Beauty in Breeches

chapter Six


Despite her determination to get through it without a hitch, Beatrice’s wedding to Julius had a distinct aura of unreality and strain about it. At the outset, Julius had said he did not care to surround the ceremony with any pomp. This suited Beatrice perfectly, for she did not want to attract further attention to herself.

She was numb to the world about her as she stepped through the high, main portal of St George’s Church in Hanover Square, Mayfair’s most fashionable church. The aisle was illuminated by candles and it seemed a long walk down on Lord Merrick’s arm. She had no bridesmaids, not even a matron of honour, the only guests being a handful of Julius’s close friends and Lord and Lady Merrick, for which Beatrice was thankful. Never had she felt so alone. This was supposed to be the most important and happiest day of her life, yet she had no family or friends to bear witness to her marriage.

Two men rose to their feet as she approached the pews at the front of the church. One of them, his tall, powerful frame garmented regally in midnight-blue velvet and flawless white cravat, moved forwards and half-turned so that he might watch her progress. His face was stark and serious, almost harsh, and Beatrice was not to know that Julius Chadwick was fighting to control the strong rush of emotion that went through him at the sight of her in her heavy ivory-satin wedding gown.

For a moment Beatrice was tempted to turn before the vows were spoken and fly from the insanity of what she was doing. But even as she argued with herself she took her place beside Julius, to join her life with his. The amber eyes of her husband-to-be held hers, narrowing, assessing, as though he were studying the woman who had manoeuvred him into marriage.

The vision Julius saw walking towards him bathed in candlelight snatched his breath away and pride exploded throughout his entire body until he ached with it, for no bride had ever looked as lovely. He stretched out a strong, brown, well-manicured hand and offered it to her. She lifted her own and placed it in his much larger, much warmer one. Julius felt the trembling of her fingers and saw the anxiety in her large eyes. Immensely relieved that she hadn’t decided to pull out of marrying him, he gave her hand a little squeeze in an attempt to reassure her. He drew her the remainder of the way to the altar steps, where he would make her his for all eternity.

Time stood still as they were swept into the marriage ceremony. Beatrice felt as if she existed in a glass bubble as she spoke the words. She could see all that went on in a kind of mist and what she said was loud enough to be heard, but the words indistinct.

It seemed only a moment before Julius was sliding a gold band upon her finger and then it was over. Not about to forgo the custom of kissing his young bride, Julius placed his long fingers beneath the delicate bones of her jaw and tilted her face to his. His head lowered and his parted lips moved gently over hers. At last he slackened his grip and stepped back and, offering her his arm through which she slipped her hand, he led her back down the aisle.

As Julius handed her up into his shiny black coach emblazoned with the Maitland coat of arms, Beatrice thought she was being handed up into the midst of paradise, for only then did she realise fully that she had succeeded in what she had set out to do. Leaving the church for Julius’s town house in Piccadilly ahead of the rest, she was conscious of the man seated across from her, watching her intently. Her heart started to beat a wild tattoo and her lips curved in a small triumphant smile. She could have floated, she felt so light.

The future—a future that involved Larkhill—was as blue as the horizon. Having seen a different side to him as she got to know him a little better over the last few days, and unable to deny her growing attraction for him, she was surprised by how much she looked forward to her new life with Julius with more than a little excitement.

Only one cloud darkened her happiness—she was deeply concerned that she might not be able to live up to his expectations and would be a disappointment to him. For days now she had been apprehensive as her wedding day approached—in particular the wedding night—and she told herself that if other women could endure what their husbands did to them, then so could she. She also told herself that perhaps the marital act wouldn’t be as painful as she imagined, and, since she had been the instigator of this marriage, she would bear the pain.

But as the hour when she must submit to her husband drew ever nearer, her philosophical attitude deserted her and her dread was steadily mounting. True, she had coerced Julius into marrying her, but when she’d done so, she’d been half-delirious with winning the race. Now, however, she saw with cold clarity what the results of her coercing would be.

