Tarleton's Wife (38 page)

Last night…last night in the enchantment of sacrificed rose petals, anything had seemed possible. And now?

Cling to Sophy’s advice, Julia told herself. Remember all the noble reasons for humbling her pride. She must forget the selfish ones—love of The Willows. Pride in what she had accomplished. And, most of all, Nicholas, her most selfish reason of all.

Julia’s lips firmed into a determined line. She strode to her dressing table and with swift, jerky movements removed the pins from her chignon. She brushed her great mass of brown hair until it shone. Taking a deep breath, she stood up and peeled off her slippers and stockings, her gown and undergarments, hanging them in the large wardrobe with the other clothing which had been returned to her old room. Julia’s eyes lingered on the blue silk robe. She longed to wrap herself in its enveloping folds, curl up in a ball and shut out the world. But she was Julia, daughter of the regiment, and could not indulge such weakness.

With determined tread, Julia marched to the chest of drawers she had once used as a barricade against her husband. Grim-faced, she selected the most delicate and transparent of the nightgowns Nicholas had ordered. A wedding night creation, its diaphanous wisps of fabric were about as far from the billowing folds of white cotton she had worn in London as it was possible to find. Only a narrow panel of lace down the front of the gown provided any modesty at all. When the featherlight fabric floated over her body, Julia forced herself to look in the large mirror atop the chest. Oh, Lord, she might as well be naked! The lace merely provided an intriguing focal point for questing eyes. Except for the shielding cascade of shining hair, her body was veiled in a shimmering halo of white far more captivating than mere nakedness.

In truth, the effect was stunning. Julia scarcely recognized herself. Surely Nicholas could not fail to find her beau—

Ruthlessly, she thrust aside the insidious warmth of remembrance…and anticipation. She was not here to win her husband’s love. Only to save Jack from the hangman and her people from starvation. Her own desires must wait for less dangerous times.

Julia shivered. The delicate gown had not been designed with the chill of November in mind. Perhaps, if the fates were kind, she would freeze to death before Nicholas came, sparing her the humiliation of baring her soul as well as her body.

A perfectly stupid thought. The great bed before her was made up with every creature comfort, including a fluffy down-filled quilt. So why was she still standing beside it, garbed in nothing but transparent linen and gooseflesh?

Because this particular commitment was final. When she climbed in that bed, she gave up the fight. She would be Nicholas Tarleton’s wife for all time. With or without his love.

Julia pulled back the covers, ran her fingers over the wide crocheted edging around the plump pillow. She touched…lingered over the matching pillow beside it. The shiver which seized her was not brought on by the chill of the room. She was about to give up her pride, her independence. Her
self
.

Or was it possible to be Tarleton’s wife and still be her own person?

Julia climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. With grim artistry she arranged her hair to flow over the white expanse of pillow and bed covers, despising herself as she did so. She left one candle burning. For Nicholas would come, she knew it. Surely.

Would he not?

After long minutes of absolute silence, Julia relaxed her rigid pose, shifted into a more comfortable position. Hours—or was it only minutes?—went by. She tensed at the sound of footsteps, then let out a soft sigh. Too light for Nicholas, they passed both his door and hers. Sophy? One of the maids?

She peered at the delicate porcelain clock sitting on her dresser. Only fifteen minutes later than the last time she looked. Was he still in the drawing room with his parents? Oh, dear God, what had they said about his bruises? And Oliver. She could see Oliver’s knowing smirk, hear his insinuations.
Let Harding have her, old boy. While you were suffering in Spain, they’ve been enjoying your profits as well as each other. Get rid of her, Nick and good riddance!

It all made such perfect sense. If their positions were reversed, she’d probably believe it herself!

A tear rolled down Julia’s cheek, dripped onto the lace of her gown. Nicholas would not come. He would keep her here, a sop to conventionality. The major’s wife on display for all to see while he lived a life of his own. With women of his own choosing…

But he said he wanted children…

As if that mattered! There were countless marriages for the purpose of producing an heir while the marriage partners enjoyed a secret and more fulfilling, life with others. If Nicholas came to her, it would only be because he wanted an heir.

