Beauty in Breeches (17 page)

‘He has every right,' George said gently. ‘In truth, Beatrice, I'm surprised he hasn't done so before now.'

‘But he can't,' Beatrice cried. ‘He can't. Otherwise what was the point of it all?'

‘Did it never occur to you that he would do it?'

‘No—no, it didn't. Oh, George, what a stupid, blind fool I've been. But all is not lost. I'll go to him, speak to him. I have to make him see that he cannot do this.'

‘Of course you must, but—you won't forget about Astrid, will you, Beatrice?'

She paused, looked at him and, seeing his worried look, her expression softened. ‘How could I? Astrid is always in my thoughts. I am so concerned about her. I'll speak to Julius. I am sure he will know what to do.'

 

Beatrice's disbelieving dread increased with every mile that took her to her husband. She suddenly found herself at war with herself. Half of her was besieged by the wild joy at the thought that the man who had obsessed her thoughts since she had first laid eyes on him was home at last, and the other half was indignant and furious that he intended to take from her the very thing that had brought them together in the first place, without any discussion on the matter.

Oh, but Julius Chadwick was a sly one. By blatantly ignoring her feelings, without so much as a by your leave, like some wicked puppet master it was his way of telling her that he had taken control of her life and there was nothing she could do about it.

 

On reaching the house she hurried inside. She was met by Hayes in the hall. In stentorian tones he welcomed her home and informed her that her husband was in his study, working.

‘Oh. Well, that's too bad. Tell him I'm here, will you, Hayes, and that I want to see him.'

‘As you wish, my lady.'

Hayes crossed the hall to do her bidding. Breathing rapidly, Beatrice waited, her hands on her waist, the toe of her foot tapping impatiently, her eyes glued to the study door, behind which lurked the man responsible
for her fury. She heard Hayes clear his throat and then proceed to tell Julius that his wife had arrived home and wished to speak to him.

Julius's low voice vibrated with annoyance. ‘Tell my wife to go to her room. I will be up to see her shortly. In the meantime I have important work to attend to.'

Furious at being ordered to her room like a mindless piece of chattel, without further ado Beatrice marched to the wood-panelled study and pushed her way past Hayes. Julius was sitting at his desk, dictating a letter to his secretary. His head snapped up, his gaze riveting on her, and his expression went from shock to relief to cold anger. ‘Beatrice!'

Putting a tight rein on her temper as she walked across the carpet, Beatrice could not take her eyes off him. He looked just as handsome as ever, just as ruggedly virile and formidably large. She refused to admit, however, that his chiselled male perfection had any effect on her. With unarguable logic, she said, ‘I apologise for disturbing you, Julius. Obviously you consider me of less importance than your business concerns, but after an absence of four months, I'm sure you can spare a few minutes to speak to your wife.'

With deadly calm, Julius laid down his quill and turned his gaze on his secretary. ‘Leave us, will you, Harry?' he said curtly. ‘We'll finish this later.'

When Harry and Hayes had left the room Julius turned his attention on his wife. He took one look at her face and knew that his ruse to bring her back to London had worked. What he read in her face was a
mixture of fury and dread. Little did she know that he had been waiting for her, that he knew that when Mr Sinclair introduced himself and informed her of his reason for being at Larkhill, it wouldn't take long for her to come hurtling back to London. He was not disappointed. In fact, she had made it faster than he'd imagined.

There was an air of barely controlled impatience about her that fairly crackled. Her hair hung in a tangled pennant of glossy waves. She was flushed. Her eyes had a luminous quality, green and dazzling, of a woman who had spent weeks in a state of bliss and contentment and with no wish to have it spoiled by a returning husband. It maddened him and fascinated him and made him desire her all at the same time, but he controlled the urge to drag her off to bed and looked at her in chilly, fierce reproach.

‘Since you're here, I suppose we'd better get this over with now rather than later.'