From beneath hooded lids, Julius watched her with brooding attentiveness. The sun shining in through the windows spread a halo around her and the diamond necklace he had given her as a wedding gift shone like droplets of dew against her flesh. At that moment he thought she was the most magnificent creature he had ever seen—and she belonged to him. This delectable, golden-haired girl was his wife, to preside at his table and bear his children. She would never bore him, this he knew.

‘How does it feel to be my wife—Lady Chadwick, the Marchioness of Maitland—Beatrice?’

As Beatrice met his gaze, her lips curved in a little smile. ‘If you must know, I don’t feel anything at the moment. It’s difficult to take it all in. I feel no different to what I did before the ceremony.’ She arched her brows in question. ‘Should I?’

‘I can think of plenty of females who would.’

‘I’m sure you can, but I am not one of them. Titles are meaningless to me.’

He nodded slowly. ‘That’s right. Titles don’t enter into your scheme of things, do they? Only a certain property.’

‘You knew that from the start. I made no secret of what I wanted.’

‘No, you didn’t. But now I think it’s about time you realised what it is that I want.’

To Beatrice’s absolute disbelief, he leaned forwards and stretched his hand to her. Completely unnerved, she jerked back, not knowing what he intended. Annoyed because she didn’t fall into his lap, he yanked her off her seat before she knew what he was about, his long fingers curled around her wrist in a painful vice. She muffled a cry as she landed in a sprawling, uncomfortable heap on the seat beside him.

‘What are you doing?’ she panted, unable to hide her displeasure as she squirmed against him, his glittering eyes and his mouth only inches from hers as he leaned over her, his arms holding her fast.

‘This,’ he said hoarsely and his mouth swooped down, seizing hers in a ruthless kiss. For several moments Beatrice was so confounded she made no attempt to stop him. His lips moved over hers, gently, smoothing, his mouth open a fraction. Within moments her tension began to melt in the heat of his kiss and her senses swam dizzily. In a kind of sensual haze, she was aware of his hand roaming possessively over the sensitive flesh above her bodice. Then she came to life, tearing her lips from his, struggling and pushing herself back from his arms.

‘Please, Julius, stop it. Don’t do this. I may be your wife, but that does not give you leave to manhandle me whenever you wish. I will not be forced.’

When Julius tried to reach for her again she flinched, slapping his arm hard and pushing him away with both hands, then returning to the opposite seat. For a second as he looked at his indignant, spluttering wife, he remained dazed. In what she thought was self-defence she had used the very movements of a tavern wench accustomed to dealing with drunks. He had never seen a lady defend herself in this way before. It struck him as both funny and exasperating. Did she really imagine that he was going to leave her alone? Did she really imagine he would force her?

Frowning with concern over the anxiety and tension he saw on her face, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees, he said, ‘I am not a monster, Beatrice. I will not force you to do anything you do not want to do. You have my word on that.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, her tension easing a little on hearing this.

As Julius looked at her, the sight of her stormy, brilliant green eyes, her white shoulders and that fragile neck and soft lips aroused in him a violent but unfamiliar desire, such as no woman had ever aroused in him. It was not just blind lust. There was about it a somewhat mysterious, almost sweet and gentle allure.

Something sprang into jubilant life within him and soared. Thank God, he thought, she was not going to be a submissive wife, docile and totally insensate and frozen inside, a woman who would endure his embraces with a sigh and accept that it was her wifely duty to submit to him with compliance. He sensed Beatrice was like a cat, a tigress, ready to fight like one, to match him in strength, to be his equal both in bed and out of it.

At this moment she was openly defying him, yet he was the offended one. In the beginning she had forced his hand, humiliated him as no man can bear to be humiliated without wishing the other into purgatory, so first he must show her that she was his wife, and then he would make her realise that their marriage would be conducted on equal terms, and that what they did together could be pleasing for them both.

