The Rebel Bride (18 page)

She tried to pull away from him again, but he held her fast.

“If you try such a stunt again, little shrew, I shall apologize to our good owner, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you out. Do I make myself clear?”

Would he? No, he couldn’t. He was a peer of the English realm. Surely he had standards of gentlemanly behavior. Surely. Ah, but he was himself and not one of these faceless peers. She believed him. She sat rigid as the chair back, waiting to see what he would do.

“That’s better. Now, my dear, I have something of the utmost importance to say to you, and you will attend me or it will be much the worse for you. For over a week now I have watched you try to make your way and have seen you fail time after time. Don’t look so startled. Did you truly imagine that I would have difficulty in locating you? In any case, I didn’t come to you immediately because I wished you to discover for yourself that a young woman with no money, regardless of her breeding and talents, has little if any chance of earning an honest wage. I had hoped that after your experience with Madame Treboucher you would come to your senses, but you didn’t.”

She could only stare at him. “You know of Madame Treboucher? But how? Ah, that horrible woman. She told me I was obviously English and that my hair was too red.”

“You are English, and I would say rather that your hair is more auburn than red, but who am I to quibble with such a stout lady? Don’t be a fool, Kate, I had you followed.”

“T
hat is more than a lie, Julien. Surely you couldn’t have done that. Why, it’s—”

“It’s what? Do you believe I would leave my future wife alone, without protection, in a city like Paris? As a matter of fact, I myself observed you leaving that woman’s house.”

She was humiliated. He’d stood by and watched her fail. Unaccountably, the fact that he hadn’t come to her sooner made her strangely furious. To think that he’d had the gall to wait and watch while she made a total and utter fool of herself day after day was too much to bear. “How could you?”

“How could I what?” His voice was soft as the butter beside her plate. He was looking at her intently.

She turned away quickly, swallowing the absurd lump rising in her throat. She couldn’t think of a reasonable thing to say.

“You don’t want to answer me?”

“I don’t want to do anything with you. You watched me, you saw how I failed and failed—and you knew I would, you knew.”

Damnation, he thought. If only she would admit to herself that she cared for him, that she had wished wholeheartedly that he would indeed have come to her in Paris. If only she would but realize the deep intent of what she was saying, if only.

Now she was frozen in her chair, for she’d spoken the truth, even if she couldn’t grasp why it was the truth. He let it go. “I believe that’s enough about your employment endeavors. Let me return to what I have to say to you.
We will presently go to Mademoiselle Phanie’s, a most elegant milliner’s shop. Then we will purchase the proper shoes for you. I have already acquired your gowns and other personal articles, but I found it quite beyond my ability to recall your size in shoes and to determine what kinds of charming confections look best on your auburn hair, or perhaps it is red, or even titian. It depends on the light, you know. This morning I do believe it’s as red as all the heathen’s sins.”

“What do you mean, you’ve bought me clothes?”

“You don’t have that many with you. I do hope you approve my choices. The morning dresses, evening gowns, riding clothes, chemises, ah, let me see, wrappers, nightgowns, and the like—all of them are quite charming.”

“But why?”

“I can’t have you being Lady Godiva, can I? I bought you the clothes because after we’ve suitably finished furnishing your wardrobe, we shall proceed to my rooms, and there you will be dressed in your bridal clothes. Don’t look so surprised, my dear. Could you doubt that I wouldn’t bring at least your wedding gown with me? Promptly at five o’clock we are expected at the embassy, where we will be married by an English divine.”

He’d imagined her screaming at him like a demented fishwife, perhaps cursing him until their French host came scrambling out of his kitchen in alarm. But she didn’t say a word, just sat there, staring at him, her face as pale as her collar, her fingers clutching her butter knife.

She couldn’t look away from him now. He looked completely in control, his power over her limitless. She saw no signs of affection for her, no gentleness, merely a man who had run her to ground as if she were a fox in the hunt. He’d shamed her, lied to her, humiliated her. He probably only insisted upon wedding her because she’d refused him. He wished to own her, to add her as one of his possessions. He was utterly ruthless.

