Passion's Joy (40 page)

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked in a pained whisper, watching in the distance as an endless stream of servants poured out from the enormous front doors, lining up like so many busy ants.

Ram thought of her supreme utilitarian ideas; he had to stop his smile. "Would it help if I said you'll get used to it?"

"No," she shook her head. "I could never be used to it!"

She jerked her reins to run away from all of it, from him and a wealth unmatched by many kings, but he suddenly held the reins firm. "There is no running, Joy Claret," he said softly. "Your fate was sealed the night you came to my bed and conceived my son. And this, my lady," his arm swept the distance, "Is your fate."

Anger melted by degrees as she approached its source, turning from him to the vista of Barrington Hall again. He had indeed sealed her fate, a fate she could only confront with fear and uncertainty. She was not raised for this world; she was certain she could never belong. Yet instinctively she knew it would be so different if—

The question rose in her eyes as she turned back to him. Where has your love fled? Did I ever have it? Could I have been mistaken by memories spun so clear and vivid? How can I accept indifference when once I had—

Ram watched the emotional play in the wide translucent eyes, the slight tremble of her lip, and just as he feared she would trespass where he refused to go, the emotions changed. In their silence as they stared, it changed.

She lifted her chin with sudden, renewed defiance, deciding a number of things in that one moment. Intimidation disappears with familiarity; and she would not only accept her fate, but she would use her lofty position to continue the fight. Likewise, she would raise little Sean with all the noble ideas of social justice, despite the silver spoon thrust in his mouth. She would also make friends of the servants, if she had to order them to do so. Most importantly, somehow, some way, she would try to win the only thing that mattered to her—his love.

Also, if Ram was this wealthy, she would start milking him for every pence she could get.

Joy calmly took the reins from him and asked, "Did you not once say fate was determined by the will of men and women?"

Ram did not remember mentioning women in the statement and he chuckled, relieved as they turned back to join the others.

"So, what do you think of Ram's, ah ... place, did you call it?" Sean asked lightly as they joined the others and everyone started forward again.

Joy ignored the appreciative humor in Sean's eyes. "I think it's rather large." Sean chuckled. "You demonstrate a remarkable flair for the understatement."

"Joy." Ram too, chuckled. "Why have I suddenly got the impression you're looking at Barrington Hall as a larger-than-life Prinkley's Girls' College?”

She smiled, putting him off guard. "But I am," she confessed honestly. "Only, you are its master and yet I shall not be the one to receive the thrashings this time."

"Oh? And how is that?" Ram asked now with dangerous amusement as they descended the

incline.

"I've a wager for you and you too, Sean. How many servants are lining up in that receiving line? Over thirty?"

"Over thirty," Ram replied with suspicion.

Joy knew from her past experience to stretch the limits of her imagination, and she braced herself. "I'll wager two hundred American dollars from each of you—to be donated to the American paper, the Libertine—that I can go through that receiving line once, hear each person's name once, and repeat it."

Sean absorbed this and scoffed. "A fool's wager, Joy! How can you put over thirty new names to over thirty new faces? I'd wager Ram knows less than a third of their names, and that's after living here off and on so many years."

Joy felt a barely containable thrill, for neither man had blinked at the outrageously high sum. With feigned calmness "But I wager I can."

"I'm interested in your forfeit," Ram said, still suspicious. "What if you lose?”

"If I lose to you Sean, I will promise not to mention to a certain Lady Francine—whom Susan tells me I'll be meeting soon—the name of Miranda. Not that I would mention Miranda's name, but these things have a way of slipping—"

"What?" Sean interrupted and Ram laughed. Sean's face was an exercise of incredulity as he said, "That is not a wager! That's blackmail!"

With a deceptively sweet smile, she turned to Ram. "And you have said I'll be meeting the Prince Regent next month, and so if I lose to you, I will promise not to mention the abolitionist cause, no matter how difficult I know such restraint would be."

The entourage, a respective distance behind, witnessed Lord Barrington's roar of laughter, marveling at how easily his lady amused and engaged him, wondering too, at the lady's own quiet amusement, especially upon receiving Captain Seanessy's colorful curses.