And yet Julius would have been most surprised at his wife’s thoughts hidden behind her façade of defiance and indignation. Her emotions were all over the place following his kiss. It had left her so confused she could hardly think. Why did she feel like this? she thought wonderingly. A slow realisation of what was happening, born of the moment when he had dragged her into his arms, was moving through her, making its way to her slowly thawing heart, which had been frozen for so long.

She swallowed and turned her head so she didn’t have to look at the man opposite. He was so formidable, so stern, so oppressive and yet so…so what? Breathtakingly handsome? Strong, compelling and completely masculine? Yes, she thought, he was all those things. A man lean, muscular, with wide shoulders, narrow hips and trim waist, she could not help but admire the fine figure he made—near, if not, perfection. Heat suffused her cheeks and her heart was beating hard against her ribcage, as though it were trying to get out to escape the bewildering pain it felt.

Dear Lord, what was happening to her—and in such a short space of time? Why had fate turned her feelings, in the blink of an eye, from absolute indifference to this man who was her husband of mere minutes to something so painful she could not understand it? It was blurring her mind. She could feel herself shaking inside, for she was afraid of his passion, afraid of how much it would hurt in the future if she let herself weaken now.

‘Fight me if you must, Beatrice,’ he said softly, ‘but I promise you that we will share the more tender moments of our marriage. You say you dislike force. I, too, loathe it, but I could do nothing to get out of paying your forfeit. I did not choose you for a wife, you chose me,’ he reminded her, his words dripping with disdain. ‘But however it came about, I do not intend to take advantage of you. Now you’re angry because you will have to pay the piper, but you do not think what it has cost me to make you my wife.’

The sound of his voice brought her back to the present. Deeply troubled and confused by her feelings, furious at her sudden weakening and hurt by what he had said, she took refuge in anger. Turning her head back to him, she laughed ungraciously. ‘You didn’t have to marry me. You could have walked away.’

‘So could you. I recall telling you that as my mistress you would have been treated as a queen,’

‘Whereas what I have now is a master,’ she retorted irately, using her anger to fortify her against her nervousness at what was to come later. ‘Is that what you are telling me, Julius?’

He smiled thinly, his amber eyes nailed to hers. ‘I would never be that, Beatrice. What I will say is that if you consider refusing me your bed, remember that you are only one woman among many. For a man it is easy to find relief for his baser needs.’

‘And I imagine you are low enough to do that,’ she said, still wondering and bewildered at the hurt and disappointment that stirred her heart.

His jaw tightened and his eyes grew cold. Did she really think she could flout him so soon into their marriage? ‘There’s no need to distress yourself, my love,’ he said mockingly. ‘You are quite safe from me for the present.’

‘I sincerely hope so,’ she replied, moving as far from him as was possible within the confines of the coach.

‘You cannot escape me, Beatrice,’ he said easily, concerned by her distress and attempting to lighten the moment by injecting a teasing note into his voice. ‘You are now and for ever mine. Marriage with me is what you wanted and that is what you shall have for the rest of your life—or mine. But fear not. You are a beauty, my sweet. I shall not grow tired of you and have no desire to leave you too soon.’ He chuckled softly, reaching out and touching her cheek, relieved that she did not pull away. ‘You will find I am temperamental and that I may not be termed a pleasant man to live with—but you have my word that I shall strive to be amenable at all times when we are together.’

Beatrice managed to smile and turned her head away, looking out of the window as the coach finally drew up before the house—a splendid mansion of which Beatrice would now be mistress. Julius climbed out and turned to assist her.

‘Can you manage, my love, or shall I lift you down?’ he asked, a smile twisting his handsome mouth.

For the sake of appearances and because the nervous fluttering in her stomach was increasing with each passing minute, she allowed him to assist her out of the coach, placing her hand on his arm for him to escort her into the house.

‘Smile,’ Julius said in a quiet voice while managing to smile charmingly himself for the benefit of those who had gathered to see the return of the bride and groom and to wish them well. ‘Must I remind you that this is your wedding day, which is supposed to be the happiest day of your life, whereas you, my love, look as if you are going to your execution.’