Beatrice's head was whirling as she cast about for words. Until then she had thought she remembered exactly how he looked, but she was mistaken. His tan jacket clung to his wide shoulders and his thick hair was brushed back from his wide forehead. His face was one of arrogant handsomeness, with its sculptured mouth and striking amber eyes. But now she noticed the cynicism in those eyes and a ruthless set to his jaw. She searched his features, but found no sign that this forbidding man had held her and made love to her with seductive sensuality on their wedding night. Now
everything about him exuded ruthlessness and brute strength.

She moved to stand directly in front of him, her hands clenched into fists. ‘You know why I have come back to London, so don't pretend you are surprised to see me. How could you do this?' she cried in brazen confrontation. ‘I find it contemptible and completely underhand.'

Julius loomed over her, holding himself completely still, his eyes boring into hers. When he spoke his voice was icier than an ice floe, and his words chilled Beatrice more than that. ‘What I find underhand is for you to disobey me. It was foolish of me to expect to find my wife waiting for me to return home, to fling herself into my arms and shed tears of joy at my safe return. And if you're about to tell me how sorely you've missed me, the fact that you left for Larkhill as soon as my back was turned is a little incongruous. If you want to soften my attitude towards you and win my forgiveness for disobeying me, then you will have to think of something else.'

The sweet drift of happiness Beatrice had felt on waking at Larkhill that morning shattered away and her heart hardened and her face turned mutinous. ‘Win your forgiveness?' she exploded, her colour rising with indignation, anger and confusion warring inside her head. Julius had never cared about her and he had no right to act like a self-righteous, outraged husband. ‘And why, pray, should I want your forgiveness? I don't want it.'

‘Oh, yes, lady, you do.' His voice was soft, mild
even, but there was a core of iron in it which told Beatrice to beware. His face was like granite, his mouth stern and his eyes had darkened in their fury.

‘The way I see it, I have done nothing wrong,' she persisted. ‘Your forgiveness is the
last
thing I care about.'

Julius caught his breath and his jaw clamped with the grinding resolution which had kept him always in control of those with whom he dealt. Show no one your thoughts, had always been his rule, but this rebellious wife of his had a habit of pushing his temper beyond his control.

‘Beatrice,' he said, ‘if you're wondering how far you can push me, you've just reached your limit. I expect you to understand the rules.' His eyes challenged her dangerously. ‘The idea of being defied by my own wife is unthinkable. As long as you behave yourself I am willing to let you enjoy the full benefits of your position as the Marchioness of Maitland. So think very carefully before you make the mistake of defying my orders in the future. You'll regret it, I promise you. I can be ugly when I am crossed. You would do well to remember it.'

Anger at being spoken to like a recalcitrant child poured through Beatrice. She could not believe that this was her husband speaking to her, that he was worse than she remembered—more arrogant, more dictatorial and completely heartless. Despite the cold tingle of alarm his silken voice caused in her, stripping away some of her confidence, she lifted her chin.

‘You cannot bully me into compliance, Julius. I can
see that my removing myself to the country has upset you, though I cannot for the life of me see why. What did you expect me to do—sit about all day and slowly go out of my mind?'

‘Other wives seem to find plenty to fill their days.'

‘Ha,' she scoffed. ‘Running their husband's house—in the kitchen and the pantry, discussing menus and counting linen, and when all that is done sitting by the fireside embroidering samplers and darning socks. When you left I did all that and found it tedious.'

‘For two weeks, Beatrice. You did that for two weeks, before you went haring off to Larkhill.'

‘And why not?' she persisted. ‘I miss the freedom of the country—my horse. London is horrid in the summer. Most people take themselves off to the country.'

‘The Merricks don't. They reside in London all the year round.'

‘Only because Lady Merrick likes London and likes being around people. Besides, they don't have a country residence to retire to.'

