The Rebel Bride (22 page)

He waited for her to continue, but she fell silent, her hands knotting the material of her skirt. He was baffled, no other word for it. There she was, his wife, standing there, her face as white as the collar of her gown had been four days ago.

He’d been so certain that her refusal of him was because of her damnable pride, her anger at him for removing all choice from her. He saw fear now, stark and livid in her eyes, real fear so deep and urgent that he couldn’t begin to imagine what was the matter. He cudgeled his brain in an effort to figure out what to do, what to think about this situation.

“Kate, help me to understand you. I know your mother died when you were quite young. In fact, you were alone at an age when a mother’s advice and teaching are very important.” He paused a moment, studying her face, but oddly, she was simply looking at him blankly, as if she hadn’t even heard him.

“A father and a brother aren’t the same. Did your father warn you against men? Did he frighten you? Did he tell you that men would hurt you, perhaps even harm you? Did he try to make you believe that a physical love between a husband and wife was sinful?”

A fragile image of her mother rose in Kate’s mind. She was crooning gentle words to her, somehow consoling her, stroking her hair. She felt pain, then, but it was long-ago pain that no longer existed, at least in her body. It was still there, though in her mind, somewhere, somewhere. The fleeting picture brought with it inexplicable panic.

“Did he tell you that a husband would treat you badly? Did he try to convince you it was disgusting?”

“Oh no, no.” She wished she hadn’t spoken, for her words dissolved her mother’s face and with it the strange memory.

“Very well, then,” he said and straightened to his full height. “I must then assume that you’re simply thwarting
me, for whatever reason I have yet to fathom. I hope you don’t choke on your pride, Kate. I am very tired of playing your adversary in a game I can’t begin to understand.” He waited a moment, sighed, then turned to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of claret.

She looked after him, perplexed, and as he didn’t turn back to her, she picked up her skirts and walked slowly from the room.

J
ulien sat alone in the private parlor the following morning, his hands curled around a warm cup of coffee, waiting for his bride of nearly a week now who wasn’t yet his wife. He wondered idly if she would honor her lost wager and appear in a gown he’d bought for her. He had not long to dwell on this question, for soon the landlord opened the door and she swept past poor old Perchon into the room, dressed in the height of fashion and wearing a militant expression. He silently applauded his taste, for the lavender muslin, secured below her bosom with rosebud lace, became her to perfection. He rose lazily from his chair and proffered her a deep bow. “How charming you are this morning, my dear.”

“I’m gratified you think so highly of your own taste.” She seated herself at the breakfast table. Secretly she was quite pleased with the picture she presented, and impressed with the style and cut of the gown. She wished only that it had been she who’d chosen it and not Julien.

“Very well. How did you know my size?”

“Would you like a cup of tea before the inquisition begins? No, I see that you want an answer now. Very well. It was a lucky guess. The top of your head comes to my chin. I held out my hands like this and decided your breasts would fill them nicely. I’ve clasped you about your waist and found it about so.” He made his hands into a nearly touching circle, to which she snorted. “As to your hips, I’m fortunate that I’ve seen you in breeches. Do you wish to know anything else?”

“I don’t believe you. Perhaps you bribed my maid for the measurements.”

His eyes twinkled. “As you will. Odd that you don’t believe the truth when you hear it.”

“It’s rubbish. I’m not a fool, Julien. It’s obvious you gained such knowledge by purchasing such garments for your mistresses.” She drew back, flushed, for she hadn’t meant to say anything of the sort and was appalled at her shrew’s voice. If she thought he’d be a gentleman and ignore her unfortunate lapse, she was sadly mistaken.

“Ho, my dear, do I detect a note of jealousy? Perhaps a quiver of resentment? Don’t worry, since my marriage I’ve given all my mistresses a permanent congé.”

“You might very well change your mind about that. It’s quite possible you’ll soon find yourself wishing for their amiable company.”

“Please don’t hold yourself in low esteem. You will be all that I could ever desire in a woman. It appears it will just take me a while to bring you to the sticking point.”

“I’m not hungry and you look as if you’ve eaten an entire cache of eggs and drunk an urn of coffee. Shall we continue our journey?”

“Our wedding trip,” he said in his best nobleman’s drawl.

They bowled out of the courtyard of the Coeur de Lyon not long thereafter, and as Julien wished to reach the villa by late afternoon, they maintained a smart pace throughout the morning, halting only once to change horses. To Kate’s relief, she was relieved of his company for the better part of the afternoon, as he decided to take the reins.

“We’ve a sluggish leader who needs a firm hand. I hope you don’t mind being alone, wife.”

