Beauty in Breeches (19 page)

Deliberately taking his time, Julius slid his hands over her like a connoisseur, caressing with skilful reverence, claiming every inch of her for his own, heating her skin and making her ache with soon-to-be-fulfilled yearnings. Eager to do some exploring of her own, Beatrice heard the quickening of his breath as her fingers inched tentatively over his bare flesh, savouring the sculpted hardness of his chest and abdomen. His hands slid lower, curving around her hips, his lips trailing lower and nuzzling closer to the curly triangle between her legs. Beatrice gasped, tilting her head back, her hand gripping his shoulders, her head pounding like a maddened thing, filled with a mixture of excitement and impatience for him to take her.

Julius felt her escalating desire. All his cool control stripped away. Desperate for her, he pulled her beneath him as though he could not withstand another second of denial. Lifting her taut buttocks to receive him, he entered her.

Beatrice opened completely to him, moulding her hips to his as he began to move, presenting him with a gift of surrender, unwittingly driving him to unparalleled agonies of desire, her surrender answering something deep within his soul. Wanting all he had to give, something wild, raw and primitive and savage built inside her, racing through her veins with wrenching
pleasure, the undulant waves of his taking increasing to a crescendo of resounding power. Nothing either of them felt was suppressed or hidden, there was just exquisite joy.

They reached their climax in wild, wonderful, burning unison. Julius's body jerked convulsively again and again, and he clasped her to him, feeling the tiny, shudders of her body as she rung the last pleasure of her orgasm from him. Breathing hard against her cheek, his heart raging in frantic tempo with hers, his body merging into hers, his seed deep inside her, he was more pleased by what had just happened between them than by any other sexual experience of his life. It was also, he thought, the most profound moment of his life.

When reality returned and his breathing evened out, he moved on to his side. Beatrice's hair spilled over his naked chest like a drift of satin and he raised a hand to smooth it off her face, feeling humbled and blessed by her unselfish ardour—and relieved that this time she didn't turn from him. Content and sated, their bodies succumbing to the dreamy aftermath of complete consummation, they remained that way for several minutes, then Beatrice stirred and draped a leaden arm around his waist. Julius tipped her chin up so that he could gaze into her eyes.

‘How do you feel?' he asked softly.

Beatrice's long, curling lashes fluttered up and her eyes like two languid green pools gazed into his—this man, her husband. She had not sought his love, she did not expect it, and she certainly had no right to it, but
at that moment, more than anything she had wanted in her life before, she wanted it.

‘I feel like a wife,' she whispered. ‘Your wife.'

He laughed huskily. ‘Which is exactly what you are, my love. My wife in every sense. And I feel like a husband,' he said, with tender solemnity. ‘To think I actually believed there was no such thing as marital bliss.' Relaxing against the pillows, he revelled in the simple joy of having her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. ‘How incredibly stupid I have been.'

‘No, you are not stupid,' his wife declared loyally, turning her face up to his. ‘Although I would dearly like to know what has given you reason to think that.' She observed a tightening of his features and something in his eyes warned her not to press, but she was not to be put off. Placing her lips against his shoulder in the gentlest caress, her heart aching, she wished he would open up to her. ‘As your wife I would like to know something of your past, Julius—your parents. Will you not tell me?'

‘Time enough for that,' he replied, closing his eyes.

Beatrice wriggled on to her stomach and propped herself up on her arms, her face only inches from his. ‘Please be open with me, Julius. I want to know the nature of the man I married. I have always been forthcoming about myself—and you witnessed for yourself the misery of what my life was like at Standish House. I too find it hard to speak about my deepest feelings, but I would willingly do so with you. Despite all my efforts to keep you from seeing my many insecurities, you have a habit of pulling them out of me. I think that
is because now I am your wife, I want you to know who I am. I know you are a very private person, Julius, and I respect that, but if you cannot open up to me as I am willing to do with you—even if it's just a little at a time—then we have no chance of happiness until you can begin to share yourself with me.'

