Fallen (24 page)

"Julian?"

It was the smallest whisper, just his name on a breath.

When Julian opened his eyes, he could not breathe for the image that confronted him. It was Izzy, but Izzy from his dreams, from the dark erotic recesses of his most secret fantasy. She stood, so nearly naked that it made no difference, before the fire. It lit her delicate figure from behind, throwing her sweet curves into dark contrast through the filmy garment that barely covered her.

A cloud of dark hair, loose in the way he had imagined it so many times, fell around her head and shoulders in wildly curling disarray, backlit by the flames into a seductive nimbus the color of finest brandy. She stood as if wary, legs slightly parted as if braced to run from him.

Silly fancy, he thought to himself.

She was not here to flee from him. She was here to torture him again, as she had every time he thought to elude all thought of her by hiding in a bottle. She had come to him before, many times in the past weeks.

He had imagined her writhing wild abandon beneath him in the moonlight. He had conjured her, valiant and fierce-eyed, defending him. No matter how much he drank, he could not escape her.

"Come to seduce me again, little vision? Why do you plague me when you know very well I will never love you? Love. Ha! It doesn't exist—not really. But you don't know that, do you? You're just a will o' the wisp, a djinn from a bottle." Looking at the empty brandy snifter that dangled from his fingers, he laughed darkly at his own joke.

"Well, I wasn't looking for you tonight. No, tonight, you are not what I need at all. You have not the substance I desire, nor the life and fire that I need like the very breath in my lungs."

Raising his empty glass to his gaze, he snorted in disgust and flung it into the fire with the last of his conscious will. "I want the woman, not the lie. Not the lie…"

As Julian faded back into his numbed state, Izzy caught back the gasp that had left her at his words. Not all he had said to her made sense, but one thing was achingly obvious.

He did not love her. He did not want her. As the pain spread through her, wrapping cruelly about her heart, Izzy at last broke into the tears that had threatened all day and ran from the room.

The force of her sobs carried her through the dark and empty house to the room she had been given. Standing just inside, her back pressed to the closed door, she let the pain wash over her, let the tears come as long as they may. She was so tired of fighting them, so tired of fighting life.

The wide bed caught her gaze, and she was swept with an overwhelming fear that the nightmare of the storm would reoccur. Yet, she was cold, and exhausted, and desperately craved sleep.

If only she had been able to curl up in Julian's warm strong arms, to feel his strength standing between her and her fears. If only her husband awaited her in her bed. Collapsing in the middle of the enormous mattress, she shivered uncomfortably for a long while, then fell away from her cares into the misty landscape of her dreams.

Oddly, this time the dreams were different. They were bright, beautiful visions of a different life from hers. The dream-Julian loved her beyond all, and together they rode horses of magnificent breeding through an unlikely landscape of rocks shaped like giant sculpted gods, reaching for the sky.

Julian was dying. Or perhaps he only wished he was. Hauling himself from the chair where he had spent his wedding night, he swayed unsteadily upright. He would not have dreamed it possible, but his head pounded even harder.

No, standing was not a grand idea. He sat back down abruptly.

"No, my lord, the lady has not yet risen. I wish I had known of all this, my lord. I would have assigned a maid to her ladyship. Last night must have been difficult to manage on her own."

Julian waved Greeley away and put his head between his hands. Yes, it must have been. Female clothing was a maze. He knew enough from the undressing of past lovers to know that his wife could only have removed her own dress with extreme difficulty. He leaned back, grinding his thudding head against the hard stuffed velvet of his seat.

His wife.

He was married. 'Til death do part us, he thought. It was difficult to grasp. He had always thought he would be an old man before he wed. Until his brother had died and his father looked to him for succession, he'd had no intention to do so at all. Only to be free to sample women and adventure until the day he died.

Now look at him. Married, strung up by the boot heels by his father's threats, about as free as a falcon on its jesses. The worst of it was that he had no one to blame but himself.

His father had told him his profligate ways would lead to his ruin—although he doubted that his father would label his present state as ruin—and the man was right. He had given in to his passion for a woman once too many times.