She gathered her scattered remnants of pride together and raised her face to his. She even managed a dollop
of contempt. “I’m not a piece of property or a possession to be sold to the highest bidder, my lord. I fear you’ve made a sorry bargain with my father and are now out some guineas. You act as though I were some sort of prized animal, a wretched horse to be sold.”

“Surely not. You’re anything but a horse, but if the simile pleases you, then you must make it accurate. A filly, Kate, a filly.”

He leaned toward her in a conciliatory gesture to take her hand in his, but she snatched her hand away and drew back away from him as far as she could in her chair.

“It was a jest, no more. Come now, at least give me a smile to reward my effort, paltry though you found it.”

She was as silent as her silverware.

“Very well. I have no intention of prostrating myself at your feet. Now, it’s time we got on with your shopping. You wouldn’t wish to be late for your own wedding, now, would you?”

“Damn you to the devil. I won’t go with you, Julien. And you can’t force me, surely you can’t. This is a very public place. Surely if you tried to coerce me, someone would stop you. There are gentlemen in this world, there must be.”

He only sighed. “Very well. Let me outline the alternative for you. If you don’t come willingly with me, I shall take you forcibly to my lodgings, or if you prefer, I shall simply render you unconscious and carry you there. If our host appears at all interested, I shall say that you’ve fallen ill. If you choose to continue in this obstinate manner, I’ll force a certain drug that I now have in my possession down your white throat. It’s very efficacious, I assure you, and will make you very pliant, Katharine, as pliant as a puppet, so pliant and agreeable that you’ll probably take your clothes off in front of me and do a little dance.”

He paused a moment to ensure that she understood his threat.

“Then I’ll dress you myself in your wedding finery and take you unresisting to the embassy.”

“Surely even you wouldn’t do that.”

“Most assuredly I shall, if you force me to. I’ve been remarkably patient, considering what you’ve put me through, but I find now that I’ve had quite enough of your antics.”

Perhaps Hugh and Percy were correct, he thought, I am quite mad. Had someone told him even a month ago that he would force a young lady of quality to marry him, he would have thought it a ludicrous joke. Damn her for forcing him to go to such lengths. Or damn him for wanting her more than he’d ever wanted anyone or anything in his adult life. Why the devil wouldn’t she simply admit she wanted him, even if she had to dredge down to her very being to find that caring, it was quite time she did it.

“Damn you, if I were but a man—”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. If you were a man, this conversation would never take place. Now, will you or will you not obey me?”

She felt suddenly very tired. She felt empty and beaten down. Even her fear of marriage to this man, never far away from her thoughts, was now effectively quelled. She raised her eyes to his, perhaps hoping to find some weakness, some uncertainty written there. But there was none. He was implacable and she knew it.

“Very well. I don’t wish to be knocked unconscious nor do I wish you to drug me. The thought of willingly taking off my clothes with you anywhere around at all makes me quite ill. Let’s get it over with.”

He merely nodded, rose, pulled on his gloves, and helped her to rise from her chair. He drew her unresisting arm through his and led her to the door of the cafe.

The owner was rendered almost incoherent with gratitude when the gentleman pressed a louis into his outstretched hand. He stood in the doorway of his small establishment and watched the lady and gentleman step into a hackney. He had thought their behavior odd but, not understanding a word they’d said, had shrugged his
shoulders in expressive indifference. The English were, after all, quite mad.

She spoke scarce a word as Julien guided her to various milliner shops and booteries throughout the remainder of the morning and into the afternoon. She appeared uninterested, coldly withdrawn, and acquiesced to whatever he directed her to do. It was he who chose the dainty kid slippers and the colorful assortment of bonnets. He decided her hair was auburn, a rich, brilliant auburn, at least in the soft afternoon light. He retained a certain degree of skepticism at her seeming capitulation but allowed himself, for the moment at least, to let his nerves enjoy their first respite in over a week.

Later in the afternoon, their shopping completed, he led her, still unresisting, to his lodgings.

“This is your room, Kate.” He led her inside, felt her stiffen suddenly beside him, and watched her eyes as she stared at the large bed in the center of the room. She took a step backward, but he stopped her with his arm against her back. He chose for the moment to ignore her gesture. “Ah, here’s your maid, Anne. She’ll help you bathe and dress. If there’s anything you require, you have but to ask.”