For a moment he did not move, nor did he reply. Then he opened his eyes and met her direct gaze. From the very start, despite her outward show of confidence, as he had gazed into those soft green eyes he had sensed in this brave, unspoiled girl a great capacity for love that made him hope that in time his own most secret yearning would be fulfilled. It was a yearning he had never known and never thought he could have until Beatrice had thrust herself forwards and challenged his spirit. He now felt that he could tell her something of his past without revealing the dark secret he kept locked away in the furthest corner of his mind.

‘It is the way I've always been,' he said in answer to her question. ‘I cannot change the way I am.'

‘I would not expect you to do that, but it is not unnatural for a wife to want to know about her husband. I know you've had a difficult past—indeed, we have both suffered because of what our fathers did,' she said, knowing that whatever she said now might determine their whole future. ‘Lady Merrick has told me a little about your life, and you, if you remember, when you brought me to London. I know of your achievements and how they made you rich, but your family remains a mystery to me. Why, Julius? Why won't you tell me? I know it is largely down to your father. Is it because
you are ashamed? Because if so, I will tell you now that I don't care who your parents were.'

Rage blazed in Julius's eyes for a moment, but then he sighed resignedly. ‘Yes, Beatrice, I suppose I am ashamed, but there is more to it than that.'

‘Please tell me?' she asked softly.

‘If you insist on knowing, I will tell you. Until his demise my whole life revolved around my father. He was a greedy man. It was not in his nature to live his life in modest comfort. He was the Marquess of Maitland, once a name to gain admittance into the highest political and social circles. He was also the worst in a long line of gamblers, falling deeper and deeper into debt running into tens of thousands of pounds. Everything of value was stripped away to pay the bills and his gambling debts. It was sheer hell for my mother. She was constantly at her wits' end. He was not a good man, nor was he kind—especially not to my mother. He also drank heavily and treated her very badly.'

Beatrice watched, her beautiful eyes wide with shock as pain slashed across his features. ‘That must have been awful for her—and for you, having to witness it.'

Reaching up he pushed her hair casually over her shoulder. ‘He was a brute. The banks were threatening foreclosure on loans he could not hope to cover. Nothing remained against which capital might have been raised. I had a personal income, but Father took it all. He stole and gambled away every penny. Even the properties were gone—pledged against loans he could not hope to repay.'

‘Lady Merrick told me it was some money given to you by your grandmother and your own intelligence and good sense that enabled you to succeed. I admire you for that.'

‘Yes, God bless her. Without her—without that money—I could not have done it.'

Beatrice smiled. ‘Oh, I'm sure you would have found a way. Is your grandmother still alive?'

He hesitated, and for a moment Beatrice thought he wasn't going to say more. When he did, his deep voice was strangely hesitant, almost as if he was testing his ability to talk about it. ‘She died shortly before…'

‘Before what?' Pain slashed his features once more. She touched his cheek. ‘Julius, please tell me.'

He turned his head to one side and quietly said, ‘Before my mother.'

‘There—was a fire—at Highfield. Your parents…'

He turned and looked at her once more, a fierce light having entered his eyes. It was so hard to say these things, even harder than he had thought it would be, each word an ocean of pain, and he felt as if he were a youth all over again.

Beatrice did not say anything, but simply listened as the words carried on pouring out of him.

‘Both my parents perished. Only days before, Father had suffered badly on the stock market and it went from bad to worse when he tried to recoup his losses at the tables. On the night of the fire, finally realising his dreams of greatness were shattered, he returned to Highfield. Arriving late at night, he thought he was alone in the house. My mother was supposed to be
visiting a friend. Unbeknown to my father, she was feeling unwell and decided to put off her visit. She was asleep when he returned.'

Beatrice's heart quaked and her soul was beginning to hurt at the forlorn air around him. ‘Julius, what are you saying? Surely you don't think he set fire to the house deliberately—that he—'

‘What? Committed suicide? That he killed my mother?' He spoke with glacial calm. ‘How would I know? How would anyone know that? Some say it was started accidentally. Some say it wasn't. The fact that he dismissed all the servants before the fire started speaks for itself,' he finished grimly.