Julius stared down at the tempestuous young woman, her face both delicate and vivid with her stormy eyes and soft lips, and he suddenly saw her as she'd looked in the garden at Standish House, her enchanting face turned up to the night sky. As they'd discussed the stars there had been a softness about her, an elusive gentleness that was as fragile and vulnerable as the delicate flowers that surrounded her. She was still that same young woman, completely female, sensual and she was his wife. He had made love to her,
but he did not possess her, for the sweet, wild essence of her still belonged to her.

She was not a conventional woman. She was young, naïve and vulnerable and could not be blamed for rebelling against the restrictions which held her. She was not submissive or pliant and was unwilling to be moulded to the whims of others. The fury within him lessened and, as he looked down into her glorious eyes, his stomach clenched at the thought of hurting her.

‘For the time I have been away you have had more freedom than most, Beatrice, and now I have returned I would like to see your defiant heart more involved with household affairs.'

She accepted his words coldly, her head high, her cheeks flushed. ‘Anyone would think you married me for my domestic accomplishments, when we both know different. It may have escaped your notice, but I haven't had a great deal of experience with being a wife. So if you have finished reprimanding me,
my lord
, I have a matter of my own to raise with you.'

‘I know.' Satisfied that she was adequately chastened, Julius perched his hip on the edge of the desk and folded his arms across his chest.

‘You cannot mean to sell Larkhill,' she said, unable to keep the desperation from her voice. ‘Julius, you can't.'

‘I don't need Larkhill. It means nothing to me.'

‘But it does to me,' she flared with a sudden impassioned flourish, her eyes blurred with tears. ‘It means
everything
to me. You know that. Why do you have to change things? Why are you doing this? Why do you
have to hurt me? Is it to punish me for manipulating you into marriage? If so, then would you please find some other way of doing it instead of selling Larkhill.'

‘I have already decided,' he said firmly. ‘The matter is settled. As soon as I have a copy of Mr Sinclair's valuation, the Larkhill estate will be put on the market. I am hoping for a quick sale.'

For a moment Beatrice's mind could not adjust itself to the fact that he really was going to go through with it. How could he do that? How could she live and never see Larkhill again? At least at Standish House she had still been able to see the fields, the tall trees, the low, wet meadows, the quiet places only she knew about. Resentment of Julius burned in her heart.

When she spoke her voice was low and trembling with contempt. ‘What a cold, unfeeling blackguard you are, Julius Chadwick. This is nothing short of tyranny. You are enjoying every minute of what I am going through. Because of what I did, you will naturally want to torment me as much as possible to pay me back. Little did I think when I named the forfeit after beating you in that race that you would do this to me.'

‘Then you should have had more sense. You should have foreseen that I might call your bluff.'

‘Well, I didn't. Why didn't you tell me at the start you might do this? Why let it go so far? Don't you see it was a way out for you? When you asked me to back down I would have done so at once and disappeared out of your life for ever.'

‘Perhaps I didn't want you to disappear, Beatrice. You intrigued me. I had just returned to England after
a long absence and I realised that to continue the line I must have heirs, and to have heirs I needed a wife. I was considering searching for some high-bred débutante. I hadn't started looking and then you came along with your outrageous challenge. The moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were different. I am not just referring to your beauty—I've known beautiful women before and quite frankly they bored me to tears. I had no intention of selling Larkhill when I met you. It is a valuable property. The land yields well. I would have been a fool to get rid of it then.'

‘It still is. I may have made it difficult for you to refuse to honour the forfeit, but I did not believe you would be so petty or mean spirited as to retaliate and sell a property that is still viable merely to punish me.'

‘And if I had told you I meant to sell it, would you really have backed down?'

‘Of course I would. Without Larkhill there was no point in any of it.'

Relinquishing his perch Julius stood up and moved closer, a cynical twist curling his lips. ‘You never fail to amaze me, Beatrice. You are the only woman who has not been drawn to me by my title or my gold. All you care about is that damned house. Well, all your scheming has come to nothing. No matter how much money it brings in every year from the rents and the land, the sooner it's out of our lives the better. The mistake is yours. Accept it. There is no going back so you will have to learn to live with the consequences of your actions—however painful that will be.'