He turned to the maid and gave her instructions in a low voice. He nodded to Kate and left her room through an adjoining door.

He stood quietly for a moment in his own room. He wasn’t displeased by the fear he had seen on her face. He knew he was a skilled lover, and he felt confident that he would make her forget her natural virgin’s fear. He had, after all, felt the quickening response of her body whenever he was close to her. His main problem would be not her fear but her pride. In all likelihood she would view pleasure at his hands as a final capitulation to his dominance over her. And that was the sticking point, he thought. He supposed he could always challenge her to a duel. He imagined that if he won, then and only then would she consider being reasonable.

Kate forced herself to turn away from the bed. She
felt sweat on her forehead and rubbed her damp hands on her skirt. She watched the maid Anne bustle toward her after giving Julien a deep curtsy as he left the room. In sudden panic she started toward the door, only to realize that she wouldn’t get beyond the stairs.

With a dragging step she returned to the waiting maid, who was regarding her with some astonishment. She stood silently as the maid helped her out of her dress and into her bath.

It seemed that but a moment had passed when she heard Anne say with a good deal of enthusiasm, “How beautiful you are, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady.”

“I’m French, you know, and my English is excellent, but I understand you not at all. You will soon be a countess. Isn’t that a lady? What matters if you are not the real lady until five o’clock?”

“It doesn’t matter.” For the first time that afternoon, she focused her attention on the maid’s words and looked to see herself in the long mirror. She stared at her reflection as the maid smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the skirt of the white-satin-and-lace wedding gown. She wasn’t a vain woman. On the other hand, she’d never seen herself gowned so exquisitely, her hair fashioned with such elegant style. She had to admit that she looked quite nice, and her fear grew. Julien too would think her beautiful.

She thought of the drug he had in his possession. She now had no doubt that he would use it if she again attempted to escape from him. Tears welled up and rolled unheeded down her cheeks. She turned her back to the mirror, hating herself for the weakness, but unable to stop the damnable tears.

“Give me a handkerchief.”

Julien entered just as Kate finished dabbing the tears from her face.

He turned to the maid. “You may go now, Anne. You have done very well.”

He strode to where she stood. He saw the wadded
handkerchief in her hand, wet with her tears. He smiled at her gently and held out his arm to her.

“Come, it’s time. We’re expected at five o’clock.”

As she raised her pale face to his, he said, “My love, you must trust me. I do what is best, you must believe that. Please, Kate, give me, give us, a chance.”

Her expression didn’t change, and without a word she placed her hand on his arm.

They were welcomed at the English embassy with all the deference accorded a peer of the English realm. Mr. Drummond, the English divine, was properly effusive in his compliments to the bride. He was well aware that his consequence would be enhanced by officiating at the wedding of such prominent personages. He hoped the earl would remember him in the future.

As he had been led to expect, the earl of March was indeed an elegant and charming nobleman. He seemed to radiate an aura of quiet confidence. The priest wondered, however, at the pallor and unremitting silence of the bride. She appeared withdrawn, even uninterested in the proceedings, surely a very strange reaction to such a momentous event.

As Mr. Drummond reached his final words, he gave the earl a signal, and Julien turned to Kate. “Give me your hand.”

Mr. Drummond felt growing alarm as the lady hesitated for what seemed an eternity before finally extending her hand. He watched with relief as the earl withdrew a narrow gold band from his pocket and slid the ring onto her third finger. It was a very tight fit, and it took him several moments to work it over her knuckle.

With dramatic emphasis Mr. Drummond pronounced them man and wife. Julien leaned down to kiss his bride. Her lips were cold, but she was unresisting. He wondered fleetingly if such a drug as the one he had threatened her with really existed. If it did, he couldn’t imagine that it would render her any more deadly cold than she was now.

* * *

Katharine St. Clair, the countess of March, nodded silently to the footman, gathered up the train of her wedding gown, and seated herself across the table from her husband. They were in the small sitting room that adjoined Julien’s bedchamber, waiting for the sumptuous wedding dinner Julien had ordered.

The renowned chef Monsieur André, a rather startling vision all in white, was seen to follow closely behind his creative efforts. Consigning a flunky to serve less important persons, Monsieur André served the earl and his countess himself, his voluble presence preventing any conversation between them.