The tears were rolling freely now. Julia groped in the bedside table for a handkerchief, then eyed the half-spent candle balefully. Why let him know he was expected? She blew her nose, mopped her eyes. Gulping for air, she summoned enough breath to blow out that last flicker of hope.

* * * * *

Nicholas needed no candle to find his way to his wife’s bed. When he opened the connecting door a half hour later, the glow of the dying fire was enough to reveal wide blue eyes red-rimmed and puffy from weeping, tear-ravaged cheeks, fingers clutching the bedclothes as if a lifeline on storm-tossed seas. He saw fear, accusation and some other emotion so strong it seemed about to explode and engulf them both.
Hell and the devil!
Was she that upset about having him in her bed?

Fishing in the pocket of his robe, which was all he was wearing, Nicholas produced a large handkerchief. Gingerly, fully expecting his wife to jerk away from him, he lowered himself to sit beside her. When she continued to lie there in stoic immobility, he wiped her tearstained face with surprising gentleness, softly outlining her mouth, brushing back stray wisps of hair.

“Do you hate me that much?” he asked. “I had thought… No matter. This afternoon I was still in a temper. I was determined to hold what’s mine, whether you cared for me or not. In my arrogance I thought that only the pain I had inflicted on you stood between us. I even rationalized that if you preferred Jack, you could still be brought round to remember your old friend Nick with fondness if not with love.

“Now…now my temper’s cooled a bit. You must know I’m not an ogre to hold you against your will. But, understand me, Julia, this is the last time I will ask. Do you find the thought of living with me so impossible? Do you truly want to be free?”

No, no, no, no, no!
Julia tightened her grip on the quilt, twisting it around her knuckles. She didn’t want to be free. The thought of Nicholas in Violante’s arms, the thought of never seeing him again, was more than she could bear. She was done with being magnanimous.

And done with lying to herself. She loved him. Now and forever. Any way she could get him.

Yet assent caught in her throat, dammed by a last stubborn impulse to make Nicholas suffer.
Truth, Julia, absolute truth. Tell him now. The world won’t come to an end if you swallow your pride. If you choose your Dream instead of your Nightmare.

He was so close, so wonderfully, terrifyingly, close Julia could feel him through every fiber of her body. In the dim light his bruises were mottled charcoal smudges. His gray eyes shone silver in the firelight. For a moment the silver flickered, his shoulders quivered. Perhaps—was it possible?—her words had mattered to him.

She’d hidden behind pride too long. A sad, bitter barrier of no use to Willow Herbals, the tenant farms, or the mill workers. To Jack, who might hang. No use to a woman who longed for a home of her own. Children. A husband she could love, even if the sentiment was not returned.

“I don’t want to be free,” Julia breathed, almost in his ear. “I’ve been fighting a battle with my pride and my own foolishness. Nicholas, there is nowhere I would rather be than here. With you.”

He remained silent, studying her face. Wondering if she lied?
Damn you, Nick. Can’t you see I’ve laid my soul bare?

Slowly, almost pensively, he traced her lips with his index finger. His lips followed his finger, as his hand dropped to the swelling softness of her breast. Julia stiffened, resisting the ultimate revelation, the complete surrender of her body.

Fool, fool, fool!
Why did she have to be such a stiff-backed termagant? For all Nicholas’ faults, she loved him to distraction. And it wasn’t as if they’d never been together. She was, in fact, eager for this compromise. The thought of Nicholas in her bed had haunted her all day long and now her heart was threatening to pound its way out of her chest, moisture was rushing to ease the way for Nicholas’ invasion. She wanted him.
Now.

A last faint warning from her fiery core of feminine independence,
The stiffer the pride, the greater the fall.