Well, twice too many, actually. If he had kept away from Celia, he would not have encountered Izzy at all. Rubbing fiercely at his aching temples, Julian tried to remember why he could not stay away from Celia at Cherrymore's house party.

Of course, she was lovely, perfection itself, but now her beauty left him quite unmoved. He found he vastly preferred a face with some character, an off-center dimple, or perhaps a pair of wide eyes the color of dusk.

Oh,
hell
! He was obsessed with his own wife. Reluctantly he admitted to himself that he had been for months. He found that unbelievable, but… he had been with no one else since the Waverlys' ball, since that first sizzling kiss. His eyes closed as he remembered Izzy's hotly naive response. Then he shook himself.

This will pass, he told himself. It always had before. After all, he had been enamored of Suzette for nearly a year. His thoughts glanced off the fact that Suzette had used every exotic wile at her disposal to keep his interest, while all Izzy seemed to need to do was draw breath.

Well, he had her now. What was he going to do with her? Would she share his bed? She had been so distant since the night in the garden. He supposed he could demand his marital rights but the thought of an unwilling Izzy was distasteful.

He wanted her passion, her innocent abandon. He hardened at a memory of her standing before the fire in nothing much at all, her figure outlined against the flames.

No, that wasn't a memory, merely a fantasy. He had never seen her so. He had only seen her beneath him in the moonlight. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as the throbbing in his groin nearly overpowered the pounding in his head.

If he went to Izzy now, would she want him as she had then? Perhaps she would. He had taken her freedom, but he had many things to offer her now that she was his wife. Perhaps if he charmed her, or brought her a gift. Izzy loved presents.

Chocolates. The very thing.

His will to live having returned and his headache somewhat receding, Julian rang for Greeley. If he hurried, he had time for a bath before the footman came back with the sweets. He wanted to look his best.

Izzy slept until nearly noon, and woke feeling horrid. Betty buzzed around her, unpacking the items she had packed so carefully and chattering about Timothy and the horses.

Apparently Tristan had been so excited to see Lizzie that he had pulled his tether right out of the hands of three stableboys. Timothy had won their eternal gratitude and respect when he had competently returned the giant stallion to his stall.

Izzy nodded distractedly, but she wasn't really listening. Her head ached most unpleasantly, and her stomach roiled. Turning away everything but the weakest tea, Izzy sat wrapped in the counterpane and her misery.

Betty was staggering under a great load of gowns when there came a sharp rap at the door. Izzy waved the girl to continue with her task and unearthed herself to answer it.

Julian stood in the doorway, but when he saw her, his jaw dropped. She knew she looked terrible. Swallowed by one of Julian's dressing gowns, she hunched miserably, blinking up at him with a frown. Her hair was coiled wildly about her head and, if she looked as she felt, her complexion was likely one of warring grey and green.

The sight of Julian made Izzy feel even worse. Not only was he the cause of every speck of turmoil in her life, but the man had the unmitigated gall to show up looking perfectly healthy and well-groomed while she felt like a troll. Resentment and the pain of last night's rejection churned along with her other miseries. She glared at him.

"What?" she snapped.

"Ah… I…" he stammered, taken aback by her scowl. "Um, here!" Pulling a satin-covered box from behind his back, he removed the cover in one smooth motion and thrust the contents under her nose.

Izzy stared down at the chocolates. When the rich scent struck her, her stomach took a violent turn about the floor. She raised her eyes to his with a look of profound horror.

He never knew what hit him.

Eric's face was the last one Julian wanted to see that afternoon, especially after the way Izzy had avoided him like poison all day, so it made sense that his friend would show up.

Lord Stretton stormed past the protesting Greeley, every inch the arrogant lordling with whom Julian had been so close. Upon hearing the snarled commands from the hall, Julian waited wearily to be bearded in his den. As predicted, Eric soon appeared in the study door, slapping his gloves on his thigh. His shoulders were tight and his jaw clenched rhythmically. He looked furious and quite ready to duel.

After his day of frustrations, Julian felt his own temper begin to rise. If a battle was what his old schoolmate wanted, a battle was what he would get.