‘I'm so sorry,' Beatrice whispered through a blur of tears, and all the sympathy and warmth in her heart was mirrored in her eyes. Once she had foolishly thought she knew what a broken heart was like. How wrong she had been, for it was only now breaking for this man who had to live with the knowledge that his father might have killed his mother. ‘You must have been out of your mind with shock and grief. I can understand why you didn't want to talk about it.'

‘All their married life my father crushed my mother. I loved her down to the depths of my soul and could not forgive him for the hurt he dealt her by his actions. I was appalled by the enormity of his debts and that, along with what he might have done to my mother, was the moment when I truly think I began to hate him. Can you imagine what it is like to do that, Beatrice? That was also the moment when I began to hate myself for harbouring such feelings.'

He fell silent and after a moment he looked at his wife, as if remembering she was there. He saw some of the horror in her eyes, and said, ‘Now you know my deepest secret. You are right. You are entitled to know all this, but God help me, Beatrice, until this moment I could not tell another living soul how I felt.'

Beatrice didn't know what to say. How could any words suffice? ‘Thank you for telling me, for sharing that with me.'

‘Thankfully I was then in a position to pay off my father's debts and lost no time in having the part of the house damaged by the fire rebuilt. As far as I was concerned, that was the end of it.'

He said that, Beatrice noted, with deadly finality. It was as if he'd resolved matters to his complete satisfaction in his own mind, and nothing and no one could ever intrude on the place where he had put his parents to rest.

‘After that I threw myself into my work, travelling east and west to try to forget.'

‘And—Larkhill?' she whispered tentatively. ‘You haven't mentioned how my father came to lose it to you.'

Apart from a tensing of his body, Julius's face remained expressionless. ‘I would prefer not to go into details of that night, Beatrice. Suffice to know that after paying off the mortgage I placed the estate in the hands of an agent to run in my absence. The first time I saw Larkhill was when I went to assess it for myself. In all honesty I had no idea you existed. I didn't know your father had a daughter. If I had known it would
bring me face to face with you and the pain of your loss, not for the world would I have gone down there.' He met her gaze. ‘How do you feel now you know the whole sorry story?' he asked, gently smoothing the tousled curls with his hand. ‘Are you wishing you'd never laid eyes on me? I wouldn't blame you.'

‘Please don't think that. I'm glad you've told me. I cannot imagine what would have become of our marriage if you had not shared this with me. It's too big, too important to have let it stand between us for the rest of our lives.'

‘And there will be no more talk of divorce? In for a penny, in for a pound?' he murmured, encouraged that she didn't pull away.

Beatrice swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat and, lifting her head, she gave him a wobbly smile. ‘Yes, something like that.'

‘And you have no concerns about the position of being my wife—about what that entails?'

‘Tell me what it is you expect your wife to do.'

He upturned her face to his, gazing deep into her eyes. ‘Always remain by the side of the marquess and desire him as you do now with all the passion you are capable of—all the days of your life.'

Beatrice tilted her head to one side, her heart pounding so hard she believed he must hear it. ‘I already do that, but will the marquess continue to desire his marchioness with the same amount of passion he asks of her?'

He cupped her cheek in his hand, loving all the subtle nuances of feeling conveyed in her expression.
‘I believe I could manage that—in fact, I believe the marquess already does.' He wiped a tear away with his thumb. Only then did she realise she was crying.

‘Oh, Julius! I pray God you are sincere, for I could not bear it if you weren't. I—I love you, you see…'

His face hardened and he pressed his finger to her lips, silencing her. ‘Don't say it, Beatrice,' he said with quiet, implacable firmness and a caution he had always maintained when it came to affairs of the heart. ‘Already you have given me far more than I could ever expect. Do not give more than that.'