Feeling that the quiet reprimand was deserved, Beatrice did as he bade and composed her features into a more agreeable expression as he escorted her inside the house.



Beatrice was introduced to the curious but welcoming servants, who bobbed their curtsies or respectfully bent their heads, though she felt such an intruder, an interloper, not one face or one name was retained in her memory.

Julius led her into a green-and-gold salon, where a long table had been prepared for the wedding feast. It gleamed with silver cutlery and crystal glasses and was festooned with flowers. Standing in the centre of the salon, a smile pinned to her lips and a glass of champagne in her hand, the bride received the well wishes of all those present. The meal went quickly—too quickly for Beatrice—who wanted to delay the time when she would find herself alone with Julius.

Seated beside her, Julius lounged back in his chair, his arm stretched possessively across the back of hers, his expression thoughtful as he watched her smile and laugh when glasses were raised in toast to the bride and groom. It wasn’t surprising that everyone was in her thrall, for she looked ravishing. She was also lively and amiable in a way that not even he had seen before. She had deliberately set herself out to charm; as he toyed with the stem of his wine glass, it was that effort which both amused and exasperated him.

If she hadn’t decided to make herself so delightful, everyone would have eaten their fill and gone home earlier—which was, Julius knew, exactly what she didn’t want, for their presence delayed the moment when she would have to go upstairs with him and they would be alone.

Because this was her wedding day and because he knew she was probably anxious about what was to happen later, for the last hour he had been willing to indulge her, using the time to enjoy her company and to savour the anticipation of what was to come. Now, however, he was growing tired of the wait.

Leaning close to her, he said, ‘I’m sorry to put an end to your day, Beatrice, but I think it’s time you and I left.’

As he stood up and held his hand out to her, Beatrice realised the moment she had dreaded all day had arrived. A delicate flush spread over her features as she rose and placed her trembling hand in his. It was growing dark and, not wishing to linger without the bride and groom, the guests began to leave. Beatrice looked pleadingly at Lady Merrick when she came up to her.

‘Must you go now?’ she asked in a quavering voice.

The kindly woman nodded her head and gave her a motherly kiss upon the brow. ‘Yes, my dear. It’s time the two of you were alone. We cannot stay any longer. Be happy, Beatrice,’ she said, glancing up at Julius who stood beside her. ‘I know you will be well cared for.’

Beatrice watched her go. She looked at Julius. ‘If you don’t mind, I would like to go to my room now.’

‘It’s been a long day and I’m sure you must be feeling tired. I shall escort you there myself. I hope you will find it—comfortable. And there is a connecting door to my room.’

When her eyes snapped to his he straightened, his face set in lines of challenge. His lips curled over his white teeth. ‘There is nothing wrong with that, Beatrice. It is perfectly natural for a husband and wife to have connecting rooms.’ As he came to stand beside her, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear, ‘I trust you have no objections to the sleeping arrangements. Are you afraid of being alone with me, my love, of fulfilling your part of the bargain we made?’

Beatrice coloured hotly and turned away in sudden confusion. His hand slid about her waist and she started slightly as his hard chest pressed against her back.

His deep voice seemed to reverberate within her as he announced softly, ‘I think it is time for bed.’

In that moment her mind flew from all rational thought. A bolt of doubt blasted her confidence. She turned to face him.

‘You—you spoke of a bargain. What bargain might that be? I do not recall having made any bargain with you.’

He raised a sardonic brow. ‘Ah, but you did. Think about it, Beatrice. When you asked me to be your husband and again when you spoke your vows.’ Seeing her uncertainty, he chuckled softly. ‘Did you think I would have entered into this if I had nothing to gain?’ He laid a hand against her cheek in a tender caress. ‘I have fulfilled my part of the bargain. It is time for you to fulfil yours. It is the price you have to pay. You belong to me until death.’