And she would bounce as she always did. Mutual love would come some day. Of course it would.
So put your arms around his neck and—

They’d failed to hear the pounding on the door over the pounding of their hearts. The young maid who burst in on them blushed fiery red, swiftly turning her back to face the open doorway. “I’m that sorry, missus!” she cried, babbling her message, “but Miss Sophy says you’re needed. Mis’ Runyon’s baby is comin’ and she wants you by her. It’s her fourth, missus, so ’twon’t take long. I was a fourth babe, missus and me mum says I popped out in no time atall.” The young maid drew a ragged breath, her back still firmly set against the nakedness on the bed. “Beggin’ y’r pardon, missus but Miss Sophy says you should come
now
.”

“It’s not possible,” Nicholas groaned into Julia’s shoulder. “This isn’t happening.”

“I think it can be said,” Julia agreed between clenched teeth, “that luck has not been with us.”

“You may go, Tess,” Nicholas ground out to the maid who appeared to be frozen in place. Still mumbling apologies, the girl bolted through the door, closing it very carefully behind her.

Nicholas swore. In seething silence he replaced the shimmer of white linen he had swept aside to expose the tantalizing sight of his wife’s rosy-tipped flesh. Still swearing, he retrieved his robe from the pile of bed covers on the floor. He stalked out of the room, the bang of the door reverberating through the silence of the night.

* * * * *

Nicholas’ pique lasted just long enough for him to remember it might be Meg Runyon’s fourth child but the other three had died. And for Dan Runyon this babe was a first.

He found his batman, valet and friend slumped behind his desk in the room which had been fitted out as Daniel’s office in his capacity as salesman for Willow Herbals. In a seldom-used wing of The Willows, it was adjacent to the spacious room Julia had insisted on assigning to the couple when Meg and Daniel were married. Though the walls were well built, they did not completely dim the sounds from next door and Daniel’s face was grim.

Nicholas lowered himself into a chair in front of Daniel’s desk, placed a bottle of brandy and two glasses between them. “I suppose it’s a bit like women waiting out a battle,” he said. “No one gives much thought to those who wait but it’s a damn hard lot, is it not?” Nicholas opened the bottle and poured two generous portions. “To babies,” he said, holding up his glass, “and to the women who bear them.”

“And may you be the next to suffer,” Daniel returned before downing the brandy in one gulp.

“God willing,” Nicholas murmured. Adding as a scream drove through the walls, “though at times like this ’tis easy to understand why the good Lord made the urge to mate so powerful. If not, a man might well turn craven before putting his wife through such as this.”

“Aye,” said Daniel, you have the right of it. Just now I feel a rutting beast instead of a man. Ready to vow I’ll never touch her again.”

“And she’d be the first to disabuse you of that notion, my friend.”

“Aye, when it comes to pain, I’m thinkin’ God made women stronger than men. I’ve heard many a soldier with no’ but a minor wound carry on far worse than a woman during a birthing.”

“Did I?”

Daniel’s full attention snapped back to his commanding officer. “No, Sir, not you, Sir. Quiet as a lamb you was.”

“Well, thank God for that,” said Nicholas with considerable relief.

Only half the bottle was gone when Julia knocked on the door and entered, only mildly surprised to find her husband sitting up with Daniel. Both men were finally allowed the privilege of peering at the wrinkled red-faced bundle tucked up next to Meg, which Sophy assured them was a fine, healthy boy.

“I’ve never really looked at a baby before,” Nicholas admitted in a quiet aside to Julia while the happy parents smiled at each other in fatuous satisfaction. “I see why each birth is called a miracle. Small as he is, it doesn’t seem possible that he could be born at all.” Nicholas’ hand bit into Julia’s shoulder. “Is it too much to ask?” he demanded fiercely. “How do you feel about it now you’ve seen a birthing?”

“I’ve seen many. Women who follow the drum have few illusions about the realities of life. Whether wife, maid, or whore, the women must stick together to survive.”

“And you are not afraid?”

“It is women’s work, as soldiering is men’s work,” Julia said lightly, adding with greater care, “but in the end we have new life to show for it, while the men have only death.” She laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “I refuse to be afraid, Nicholas. I am as anxious for children as you are.”