As they approached ever closer to the anxiously waiting people, neatly forming the receiving line, Joy would have been shocked to bear the murmured round of whispers.

"My 'eavens, she's barefoot and riding like ... like—" "A man!"

"Look at my lady's 'air—long and loose like an Irish maid's!" "She's lovely!"

"Like a storybook princess!"

"Why, she hasn't the look of a commoner!"

"If she be a commoner, then I be the Duchess of Windsor.”

As they came to a stop, Joy felt nervous flutters being the recipient of so many interested gazes. Ram offered the traditional greetings and received the traditional welcome in turn as he dismounted, handing the reins to a groom without so much as a glance of acknowledgement. With the same indifferent air of aristocratic bearing, he called quick orders to others. She watched, with interest, seeing that while she may not have been bred for this, he obviously was.

Ram came to lift her to the ground himself. His hand stayed on her waist a moment too long, and Joy found her small hands braced against the wide stretch of his shoulders. She tried to steer her consciousness from the maleness of him, from the corded muscles of his long arms beneath the rolled sleeves of his shirt. Her gaze lifted back to his face, only to find her stare returned with amusement as he warned, "You better pray you're not as smart as you think you are

—"

"Aye," Sean said, holding Libertine's reins, still mounted himself. "For if you win this wager, I’d wager Ram would not stop me as I cut out your traitorous tongue."

"Stop you Sean? Hell, I'd provide the dagger."

With that, Ram presented the new Lady Barrington; but before she started through the line, she swallowed her own nervousness, and a melodious voice offered first a shy collective greeting, then explained the situation she created. "I have a wager with my husband and Captain Seanessy. I wagered that I could repeat each one of your names after going through the line once. So, as you tell me your name, could you also say something about yourself that might stay in my mind?"

Whispered murmurs went up and down the line, smiles all around. Ram sighed and Seanessy cursed, as it was obvious the entire household had instantly rallied to her side. Thinking only that Ram and Sean were far easier marks than she had imagined, with a deep breath, Joy started at the beginning.

"Pansie, my lady." A young, dark-haired girl curtsied, and then with a giggle, she withdrew from behind her back a bouquet of flowers freshly picked for the new mistress of the house. A bouquet of flowers dotted with tiny purple pansies.

Joy took the flowers with .thanks, her eyes filled with laughter. "Bertha, my lady, and me form will not give me name away."

Bertha was rail thin, and Joy laughed again. In this way, she proceeded through the line. Of course, even with everyone's helpful hints, there was no way to remember all their names, but she didn't have to. She simply enjoyed hearing the names and what each person said about themselves to help her remember, until finally, as she felt Ram's impatience, she came to the last in line. An elder gent, of fine stature and bearing, wearing the unmistakable air of perfect English pretense and civility.

"My lady." He bowed ever so slightly. "Mr. Cutler," and he added with no humor whatsoever, "I am your butler."

She laughed, and with a pretty rush of skirts, she practically skipped back to the front of the line. Ram and Sean were suddenly at her side and, like hungry dogs, ready to devour her first mistake. All waited with excited anticipation and Joy did not delay.

"Pansie, Bertha, Margaret and Mary, Tomas and... and—" she stopped at the young footman, stumped.

"Ah huh!" Ram said triumphantly.

Prematurely, for Joy silently mouthed these words: "Help me!" With a grin, this was mouthed back: "John."

"John!" She laughed and moved on to the next person.

Neither Ram nor Sean moved as she raced quickly through the line, finally ending with "Mr. Cutler, the Butler!" A long and loud cheer and applause rose through the crowd, and Joy curtsied in turn.

"I think we've been had, my lord," Sean said.

"I know we have," Ram replied, and hearing the triumphant sound of her laughter, he knew, too, he would not make it through the day, let alone the next two months. Something would have to be done.