Fully realising the truth of what he said, Beatrice shrank away from him in disbelief, aware of the trap that slowly closed around her—a trap of her own making.

‘Tonight you will see the real price of your predicament.’ His voice became gentle, almost a whisper. His eyes were hungry with yearning and touched her everywhere. ‘You sought me out for a cause dear to you and I have given you my name—a high price for me to pay. Now I ask the same of you. Do you find the price too dear that you suddenly want to reject it—to deny the bargain?’

‘No,’ she replied stiffly. ‘Of course not.’

‘I am happy to hear that, Beatrice. Come, we shall go up together’, and without further ado, in silence he began to lead the new Marchioness of Maitland up the stairs, along the landing in the direction of their chambers. Not until they were inside Beatrice’s room and the door closed against the world did he release her, relieved to have her alone at last.

As his bride she was certainly lovely to look at. Golden strands shimmered among the carefree copper curls, crackling and alive in the light from the candles. The soft brows arched away from eyes that were clear and green—sea green in this light, brilliant against the thick fringe of jet-black lashes and as unfathomable as any sea he had ever gazed into. The soft pink lips were tantalising and gracefully curved. Under his penetrating gaze the golden skin flushed slightly.

Feeling desire stir in his loins, with a will of iron Julius clamped a grip upon himself.

With tension twisting within her, Beatrice rubbed her arm and warily considered her husband. His face was extremely handsome above a froth of white lace, his dark hair smoothly brushed and his white teeth shining in his gypsy-brown face. With a surge of admiration, she thought how ruggedly virile he looked. He also looked relaxed as he stood watching her, his amber eyes warm and intense, a spark flaring in their depths.

She felt the bold touch of his hungry gaze and inwardly shivered. Her knees quaking violently, she walked slowly around the room that was to be hers. It was a tastefully furnished, elegant room, the bed large and canopied in the same mulberry and gold as the rest of the room. There was no sign of a maid to assist her out of her wedding finery, but the bedcovers had been turned down and the lacy white jasmine-scented sheets.

Seeing her stiffen and stare with stricken paralysis at the bed and noting how her fingers that flew to her mouth trembled, with long, easy strides that always looked both certain and relaxed, Julius walked towards her.

‘Come, Beatrice, there’s nothing to fear, so why are you trembling?’

She turned and looked at him, unable to tear her gaze from his, unable to hide her fear. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted with a tremor in her voice.

‘Don’t you?’ he asked softly, one eyebrow raised in question. ‘You do realise what is to happen between us, don’t you?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘And is it now your hope to avoid keeping the bargain we made?’

Lifting her head, Beatrice faced him, trying to tell herself that the act she was about to commit wasn’t sinful or anything like that, that in submitting herself to her husband she was actually doing something noble. But confronted with his size, his strength and his indomitable will, Beatrice found her reasoning did nothing to quell her fear.

Instead of lying to him, which Julius half-expected her to do, she surprised him by saying instead, ‘It is my hope, but I am prepared to become your wife in every sense. I will not deny you the rights of my own vows. You will have what I promised you.’

‘Yet you fear it.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you fear me?’

‘No—only what will happen. But I will submit—if that is what you want.’

‘Submit?’ Julius repeated, annoyed by her choice of word. ‘The marital act is not some kind of punishment to which you should submit. Don’t fear it,’ he ordered softly as his fingers caressed her cheek. ‘And for God’s sake, don’t fear me. You’ve never feared me before. Don’t begin now.’

The deep, husky timbre of his voice, combined with the tantalising exploration of his skilful fingers caressing her face and neck, was already working its magic on Beatrice.

Julius considered his wife, seeing the set of her chin that brought a smile to his lips. ‘I hope there isn’t going to be a battle, my love. I wouldn’t like to have a fight on my hands—not tonight. In order to make you understand that we are husband and wife, that from this night on we will share a bed, share our bodies, there is no other way.’

