The Rebel Bride (21 page)

“Excuse me, my lady, can I help you change?”

Kate jerked her head up, thinking that she had dawdled a sufficient length of time, and rather proudly smoothed her travel-stained gown. She rose, grinning. “No, thank you. I believe I look fine as a five pence. Ah, yes, please give me my pelisse.”

There was a rather dubious look in the maid’s soft brown eyes, for she’d unpacked many of the lovely gowns. She bobbed a curtsy and handed Kate her worn pelisse.

As Kate swept past the smiling landlord into the private parlor, she rather hoped that Julien would be irritated, since a good half-hour had passed. She pulled up short in the middle of the room to find him seated comfortably before a blazing fire, engrossed in reading a paper.

Julien finally raised his eyes from the paper and said with some surprise, “Good heavens, that was indeed a short five minutes. How very impolite of me. My pardon, my dear. Have you been waiting for me long?”

“You are the most—” She caught herself just in time. She yawned and quickly changed her tone. “If you wish to continue with your paper, it would be quite shabby of me to take you away to what one might consider a boring pastime.”

“Ah, but it would surely be ill-bred of me to prefer the company of a newspaper over that of my charming bride. Do allow me a few minutes to put on my greatcoat and we’ll be off.”

He rose and drew on his coat and gloves in a leisurely manner. He sauntered over to her and murmured ironically, “Do forgive me for making you wait, my dear. It takes such a damnably long time to pull on one’s gloves. Shall we go?”

As they stepped from the
auberge,
a gust of cold evening wind whipped through Kate’s thin pelisse and chilled her to the bone.

“How selfish of me. If not precisely selfish, then
inconsiderate and thoughtless. Perhaps it’s too chilly for a stroll.”

She stuck her face into the wind. “On the contrary, it’s a beautiful evening for a walk. I have always maintained that it’s quite ridiculous to curb one’s activities when the weather isn’t exactly what one would wish. There is but a small nip in the air.”

She drew her pelisse closely about her and strode ahead of him like an Amazon going into battle.

He grinned at her back. He hoped she wouldn’t catch a chill.

She soon found that she had to suffer another inconvenience. The uneven cobblestones cut into her feet through the soft kid shoes, and she was forced to stop for a moment to pick out an errant pebble that had worked its way to the sole of her foot.

He stopped beside her, but appeared quite unconcerned with her difficulty, seemingly engrossed in his contemplation of Lake Geneva. She threw the pebble at him instead, but missed.

By the time they reached the water’s edge, her teeth were chattering.

“Look over there, Kate.” He tugged at her sleeve and pointed her toward the mountains on the other side of the lake.

“That is Mont Blanc—White Mountain. Out of the ordinary, isn’t it?”

“Only the top of it is white. The name isn’t right. It’s obvious the Swiss have no imagination.” She would have most willingly traded the view of that awesome snowcapped peak for a pair of stout walking shoes and a warm cloak.

He turned to her in some surprise. “Why, I was under the impression that the racket of towns didn’t find favor with you, that you much preferred the openness and solitude of nature.”

“That is perfectly true. But as you see, I am to be denied solitude.”

He smiled as fervently at her as a priest bent upon saving a soul. “My dearest wife, since you and I have
entered the blessed state of matrimony, we must be considered as one in spirit and in all things.”

“It must be obvious to you, Julien, that these considerations of marriage don’t apply to us. I do wish you’d stop beggaring the question.”

“I’m beggaring nothing. These, ah, considerations will apply, you’ll see. Do you grow impatient?”

“The only thing I’m impatient for is my dinner. I only hope the damned Swiss know how to cook proper English fare.”

He didn’t answer her, just leaned down and sought out a smooth pebble. Having selected a stone of the quality he desired, he flicked his wrist and sent the pebble jumping and careening wildly over the placid water. Seemingly satisfied with the number of skips he achieved, he turned to her, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Impatient only for your dinner, my dear? I can and I will give you much greater pleasure than a simple meal.”

T
hank God they were in the open, in a very public place. If she’d been alone with him, she knew, just knew deep down, that she’d have felt unreasoning fear at his words. As it was, all she felt was wonderful anger. “Don’t you dare taunt me with your man’s threats, my lord.”

“Man’s threats? I don’t recall having threatened you, leastwise in the past few minutes. When you come to know me better, you’ll discover that I don’t make threats. I make but statements of fact.”

“They are one and the same thing coming from you, Julien. I’ve told you that I don’t like you. I can’t believe you so unintelligent as to have so quickly forgotten my words.”

She’d hoped to provoke him, to put at least a small dent in his armor, but she hadn’t. He gazed at her impassively, a gleam of amusement lighting his eyes, and she saw that gleam and was sorely tried by it.

He was finding himself hard to maintain the calm amusement she found so annoying. He’d failed miserably with his carefully thought-out speech to her in the carriage the morning after their marriage, had succeeded only in providing her with more ammunition for her skirmishes against him. He wondered, somewhat pensively, what the devil he was going to do now.

