The Wild One (34 page)

"What's the matter there, little girl? Are
you hungry?"

Hungry wasn't the word for it. Charlotte all
but grabbed for Juliet's breast. As the baby suckled, the blood
rushed to Juliet's cheeks. All she could think of was her husband's
erotic kisses on this very same breast just last night. All she
could think of was the searing joy she had found in his embrace.
Oh, how she wished he was there, instead of off working for
Snelling. It would have been nice to wake up in each other's arms
on their first real morning together.

As she sat there nursing the baby, her gaze
fell upon the bedside table. There, the miniature of Charles lay
beneath her kerchief, the ribbon on which she'd restrung it peeping
out and just catching the morning sunlight. Thoughtfully, Juliet
reached out and picked it up. She felt no urge to put it on.
Instead, she simply let the tiny painting lay in her palm as she
stared into the face of the man who now seemed to belong to another
lifetime.

"Charles ... How much younger I was when I
knew you," she whispered to his painted likeness. She looked down
at it, trying to find the right words. "I was an impressionable
girl and you, a god on a mighty charger, resplendent in officer's
dress, all glitter and gold. I was so enamored of you — but I know
now that we would never have been happy together. We were too much
alike — both too serious, too practical, too … cautious, perhaps.
You were right for me then, and I shall never, ever forget you —
but it's your brother who's right for me now."

She swallowed, hard.

"I hope you don't mind what I have done,"
she added, as she gazed down into those blue, blue eyes. "But I
know you wouldn't have wanted me to be unhappy."

