My Fair Mistress (37 page)

A marked silence followed, Allerton and Lady Neville clearly astonished, while Ethan openly grinned his approval. As for Julianna, Rafe couldn’t tell how she felt, her face utterly devoid of expression.

He knew Tony assumed he’d already told Julianna the news; it was his own fault, he supposed, for not warning his friend to keep his mouth closed. But with the hurried wedding arrangements, there simply hadn’t been time—or at least a good time—to tell her. Except for a few brief minutes here and there, he and Julianna had barely seen each other in the days leading up to the ceremony.

Even so, gaining a title was an important event and he’d wanted to be the one to tell Julianna, had wanted to watch her face brighten with surprise and pleasure and happiness. She would be a baroness, her position secure as the wife of a nobleman—even if he had come to the peerage in a manner sure to cause comment and the occasional haughty sniff. But with the support of a duke and a marquis, their acceptance in Society was virtually guaranteed. Julianna should be smiling. She should be happy.

So why isn’t she?

Reaching out, Julianna curved her hand around the wine flute’s delicate base and lifted it into the air. “To Lord Pendragon,” she murmured.

The silence shattered, the others raised their glasses. “To Lord Pendragon,” they repeated in unison.

Despite having initiated the toast, Julianna did not drink, quietly returning her glass to the table.

And as the wedding breakfast continued, so did his bride’s near silence, her smiles never actually reaching her eyes.

Chapter Twenty

W
ILL THAT BE all, my lady?” Daisy asked, as she helped Julianna into her favorite green silk robe.

Daisy, bless her heart, hadn’t said so much as a word about the fact that Julianna was wearing her usual nightclothes on this, her wedding night. In the two weeks leading up to the ceremony, the only new garment she had purchased was her wedding gown. New night attire seemed ridiculous under the circumstances, she had decided.

“Yes, thank you,” Julianna said, crossing to her rosewood dressing table, one of the few familiar pieces of furniture in the bedchamber. “How is your room, by the way? Is it to your liking?”

The girl bobbed a curtsey. “Oh, yes. It’s quite comfortable and larger than my old one. I worry, though, that I won’t sleep tonight with it being so new and all.”

Yes, I suspect I may have the same difficulty,
Julianna thought, wishing she was back in her own townhouse instead of here in Rafe’s.

Yesterday, he’d stopped by her home in Upper Brook Street for a brief visit, instructing her to choose whatever possessions she would like moved into his house in Bloomsbury Square. With a single sentence, he had quashed any lingering hope she’d harbored that he might allow her to continue living in her own home. Without stopping to think, she’d suggested he relocate to her Mayfair townhouse. Jaw stiff, he’d informed her that as of tomorrow her home would be with him.

“
A wife belongs in her husband’s house, wherever that house may be.”

And so this morning, while she and Rafe were at the church being married, the servants had loaded her wardrobe, personal belongings, and a few select pieces of furniture into carts and moved them across the city. By the time she and her new husband had arrived at his townhouse this afternoon, all her belongings were installed.

What a peculiar experience it had been walking through the front door, her mind crowded with memories of her first and only other visit to the house. The first time she’d met Rafe.

So much had transpired since then, so much had changed. Nevertheless, she felt like a stranger tonight as she sat here in her new bedchamber. Attractive though it might be, with its white walls and deep blue draperies, the room carried none of the soothing qualities of her old room. Already she missed the delicate cream and jonquil–striped wallpaper, and the big scroll-armed chaise that had provided the perfect spot upon which to read or relax.

The windows here were in all the wrong places. The armoire was inadequately large. And although the bed was bigger than her own, it was not nearly as soft as her comfortable eiderdown mattress at home.

Over a very awkward dinner, Rafe had told her she had his permission to change any of the décor she wished. Another woman would have leapt at the opportunity, and the open pocketbook. Yet she wasn’t certain she wished to change anything. Once she began putting her own touches on the place, it would be an admission that this was her home. And futile as it might seem, she wasn’t ready to accept that fact.

Not yet, anyway.

“Pleasant dreams, Daisy,” she said. “I shall see you in the morning.”

The girl dipped another curtsey. “You as well, my lady. If you’re needing anything just call me, no matter the hour.”

Julianna gave her a smile and a grateful nod. “Good night.”

Once her maid was gone, she sank down on the stool in front of her dressing table and picked up her brush. Slowly, she drew the bristles through her hair.

Her thoughts turned back to the moment Tony Black had made his startling announcement, back to her sense of shock—and hurt.

Rafe should have told me,
she thought not for the first time.

Obviously, he’d had time to tell his two friends, but he couldn’t take a few extra minutes out of his day to share such momentous news with her. Could not be bothered to mention that he’d met with Prinny and received the Regent’s sanction for a peerage.

And at what price, she wondered? Just how much had it cost Rafe to buy himself that title?

Of course she’d known instantly why he’d done it.

The baby.

The son he apparently wanted at all costs, even at the expense of his own freedom.

As she’d sat at the duke’s elegant table with its lovely wedding breakfast, she’d realized how little she mattered to Rafe. As the mother of his child, she had a place. As his wife, well, he would never have wed her for herself alone, and she would be wise to remember that fact.

She supposed she should feel relieved that she would be a baroness, feel happy in the knowledge that she would not be driven from Society as she had feared. Instead what she felt was anger, and even worse, pain.

Squeezing the brush handle hard inside her palm, she fought off her tears.

No,
she vowed,
I am done crying.

With a heavy sigh, she set down her brush, then stood and crossed to the bed.