She raised her brows at him. As he stepped from the chaise, he remarked over his shoulder, “It’s a sad trial. It appears my firm hand is needed in so many things. From my bride’s clothes to my rented horses.”

Her attention was suddenly claimed by a very interesting rock formation by the side of the road. But it wasn’t long before she found that she was grinning despite herself, forced to admit that he was very good with the
horses—rot his eyes—for the chaise was moving at a smoother pace, with fewer jolts and lurches.

She settled back and enjoyed the beautiful Swiss countryside that unfolded outside her window, trying to forget that she’d condemned it so shortly before. Such a short time before that, it would never have occurred to her even to think so a stupid thing, but so much had changed since the day she had first met the earl of March. As she recalled the shocked look on his face when he realized that his duelist was a girl, her lips curled into a smile. How very pleasant too were the early days she’d spent in his company. She’d been so very comfortable with him, speaking her mind, never mincing words. He’d been the most delightful of companions. She’d trusted him, as a friend, never really seeing him as a man, as a man who would want her.

She sighed and leaned back against the squabs, closing her eyes. He had destroyed those halcyon days and had robbed her of all comfort and peace of mind. She remembered unwillingly the day he’d asked her to wed him, the suffocating fear that had risen unbidden to choke her. She understood her fear not one whit better than she had then. She knew only that it was deep within her, a part of her from which she could not seem to free herself.

She opened her eyes as the chaise lurched its way ponderously up a steep incline that cut through dense, lush forest. A few minutes later the road widened, and the chaise burst out of the forest into a large triangular clearing atop a jutting promontory. In the center of the clearing stood a small, elegantly constructed white-brick villa. Delicately wrought columns supported the overhanging balconies of the second floor. It seemed to Kate that in the fading sunlight the endless numbers of windows glittered like bright prisms. Snowcapped peaks were visible in the distance, and the well-scythed lawn seemed to melt into the green of the forest, as if blended into it by an artist’s brush. It was an exquisite private mansion suited for royalty. She wondered from whom he’d secured this place.

As Julien reined in the horses, her attention was drawn to an older man and woman bustling out of the front doors toward them. Julien opened the chaise door and helped her to alight before turning his attention to the couple, who stood viewing her with lively curiosity.

“Good afternoon, James, Maria. I’d like you to meet my countess, Katharine St. Clair. Kate, meet James and Maria Crayton, thankfully here to keep us clean and dressed and well fed.”

The woman drew her stiff bombazine skirts into a curtsy, and the man gave a tug to a rather unruly spike of gray hair. “A real pleasure, my lady.” He beamed at Kate, revealing slightly protruding teeth.

Kate inclined her head, conscious suddenly of the somewhat strange yet pleasing experience of being treated with such deference.

“We weren’t expecting your lordship and ladyship so soon,” James continued to Julien. “But Mrs. Crayton and I have everything ready for you, my lord, all right and proper, even though we’ve had to deal with these foreigners.”

“Excellent. Her ladyship is quite fatigued from the long journey. Would you be so kind as to show her to her bedchamber, Maria?”

“I’m not at all fatigued, Julien. However, I would very much like to see my room.”

“Her ladyship is renowned for her stamina, Maria. Has the weather continued warm, James?”

“Yes, my lord, though the nights are quite chilly. A peaceful place this is. Mrs. Crayton and I fancy that we can hear our hair grow, so quiet it is.”

Kate ignored Julien’s laugh and followed Mrs. Crayton into a small entry way. As she mounted the delicately carved staircase that wound in a lazy circular fashion to the upper floor, Julien called out, “Let’s dine in an hour. Is that sufficient time for you to perform whatever womanly chores necessary?”

“What womanly chores? No, don’t answer that. I will certainly find something suitably womanly to occupy my
time. Perhaps an hour won’t be sufficient. Perhaps you would like to tool the carriage back to Geneva?”

“And leave my enthusiastic bride? Not a chance. Do strive to please me in this, my dear. An hour.” He grinned at her and to her chagrin, she found the corners of her mouth tilting up. As this would never do, she quickly turned, hurrying after Mrs. Crayton.

She was shown into a small, delightfully furnished room, dominated on one side by a fireplace and on the other by long windows curtained with pale-pink brocade. The furniture was all white and gold, in the French style of the last century, blending with exquisite artistry into the delicate shades of pink in the carpet. Her eyes alight with pleasure, Kate turned impulsively to Mrs. Crayton. “It’s a lovely room. How surprising to find such elegance in so remote a place.”

“Indeed, my lady, Mr. Crayton and I were a bit concerned when his lordship told us to come here and make preparations, but now we quite like it.”