There was no answer, of course. And she had
not expected one. The answer, as she well knew, was in her
heart.

~~~~

A half-hour later, Juliet was washed,
dressed and eager to explore her new home. Plenty of work needed to
be done around their little house, but it would wait till the
afternoon. This morning, maybe she'd walk into Abingdon and see
what the town was like. Or stroll around Swanthorpe, bringing
Charlotte down to the river to see the swans, mallards and coots
that paddled in the current. Better yet, maybe she would wander
around until she found her husband, and surreptitiously watch him
through increasingly appreciative eyes. The possibilities were
endless.

With Charlotte in her arms, she headed
downstairs, pausing at a window to look outside. It was a
delightful spring day, with high, fluffy clouds drifting across a
sky of hazy blue and a thousand daisies and dandelions scattered
across the back lawn. As she came down the stairs and entered the
sitting room, she was startled to see a rather thin young woman on
her hands and knees before the hearth, shoveling old coals into a
cast iron bucket. The girl looked up as Juliet entered the room,
lunged to her feet, and bobbed a quick curtsy.

"M'loidy!"

Juliet was taken aback. Not only was she
surprised to find a stranger in her home, she was not, and would
never be, used to being addressed as "my lady."

"I'm sorry — I don't think we've been
introduced," she said, eyeing the girl in some confusion.

"Beggin' yer pardon, mum. Moi name's Becky.
The master said Oi could come and be your maid, 'e did. Hope ye
don't mind. Oi've brought ye a breakfast straight from the manor
'ouse, Oi 'ave — cold gammon wi' some bread and butter and a
pitcher of fresh milk, since Oi knew ye wouldn't 'ave anythin' in."
The girl jerked her head, bird-like, toward the table. "It's all
roight there waitin' for ye, it is."

"That's very kind of you," Juliet said, her
face flaming as she saw the table and thought of what she and
Gareth had done on it not twenty-four hours past. Thank the lord
Becky could not read her thoughts! She sat down and poured herself
a mug of milk, her stomach rumbling at sight of the food. "Won't
you join me?"

Becky eyed the tray with undisguised
longing, then quickly shook her head.

"Oh, no, mum, Oi couldn't."

"Go on," Juliet said, clandestinely eying
the girl's bony hands and too-thin frame. "Besides," she fibbed, "I
can't eat it all."

With a nervous little shrug, Becky wiped her
fingers on her skirts and selected a piece of ham. Juliet noted
that she took the smallest one, as though she felt undeserving of
any more than that. It took some urging to convince the girl to
take a second slice, let alone a mug of milk, but by the time she
did, Becky had relaxed, obviously thinking Juliet was someone she
could trust.

"So tell me about Mr. Snelling," Juliet
murmured, washing down her breakfast with sips of milk. "You said
he sent you down?"

"That 'e did, mum. And 'tis glad of it Oi
be, too. Oi worked up in the manor house, ye see, but the master,
'e said Oi was lazy and slothful, and 'e wanted to send me away.
But Oi heard ye was comin' and knew ye'd 'ave yer 'ands full, what
wi' a babe an' all, so Oi asked Snelling if Oi could stay on and
work down 'ere for 'alf me pay. I didn't want to leave Swanthorpe,
ye see." She blushed hotly and cupped her hand to the side of her
mouth. "Oi've got me a feller 'ere."

Juliet grinned. "I guess that makes two of
us!"

"Oh, blimey, Oi've seen
yer
man!
Everyone at Swanthorpe's talking about 'im, they are, 'specially
all the town girls who work 'ere. Ye'd best keep a close eye on
'im, lest one of 'em try to steal 'im away from ye!"

Juliet laughed. "Oh, Becky," she said,
shaking her head. "I'm so glad you're here. I've been a little
homesick, and ... well, it's nice to have someone to talk to. I
don't know anyone here, I'm afraid, and I feel like such an
outsider, coming from partway across the world and all ..."

"Ah, ye'll soon foind that people is the
same no matter where ye go," Becky returned with quiet country
wisdom. "And Oi knows what it's loike to be alone and not knowin'
no-one. Tell ye what. Snelling always schedules a big foight for
Froiday noights, down at the County 'all in the Market Place.
That's tonoight, it is. All the foine folks from Oxford'll come
down for it, and it'll be as fun and loively as a country fair. We
can get me sister Bonnie to look after yer babe; she's got three of
'er own. 'Ow 'bout you and Oi go down together and watch?"

"Well, I ..."

"It'll be great fun. I hear Bull O'Rourke's
foighting, and 'e always draws a big crowd, 'e does. Ever 'ear of
Bull? Strapping Oirish farmer, 'e is — 'ands the soize of buckets
an' arms so big they split 'is shirt when 'e moves. 'Twill be a
good match, I think — Bull's never lost a foight yet. What do ye
say, eh?"

"I'm not much for blood sports," Juliet
said, hesitating.

"Oh, ye can just close yer eyes if ye don't
want to watch. Any'ow, the crowd'll be so thick and rowdy, we
probably won't be able to get near the ring, let alone see
anythin'."

"Well ..." Juliet could think of twenty
other things she'd rather be doing tonight, but Gareth
had
said he might not be home until late. What else was there to do,
really? Besides, it would do her good to get out of the house. "All
right, you've talked me into it," she finally said. "What time
should I be ready?"

~~~~

He had not told her, of course.

Had not told her what he and the others who
worked for Snelling would be doing for most of the morning in this
barn floored with hay, its leather bags stuffed with sawdust
swinging from ropes hung from the rafters. Had not told her because
he'd known she'd be angry with him, and what with the way she'd
been looking at him lately — her eyes soft and almost adoring —
Gareth could not stand the thought of bringing on either her
disapproval or ire.

Besides, she did not have to know. There was
no
need
for her to know, really. It was simply a way to earn
a living — more base than some, more noble than others — and wasn't
an income all that mattered at this point?

Of course it was. For the first time in his
life, he was actually earning money instead of having it handed to
him for no other reason than the fact that his brother was one of
the five wealthiest men in England. For the first time in his life
— excepting his rescue of the stagecoach passengers and that of
Juliet and Charlotte by way of a wedding ring — he actually felt
good about himself. Proud of himself. He was not relying on someone
else to support him. He was not searching for some new way to chase
away the endless boredom of his life or making a spectacle of
himself for the amusement of others or getting himself into trouble
with the knowledge that Lucien would bail him out. With his own
brain and hands, he was supporting his wife and his daughter — the
two people he loved most in the world.

The two people he loved most in the
world.

Ah, there was no question about
that
.
He'd adored his little Charlie-girl from the moment he first met
her and saw his brother's blue eyes peering up at him from beneath
those thick de Montforte lashes. And as for Juliet, beautiful,
dark-haired Juliet with the creamy-smooth skin and loving hands and
long, luscious legs ...