“Come,” he said after a moment, “it’s time we returned. It will be dark in but a few minutes.”

She gave him a clipped nod and, he saw that she was shivering with cold. “Just a moment, my dear,” he said.

She stopped and looked at him questioningly, brows
raised. He shrugged out of his greatcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders. She drew back, uncertain whether or not to protest.

“No,” he said. “Don’t. Come now.”

Throughout their evening meal in the cozy private parlor, he spoke to her hardly at all, and it seemed to Kate that he appeared rather distracted. She wondered if he was employing a new stratagem. She was soon disabused of this notion, when, after their meal, as the landlord poured him a glass of port, Julien asked, “Would you care to join me?”

She shook her head vehemently, and he grinned at her. “No, don’t worry you’ll fall on your face. Just one glass, not half a bottle. Trust that I wouldn’t allow you to have more than one glass, for in truth, you are no fit companion when you are drunk.”

“Very well, one glass. I also think you’re unkind to remind me of that night.”

Unused to the heady port, she choked on her first sip and fell into a paroxysm of coughing. She quickly downed a glass of water, drew a few sputtering breaths, and leaned back in her chair.

He gave her a pensive look, then sighed his martyr’s sigh. “You really must learn to conduct yourself with more grace, dear wife. It befits your new station, you know.”

Without thought, she clutched her wineglass and readied herself to hurl the contents into his face. He read her intent quite easily. “Don’t do what you’re thinking. I’ll give you another statement of fact: If you commit such a childish act, I shall retaliate and treat you as a child.”

She clutched the glass tighter.

“In plain words, Kate, if you throw the wine at me, I shall throw you over my knee, bare what I am certain is a lovely backside, and spank you soundly. Who knows what would follow once my hand is on your hips? Surely something quite pleasurable. Surely something you would come to enjoy, perhaps very much.”

She set the glass on the table. She’d been made to look very much the fool. Never again would she underestimate him. She rose quickly and strode quickly toward the door.

“Running away? I didn’t think you so craven. Come, my dear, I do apologize.”

He sounded perfectly sincere, and she stood uncertain, her hand on the doorknob.

Julien said, silently congratulating himself on this sudden inspiration, “I have been given to understand that you play piquet quite well. Do you care to pit your skill against mine?”

She instantly forgot everything. A warm surge of confidence flowed through her. She would beat him into the ground. She was good, very good.

“Perhaps I might be interested. Piquet, you say? I do play occasionally. Very well, if you wish it. It will pass the time.” Without thought, she added, “Would you care to lay a wager on the outcome? Say, perhaps a shilling a point?”

She had no sooner spoken the words than her face fell ludicrously, for she realized she had only the pitiful amount of money left from her Paris adventure.

He merely smiled, saying, “Rather than guineas, why don’t we set more interesting stakes?”

“What stakes do you have in mind?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Let us say, Kate, that if I win, you will ceremoniously dispose of the gown you are wearing and willingly wear the wardrobe I’ve provided for you.” He felt quite pleased with himself, for the gown she had insisted on wearing for the past three days was in lamentable shape. If she lost to him, which he was quite sure she would, her pride would be salvaged, for she would be merely paying a debt of honor.

“Yes, I will accept that condition, but know that I won’t lose, Julien. I never have.” She was suddenly aware of the gravy stain that had somehow managed to appear on the bodice of her dress during dinner. “And what is my prize if I win?”

“Have you something in mind, Kate?”

How could she tell him that if she won, she wanted nothing more than to have him vow not to touch her, to quit frightening her in that way? Her tongue seemed to tie itself into knots, and she stood in pained silence. Finally she managed to recall something that she very much wanted. Her words poured out in a rush, “If I win, Julien, I would that you teach me to fence like a man.”

“Ho, I was under the impression that you had already learned all men’s sports from Harry.”

“Ah, Harry, he’s a clod with a rapier. I butchered him at the second lesson. You should have seen the look on his face. I thought he would cry there for a while. You, my lord, you are somewhat skilled, are you not?”

“Somewhat, my dear, somewhat.”

“You’re not exaggerating? As one of the dandy set—”

“Corinthian,” he said very gently.

“Are they not the same thing? You are concerned only with your own pursuits, your own pleasures.”

“Now that you’re my wife, I’m very much concerned with your pleasure as well. But let us cry peace. If you do not mind, ring for our host for a pack of cards.”

Once presented with a rather grimy, well-used deck of cards, Julien rose and held out a chair for Kate. She seated herself at the small table Julien had arranged near the fire and began with a good deal of skill to shuffle the deck.

Julien sat down across from her and found that he couldn’t help admiring her green eyes, glowing with excitement, and her auburn hair, shimmering with soft lights from the gentle light of the fire. He tore his gaze away from her face, only to find himself acutely aware of the gentle rise and fall of her breasts against the soft material of her gown. He didn’t notice the gravy stain.

“Three rubbers, Kate? We will total points at the end to determine the winner.”

She nodded in agreement and extended the shuffled cards toward him. “Would you care to cut for the deal, Julien?”

“Yes, certainly.”