A good night’s sleep will calm my mind,
she mused.
Everything will seem a bit more tolerable come the morning.

Slipping out of her robe, she draped the garment across the foot of the bed, then climbed between the sheets. With a sigh, she plumped the pillows and settled back.

She was about to snuff out the candle on her nightstand when she heard the door open.

Has Daisy returned?
she wondered.

But when she glanced up, the person she saw was most definitely not Daisy.

Magnificent as a Greek sculpture brought to life, Rafe stood framed in the connecting doorway, a doorway she had erroneously thought to be locked.

Pulse quickening, she couldn’t help but stare, his large body draped in a black silk robe that hugged the taut contours and mouth-watering angles of his masculine physique. Above the tie at his waist, she caught a V-shaped glimpse of his powerful chest. Below lay his firm, naked calves with their dusting of black hair, and lower still, his long, elegantly shaped feet.

When they’d been lovers, she’d seen him in far less. But somehow the sight of him in a robe was more seductive than nothing at all.

Forcing her heartbeat to slow, she averted her eyes and scooted upright against the pillows, smoothing the sheet and blanket across her lap. She was grateful now that she’d worn a modest nightgown, the buttoned placket covering her breasts, which had grown even larger since the start of her pregnancy.

He’s probably come to talk. A few minutes,
she thought,
and then he’ll go away.

“Yes, what is it, Rafe?” she asked in a crisp tone. “Do you need something?”

He quirked a brow. “Hmm, now there’s a question.” After a long pause, he continued. “How are you feeling tonight? Not queasy or anything? I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t eat much at dinner.”

Oh, so he is worried about the baby. I should have known.

She repressed a sigh. “I am fine. I wasn’t very hungry tonight, that’s all. This day has been long and tiring.”

There,
she thought.
I have told him what he wanted to know. Perhaps he will take the hint now and leave.

Instead, he strode farther into the room.

“I’ll ask Cook to make more of your favorite dishes,” he said, “so you’ll be tempted in the future. After all, it’s important that you eat and stay healthy.”

She frowned, then frowned harder when he walked up to the bed and stopped. Leaning down, he folded back the covers on the unoccupied side.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her heart kicking inside her chest.

His vivid gaze locked with hers. “What does it look like? I’m going to bed.”

For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

Her eyes widened as his hands moved to the tie at his waist.

“Oh no, you are not. Get out!”

“You’re my wife. I will sleep in here.”

Clutching the sheets higher, she shook her head. “Sleep in your own room. You have a bed; I suggest you use it.”

“I may have a bed but I prefer sharing with you. Anyway, it’s our wedding night. Did you really expect me not to come to you?”

“Frankly, yes. The last time we were together you informed me you were bored.”

An arrested look passed over his face. “I changed my mind.”

“Well, so have I. I no longer want you. Now, leave my room.”

His eyelids lowered and he shot her a smoldering look that made her bare toes curl with heat.

“Are you certain of that?” he murmured. “Why don’t I join you so we can find out whether you still want me or not.”

“I don’t. Go away, Rafe.”

He reached again for the silken belt and freed it. But when he shucked off the robe, she saw he wasn’t naked—at least not completely, his lower extremities covered by a pair of snug, knee-length drawers. The cotton did nothing to hide his erection, though, the material tented out in an explicit display of male arousal.

Just because he’s stiff as a truncheon doesn’t mean he really wants me,
she admonished herself.
Likely any woman would do in his present state, and I happen to be convenient.

When he set a knee on the mattress, she flung back the covers and leapt out of the bed. Putting several feet between them, she waited, spine straight, her arms crossed over her breasts.

Stretching out on his side, he sighed. “What’s this, now? Running from me? I know it cannot be due to a case of wedding-night nerves, since this is far from our first time together.” He held out his open palm. “I know you are angry with me, but I’d like to make it up. Come to bed and let me pleasure you. I promise you’ll like it.”

Oh, I’m sure I would like it,
she thought, which was precisely the problem. She also knew that if she let go of her anger and resentment toward him, the only emotion remaining would be love. She wouldn’t be able to bear it then, not when she knew his affection was no more than skin deep.

Silently, she shook her head no.

He paused. “Are you sure? Perhaps you just need a bit of coaxing.”

Before she knew what he meant to do, he was up and off the bed. Catching her in his arms, he rocked her against him.

“Now, doesn’t this feel nice?” he murmured in a husky voice that gave her delicious, shivery chills.

“Let me go,” she replied with a calm she in no way felt.

“I will,
after
you give me a kiss. A man deserves at least a kiss on his wedding night, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No.”

“You used to be kinder. It’s just one kiss. What harm can there be in one simple kiss?”

Plenty,
she thought,
when Rafe is doing the kissing.

Still…

“One kiss and then you’ll go?” she questioned.

He nodded. “If that is what you want.”

Warning bells clanged inside her head, her instincts telling her to refuse, to hold steady and make him walk back out the way he’d come in.

Another little voice began to whisper, urging her to take the tiny scrap of pleasure he offered. His arms felt so wonderful curved around her, his scent and strength everything she remembered. Everything she missed.

How could she deny herself?

As he said,
w
hat harm can there be in one simple kiss?

Besides, it might be a nice bit of revenge. Grabbing a handful of delight for herself, then pushing him away.

“All right, but only one,” she said. “And we stop when I say.”

His lips curved, eyes darkening like a forest at twilight. “Of course.”

Without further preamble, he bent his head and placed his lips upon her own.

On a shivery sigh, she let the pleasure take her, his touch even better than she remembered, more erotic than her most heated fantasies, more delectable than the finest satin or the choicest wine.