He grinned like a fool. He was the luckiest
man in England, and, by God, he wasn't going to jeopardize things
by telling her what Snelling had
really
hired him to do!

With a cheerful farewell to the others, he
left the barn bare-chested, his shirt slung over bulging shoulders
that were still damp with sweat. His muscles tingled and sang after
his vigorous exercise, and everything inside of him felt alive and
eager and free. He knew he was walking with a bit of a swagger; he
could not help it. He was on top of the world, and if he proved
himself tonight, Snelling, the bastard, had promised to give him
half of the proceeds the fight brought in.

'Sdeath, I just hope Lucien doesn't get wind
of this.

That would be almost as bad as if Juliet
found out. Eventually she would, of course — and possibly quite
soon — but he would deal with that when it happened.

Aren't you afraid of the sort of reputation
your fighting will bring down on your family, yourself, and
Juliet?

No, no, and, of course, yes.

But he would deal with
that
later,
too.

Through the trees, he could just see the
pink brick of Swanthorpe Manor and, some distance beyond, the dower
house itself. And there, off to his right, the cold waters of the
Thames beckoned, swelling against its clay banks, glittering in the
sunshine.

Gareth paused. The sun was warm on his bare
shoulders; the river looked cool and smooth and inviting. And,
'sdeath, he couldn't go home looking — and smelling — as though
he'd just spent a day laboring in the fields, now, could he?

She might know. She might
ask
. And he
really didn't want to lie to her. He had misled her a little, yes —
but he wouldn't actually lie to her.

Whistling happily, Gareth turned and strode
back across the meadow, heading away from the houses and toward the
riverbank. Around him, wild dog rose was still in bloom.
Buttercups, dandelions, and daisies sprang up in the grasses
through which he strode, and sunshine turned the ivy that hugged
the trees to a brilliant, shining green. He felt happy to be alive.
Happy with his lot in life. As he neared the Mill Stream that
branched out from the river, the ground beneath his feet grew dark
and richly fertile, and not for the first time that day — that
hour, even — he envied Snelling his fine estate with a passion that
bordered on lust.

God, how he wished it were his own.

But such empty dreams would get him nowhere.
If he thought about how he much he loathed Snelling — and coveted
what he had — it would only spoil his exceedingly good mood.
Besides, he thought cockily,
he
had Juliet and Charlotte;
they were more valuable to him than a hundred Swanthorpes.

He found the footpath and crossed the bridge
that spanned the Mill Stream, pausing atop it for a moment to watch
a swan and her downy cygnets in the waters below. Then he continued
across the springy turf to the banks of the river itself.

As he'd expected, no one was around. Nothing
but a robin in a nearby hawthorn and a few mallards eyeing him from
half-way out in the river.

He tossed his shirt over a low-hanging
branch, removed his boots and stepped out of his breeches. Flexing
his muscles, he waded into the icy river, gasping at the bracing
shock of it against his skin. His teeth chattered. His legs went
numb. And then he dived beneath the surface, letting the water wash
away all evidence of his morning toils.

Ah, yes. Life was indeed grand.

Chapter 27

Becky hadn't exaggerated about the
far-reaching popularity of Snelling's fights, Juliet thought, as
they walked through the fields and into Abingdon early that
evening. Foot, carriage, and horse traffic were all converging on
the center of town from all directions. Drivers shouted at each
other to make way. Dogs ran loose, barking, among hurrying
pedestrians, through the legs of prancing horses, in and around
carriage wheels. Vendors stood on the street corners selling ale,
pastries, and other refreshments, and the very air held a festive
ambience.

"What a crowd!" Juliet exclaimed, looking
around her.

"Bull always draws 'em," Becky said, her
voice echoing in a medieval archway as she led Juliet through a row
of ancient buildings bordering the Mill Stream. "'E ain't never
been beat, Bull 'asn't, and you won't foind a stronger bloke in
Berkshire. Why, once Snelling 'itched 'im up to an ox and made each
of 'em pull against the other — Bull's so strong the animal
couldn't budge 'im!"

"Surely no human is
that
strong!"