"Going to thrash me? Call me out? Jump me in the dark, perhaps?" Julian taunted grimly.

"No more than you deserve, you rotter! I have just come from the Bottomly residence, but unfortunately for Izzy, I was a day too late."

"Sorry to have missed my nuptials, were you? How thoughtful."

Eric visibly seethed. "I didn't want to attend them, but to stop them. Oh, but now you have it all, don't you? Your father's favor, the title in your grasp, and a little heir on the way to sweeten the deal! Oh, yes. Lady
Bottomly let that slip. She's terribly worried about Izzy. Thought Izzy could use the support of her
friends
."

Julian flinched at that. His days in that number were gone. He knew Izzy no longer counted him as one, and to hear the relationship claimed by his rival for her heart threw him into a cold rage.

"She also told me that Izzy had no plan to wed you at all, but merely intended to fool your father. You asked her and she refused, repeatedly, so she helped by putting on this charade. But not to marry you, never to
marry
you! Yet you found a way, didn't you? Of course you did. I can't see you taking a chance on being disinherited."

"And I suppose you had nothing to do with the events of that night?" Julian shot back. "Was she your fiancée, to be kissed by you on the terrace? That night was—"

Eric flinched, then darkened. "If I thought for one moment that I was the cause of what you did, I'd have wed her myself. But you can't claim jealousy over a woman you've never loved." Eric's voice grated with suppressed rage. "How could you seduce an innocent for your own gain? How could you betray Izzy like that? Hell, you were with that bloody widow on the balcony when I left you. You are twice the rotter your father thinks you are!"

The very accuracy of the accusations made Julian twice as furious. Coming from Eric, they sent him into madness. His hands on the edge of the desk tightened during Eric's tirade until the fine wood cracked.

Leaping from his chair in one smooth, deadly motion, he flung a blow at Eric that should have silenced him for good. But Eric was ready for him. He took the impact on his shoulder, using Julian's momentum to plant his own fist in his opponent's midriff.

The two raging bodies collided and sprawled across the desk, Eric on the bottom. Fists flailing, the two rolled off onto the floor, growling as they upended a small side table and smashed it to fragments beneath them.

The sound of breaking furniture and shattering crystal ornaments drew the servants at a run. They rushed past Izzy where she stood frozen in the doorway of the ruined study, where neither man had seen her in their rage.

Julian pulled away, then flung himself fully on Eric, pinning him to the floor. Twisting violently, his friend threw him off, getting free long enough to land one vicious blow to Julian's jaw before he was shoved down again.

But in that instant, Eric spotted something over Julian's shoulder. As they plunged back to the floor in a furious clinch, Calwell's attention was arrested, and he did not duck in time to avoid the fist flying toward his face. He grunted as his head snapped back, then slumped groggily to the rug.

Breathing raggedly, Julian dragged himself to his feet. He looked up from where he leaned with his hands braced on his knees and shook his head to clear his vision. The first thing that swam into focus was his wife's stricken face.

Staring as if he was a maddened dog, she sidled around him to kneel beside Eric. Stroking a small hand over the fallen man's flushed brow, she urgently signaled the servants to come and carry a stunned Eric from the rumpled, shard-dusted rug.

She stayed kneeling there, watching as he was carried out. Seeing the broken glass surrounding her, Julian moved to Izzy and reached out to help her to her feet. She ducked from his open hand as if from a thrown blow, shooting him a horrified look. Jumping up, she scurried from the room, leaving him standing alone with his outstretched hand slowly curling into a white-knuckled fist.

Wincing, his breath hissing sharply, Julian endured his valet's attentions with a hot towel. He wanted his wife, but he doubted she would come. There was someone else in this house she would no doubt rather attend to. In his mind he pictured Eric smiling under Izzy's tender ministrations.

The little scene in the study had convinced him beyond all doubt. It was Eric she cared for. Eric she loved. Clenching his teeth, he told himself that he did not blame her. Eric had never been aught but knightly toward her, never seduced her, never used her for gain. She should have married Eric.