been done without question, without hesitation. I was an amazing investor and had doubled the family fortune. I was a rather well-liked lord to my tenants. Even as master of the house I had absolute respect. Yet, I would admit to myself that as a husband I had failed.
The cucumber soup was placed before us, momentarily occupying her attention. She did not ignore the footman, but smiled gratefully up at him. That smile did odd things to me and I found myself wishing her joy might one day be directed my way. I tore my gaze from her and found my soup spoon.
“Tell me,” I started in an attempt at conversation. “How do you like it here?”
She glanced around the chamber, keeping her polite smile in place. A smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. “The dining room is lovely.”
At least she was trying. It wasn’t what I’d asked and I had a feeling she knew. She didn’t want to hurt my feelings. I didn’t miss the way her gaze had landed on the painting on the wall. “Do you like it?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “It’s…”
I laughed, some of the awkwardness leaving. “What? Come, be honest.”
“Alright…it’s the so similar to all the others. Dark. Dreary.”
“Perhaps we might hang a painting of yours upon the wall.” I thought of her cottage by the sea, but to hang the painting would be to admit I had stolen the piece.
She flushed. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to. You decide which one. Or paint something new.” I sipped my wine. “I believe it was your dream, after all, to see one of your paintings hung in the room of a rich lord.”
She played with her napkin, not meeting my gaze. “You remembered.”
I remembered everything she had said to me those months ago. But to admit it, would be to admit too much. One step at a time. “And the estate?” I asked. “What do you think of the house?”
She took a sip of soup, stalling. “Tis very brooding. Did you spend your entire childhood here?”
Brooding? That was a different way of looking at the estate. Some called it elegant. Some called it dark. Much like how they spoke of me. I sipped my wine. “We did.” But I didn’t want to talk about my childhood. Nothing could be gained from such morose memories. “And you? Did you always live in Dorset?”
She nodded, relaxing. She, unlike myself, liked to speak of her childhood and family. I didn’t mind. I liked to hear her talk. Her voiced soothed me. “Penny and I were born in that house. It’s been in our family for generations.”
But it would go to the male heir, a distant cousin who would most likely have little use for the place. I’d always thought the rule ridiculous. “As has ours.”
How different our families were. How different our lives had been. While this monster of a castle had been in my family for generations as well, there were so very few fond memories here. My children might not have the happy, idyllic family that Jules could claim, but they wouldn’t have my nightmare either. I supposed for that I should have been grateful.
“What did you do as children?”
She shrugged, looking dreamy for a moment. It was so very strange to sit here and speak so politely after all we had been through. Yet, at the same time…it wa
s so very right.
“Played in the creek,” she said, blushing. No doubt thinking of our meeting those many months ago. “Helped in the gardens. Went to town. Every Sunday there would be a picnic after church with all the townspeople.”
She’d had a social life. I hadn’t thought about the fact that she might be lonely here. I hadn’t thought about much but punishing the woman who had betrayed me. No, not just punishing. I had wanted her. I had wanted her as my own, and I hadn’t cared if I’d been selfish to take her. Hadn’t cared if in the process I would hurt her.
“So then, you would have been content to stay there for the rest of your life?”
The fish arrived and the soup was taken away. It was a proper meal, and with the warmth of the fire and the beauty of Jules, it was even pleasant. Could we have our meals here every night? Would she enjoy the company as much as I? Or would she prefer I left her in peace? Hell, I didn’t give a damn. Now that I had her here, I couldn’t imagine dinning alone.
“Forever?” She took a dainty bite of fish as she thought over my question. I’d assumed she should have been grateful that I had swept her away from such a backward country life. Perhaps not. I waited with baited breath for her response.
“No, perhaps not forever.” She frowned. “I love the country and the solitude. It does well with my painting. But…”
She paused, as if uncertain if she should share.
“Go on,” I urged.
“But I enjoyed London. I always wished to return.”
In other words, she had not been content to be stashed away like some insane relative one was embarrassed by. She had wanted her freedom, her own choice in where to go, what to do and see. By marrying me, she had given up one gilded cage for another.
“Can I ask you a question, and you won’t be angry with me?”