In a practiced move she fanned the cards on the table toward him. He turned up the jack of hearts. She perused the cards for a moment and flipped over the king of diamonds. Her eyes sparkled. “My king wins, sir.”

She played the first several hands carefully, making a concerted effort to assess Julien’s skill. As not a great number of points were scored, she found it difficult at the end of the first game to be certain of his abilities.

The rubber went to her, and although there were not much more than a hundred points to her credit, she began to feel more sure of herself. It seemed to her that Julien was an overcautious player, particularly in his discards. She decided that he was much too conservative.

During the second rubber, the luck seemed to run evenly between them, and since Julien didn’t give her overt reason to change her opinion of his play, she began to take small chances, risking a gain of substantial points by relying on her instincts. The rubber went to him, but again the points weren’t great and she consoled herself that it was only a mild setback. But as she dealt the cards, she was bothered that she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he’d won. He must have held the better cards after all. She allowed only a slight frown to pass over her forehead as she cut the deck to him.

“A glass of claret?”

“No, not for me. I must keep my wits about me. You’re playing well, Julien, and I just don’t understand it.”

“I daresay you will understand very soon now.”

During the third rubber, she found, hand after hand, that she failed to defeat his major holdings because of his careful and studied retention of some small card. She quickly changed her opinion of his skill, for he seemed to calculate odds to perfection, curse his hide. He played his cards decisively, no longer ruminating over discards, and it appeared to her that he had the disconcerting trick of summing up her hands with an accuracy that made her wonder bitterly if he could see through the cards. She threw caution to the wind and began to gamble on slim chances, discarding small cards for the chance of
picking up an ace or a king. Her confidence plummeted, her nerves grew taut. It annoyed her no end that he appeared so repulsively casual and relaxed. The third rubber ended quickly when, in the final hand, Julien spread out his hand, all save one card, and said gently, “I trust my quint is good.”

“Quite good.”

“And the four kings and three aces?”

“Also good.” She stared down at the impressive array of high cards and then back at the one card he still held in his hand.

“Oh, hell and the devil,” she said. “I’ll be fleeced horribly if I don’t manage to guess this discard. Drat, I have no idea what to keep.”

“No, I agree, there’s nothing at all to tell you.” He sat back in his chair, turning the long card first one way and then another between his long fingers.

“Very well, a spade.” She flung the card onto the table.

“Sorry, but you must lose.” Julien turned the card toward her, and she saw that he held a small diamond.

She gazed at the card for a long moment, unwilling to believe that she’d been trounced so thoroughly. How it galled her to lose to him when she had been so certain that she would defeat him. She fought with herself to take her loss gracefully.

“It appears that you’ve bettered me.”

“I had no doubt of the outcome.”

She recoiled from his quietly spoken words, and a shadow of hurt and surprise filled her eyes. She couldn’t explain why, but it seemed very unlike him to make her feel her defeat more than necessary. “It’s not very kind of you to say that.”

“You’re a fine player. You’re weakest in your discards. You don’t play the odds as you should. Of course I would beat you, for I have at least ten more years of experience in the game than you do. In time, if you attend carefully, your skill will equal mine.”

As she gathered the cards together, she became painfully aware that he was regarding her steadily. She
instantly forgot her vow to beat him at cards as she felt a surge of fear sweep through her. She dropped the cards onto the table and quickly squirmed out of her chair, her eyes fixed on the door.

“Surely you don’t wish to leave so soon. Wouldn’t you like to discuss some of the finer points of the game?” He rose leisurely as he spoke and walked to the closed door, cutting off her only avenue of escape.

“I want to go to bed now.” Was that her voice, all thin and sickly-sounding?

“Precisely my idea, my dear. It’s encouraging that you begin to read my wishes.”

“That isn’t what I mean and well you know it.”

He walked slowly over to where she stood. She felt like a fox being stalked by only one big hunter.

“But it’s exactly what I mean. I’ve let you have your way for four nights now. A very long time. Far too long for a man to wait to bed his bride. I want you and I want you now. Will you come with me?”

She ran behind the card table, out of his reach. Though she was a scant three feet from him, the small barrier gave her courage.

“No, I won’t come with you. Please, don’t you understand? I don’t want you to frighten me like that.”

He walked around the card table.

“No. Stay away from me. I swear I’ll fight you, Julien. I’ll hurt you. I’m no weakling. I’m strong and I hurt Harry many times.”

He found himself torn between exasperation and a physical desire that was fast dying. The situation had gone beyond absurd. He couldn’t allow it to continue another night. Damnation. He drew a steadying breath. “Listen to me, wife. I find it refreshing that in liberal times virginal modesty still exists, but you carry it to an absurd point.” He leaned over and spread his hands on the table, his eyes on a level with hers.

“When are you going to accept the fact that I’m your husband? When are you going to face up to the fact that you and I, madam, will be together until one of us cocks up his toes and passes to the hereafter?”

She was trembling. Not wanting him to see her fear, she quickly whisked her shaking hands behind her back. “It’s not that, truly. It’s just that—”