“You are part of his lordship’s staff in London?”

“Certainly, my lady. Mr. Crayton and I were with his lordship’s father, the late earl of March. It was quite excited we were, coming to this foreign place and all, even though we were concerned, as I said. His lordship said we needed a change of air, he did. He knew he could trust us to carry out his wishes.”

She pursed her lips. A journey from London to Switzerland must occupy the better part of a week, perhaps even more. The Craytons would have had to leave England before Julien had come to Paris. Surely not. “When did his lordship send you here, Mrs. Crayton?”

“We’ve been here nearly a week now, my lady,” Mrs. Crayton said, quite unaware that her young mistress was now as stiff as the maple tree outside the bedchamber window. “Naturally his lordship told us he was going to be married in Paris. He wanted us to come immediately to have all in readiness for your ladyship. But, of course, you know all of this already.” She smiled kindly at her new mistress. “It’s pleased we are that Master Julien has finally wed. Ach, but here I go again. Mr. Crayton is
forever telling me my tongue runs on wheels, begging your ladyship’s pardon.”

“Yes, yes, of course I knew, Mrs. Crayton,” Kate said quickly. Though the woman’s tongue ran on wheels, they were quite informative ones. Damn Julien anyway. How very certain he had been of himself and of her.

Mrs. Crayton read the tightening of her ladyship’s lips and the sudden frown on her forehead as signs of fatigue. “You just sit down and rest by the fire, and I’ll have Mr. Crayton fetch up a nice hot bath.”

When Mrs. Crayton had removed her garrulous self from the room, Kate yanked off the expensive bonnet and flung it on a chair. The blue-velvet cloak that Julien had bought for her she tossed in a heap on top of the bonnet. She sank down into the soft cushions of the settee that faced the fireplace and idly looked about her for an object to fling at Julien, were he to present himself. She looked fondly at a small gilded mirror that hung over the mantel but thought pessimistically that he would handily duck it were it to be hurled at his head. She found the mental image evoked by such a confrontation so comical that she couldn’t long maintain her anger at him and his officious confidence. She even found herself thinking somewhat philosophically that it would have been most unlike Julien to forget so important an item as accommodations for their wedding trip. She wondered, indeed, if he ever forgot any detail. He had even attended to acquiring the perfectly fitted satin undergarments that felt so delightfully luxurious against her skin, so very different from the stout cotton she’d worn until just days ago.

She sighed and said to the crackling fire, “Well, my girl, there is no way of getting around the fact that you’re married. I guess once married, one stays married and makes the best of it.”

The fire crackled and popped. She instantly took exception to her own conclusions, for they reeked of capitulation, of nauseating submission. Nothing had changed between them. She wouldn’t allow him to bend her to his will. As this resolve brought with it an unsettling
sense of dissatisfaction, she closed her eyes and concentrated on thinking about absolutely nothing.

When she appeared in the cozy dining room, closer to two hours than one after they had parted, she saw Julien standing in front of the long windows, his back to her, gazing out into the darkness, his hand holding back the dark-blue drapery, an elegant hand with long fingers, a man’s hand with strength and power. He turned as her rustling skirts announced her presence, and she was momentarily taken aback by the very serious expression on his face. But in an instant the expression was gone, and he strolled, as indolent as a lizard lazing about beneath a bright sun, to where she stood, took her hand in his, and kissed her fingers.

“How very beautiful you are tonight, my dear. Do you find your bedchamber to your liking?”

“I fear, Julien, that you compliment the gown you chose rather than its wearer. I’m just me, the same me you met in breeches and that old hat.”

“I know it well. Know too that I very thoroughly appraised the wearer long before I purchased the gown. Do tell me, do you find your bedchamber adequate?”

“If you had ever seen my bedchamber at Brandon Hall, you wouldn’t ask such a question. It’s charming, more than charming. It’s quite the nicest bedchamber I’ve ever seen in my life, and doubtless you know that.”

“I trust you’ll also find the sherry delightful,” he said, handing her a glass. “It’s really quite excellent. The Conte Bellini’s cellar rivals that of St. Clair.”

“Who is this Conte Bellini person?”

“A friend of mine. We’ve done business together and, of course, gamed and caroused together in Milan.”

No surprise there, but she knew he was baiting her. She managed not to swallow the bait, saying instead, “Ah, something else. Mrs. Crayton informed me that not only are she and Mr. Crayton in your household staff in London but they’ve been here for nearly a week. You told them, my lord, you actually
told
them while you were still in London that you were getting married in
Paris. That passes all bounds, Julien. Your conceit and arrogance make you a candidate for the gallows,
my
gallows.”