It was like the time before, the night of their reunion and the day of their marriage, when Joy woke in his arms. She felt toasty warm, enfolded in his heat, surrounded by an intoxicating male scent. Abruptly she stiffened, becoming aware. She felt the tickle of his breathing against her ear. A long muscled arm lay across her waist. Her backside pressed against his chest, while her buttocks pressed against the hard pressure of naked male hips. He was hot and hard—

She relaxed, sighing languidly, giving herself over to the sensual feel of his huge body next to hers, the naked feel of him. Pin prickles of pleasure began erupting from everywhere their bodies touched. As though he knew, he shifted slightly, nuzzling her ear with his lips as his hand moved to her bare breasts. The stilled hand cupped the soft fullness until her entire being centered on the heat of his palm there. Her nipples rose to greet the pleasure. Then he slowly began to massage the sensitive mounds. Ripples of sensation raced through her. His lean, calloused fingers tantalizingly probed the anxious tips, lightly pinching, teasing. Fire stirred in her loins, and she arched back, nuzzling closer to the hard, waiting shaft of him. He groaned, rewarding the seductive moment by sliding his other arm under her. One hand continued to massage her breasts while the other ran up and down her bare midsection.

Her nerves went wild. She cried softly as that hand traveled lower still over the softness of her belly, but there he stopped, waiting as the sensations piled up, gathering at the tips of his fingers. The sensations grew to a ferocious need, a pulsating hunger she could not long bare.

"Oh please—" she gasped, writhing slightly.

He chuckled softly and lightly grazed her neck with his lips as his hand finally slid down to the moist recess of her most hidden part. Warm rushes of pleasure escaped from the sweet well of her desire as his fingers played there with exquisite gentleness, sliding over her, boldly slipping in and out, and just as he carried her to the point of ecstasy—

Joy bolted up in the bed, looking dazedly around the empty room. She was panting lightly and tried to catch her breath, to slow the pounding of her heart. Her body had absolutely no inkling she had been dreaming until, slowly, the disappointment grew and intensified; an ache spread where only fire had been.

She fell back against the pillows and stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling dangerously close to tears. How, oh God how, can dreams be so real? So vivid?

She did not wonder long. Yesterday, after the receiving line, Mr. Cutler had shown her to her rooms. Even after seeing the magnificence and grandeur of Barrington Hall, she was not prepared for the fairy-tale beauty of these rooms. Expensive Louis XIV furnishings were majestically set against soft shades of peach and cream, textures of silk and satin. Everything was colored these shades: the bed clothes and canopy, the drapes, the damask covered chairs and the thick carpets. Lovely French romantic paintings adorned the walls: pictures of pretty milk maids, plump rosy-cheeked children. It was beautiful, but initially, she had seen none of it.

She had walked over to the window, staring down at the hand-carved, round sitting table.

Glass covered the mosaic of pearl inlay, gold and other precious stones that created a detailed picture of a man and woman picnicking by a lake. The table was a museum piece, exquisite, one that no doubt took an artist years and years of intricate and painstaking work to complete. Numbly it occurred to her, the table alone was worth a fortune of a size she could not guess, and yet, as she stared down at it, there was no appreciation in her gaze.

All she could think of was that they were to have separate bedrooms, for the ornately feminine decor in the room left no doubt. She should not be surprised after the long voyage and the stay in London, but somehow, she had felt a tremor of hope, hope that had died as she was presented these rooms. She had to finally face the fact that he never intended to consummate their marriage, that he didn't want her like that. He had only married her for Sean.

Was there another woman? Could she know him so intimately and not know that? An image of a beautiful woman came to her mind, one witty, intelligent, sophisticated...

A lone tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it quickly and rose unsteadily. She would not show her tears; she would hide them behind a facade. A facade of what though? Peace and contentment? Happiness? Could she do that when inside she felt like dying?

It seemed her only choice. She would pretend everything was fine, that this was what she had expected. She would pretend to be gay and carefree; she would involve herself in her work, trying to please him ... She would be the perfect Lady Barrington. Yes, she thought as she looked to her closets.

Joy felt numb by mid-afternoon, and as Ralph, a footman, threw open the double doors of the last room comprising the east wing gallery, she reached that point of mental exhaustion where it was impossible to separate one room from the other. Each room became a blur in her dazzled mind, a blur that became a backdrop for a memory of a dream, the sadness in her heart that she tried so desperately to hide. Still, she was determined to see the east wing tour finished, and holding an ever-active little Sean in her arms, she swept through the doors behind Mr. Cutler, followed by Pansie and Susan, her two maids.