Beatrice started to protest, but his finger came across her lips and shushed her. Bending his head, he placed his lips close to her ear.

‘I want you to relax, my love. There will be a drifting of the senses, soft kisses, an initiation into the art of love, moving towards a climax that will please us both, which is what I want,’ he murmured, taking her face between his hands and kissing her sweet lips, lightly to begin with, offering her love, then deeply and tenderly. After a few moments of tense passivity, she placed her hand on his chest and began to kiss him back.

Raising his head a fraction, he asked, ‘Did it concern you that our wedding was not the grand affair most young ladies dream of?’

‘I didn’t want a grand affair. I was perfectly satisfied the way it was.’

‘You made a beautiful bride. You are so lovely your beauty blinds me. But that is not what this is about.’

Tilting her head to one side, relaxed by his kiss, she managed a teasing smile. ‘No? Is it not more important to have a wife who is pleasing to look at than an ugly one?’ she provoked.

‘Ah—but it is not the face that is important, Beatrice.’ Very slowly he walked round her, deliberately, examining her as she stood rooted to the floor, not touching her with anything but those amber eyes—and they were enough, boldly evaluating her assets. He halted and, bending his head close to her ear so that the warm breath caressed the back of her neck, said softly, ‘When I was a youth, I was given some sound advice from a very wise man.’

Unable to move, Beatrice swallowed audibly, nervously, her heart beating wildly. ‘What was that?’

‘Never to buy a mare with a blanket on.’

‘And—who was this wise man?’

‘My father.’

Beatrice shivered under Julius’s unrelenting gaze. He watched her with such a slow, unhurried regard that her skin burned from its intensity. ‘It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? Perhaps you should have taken his advice.’

‘I’m sure you’re right, but, as you say, it’s too late for that. You belong to me now. You are my wife and a husband may do as he pleases with his wife.’ His voice softened until it was almost a whisper. ‘Anything he likes. Now—shall we take off those clothes and see what we have?’

For a moment Beatrice shrank back, her green eyes darkening in fear, and Julius almost turned away, for before God he would not force her. Then, as he had hoped she would, her chin came up, her soft lips tightened and her eyes blazed her defiance, but she turned and presented her back for him to unbutton her wedding gown.

He worked downwards until the garment hung open. She shrugged and it fell to her feet, revealing a sheer, shimmering white-silk petticoat, the shoulders temptingly bare. The petticoat hid nothing from him and Beatrice saw the hard glint of passion strike sparks in his eyes as they moved over her. Her full, ripe breasts swelled against the silk that moulded itself to her bosom and the delicate peaks thrust forward impudently. He saw the inward curve of her waist, amazingly small without any tight lacings, the trim and seductive roundness of her hips and the lithe grace of her limbs.

Julius’s breath caught in his throat. He had already realised that beneath all her clothes Beatrice was what every man dreamed of: a vision of incomparable beauty. His long fingers freed her body from the rest of her flimsy garments until she stood naked to his gaze.

The hardest thing Beatrice had ever had to do in her life was to stand calmly before him and let him look at her as he was doing now, when, feeling like a caged animal newly caught, she wanted nothing more than to find a way out. He stepped back, still smiling, but with a new fire kindled in his eyes. His gaze was direct, challenging, sweeping from her trim and shapely ankles, passing over her slender legs, and then more leisurely over her magnificent body, which was lustrous shades of honey and amber in the flickering flames of the candles and the fire. The triangle of curling fair hair at the base of her belly was now a mysterious dark enticing shadow, her breasts rose tipped and exuberant. His gaze passed on to her face. She had not flinched as she submitted herself for his perusal, but her eyes were large and hot and expectant, and a flush swept up her long shapely legs, her slender curves, staining the glowing flesh right up to her face.

Julius’s lips spoke no word, but his eyes clearly expressed his wants. The bold stare touched a quickness in Beatrice that made her feel as if she were on fire. It flamed in her cheeks and set her hands to trembling as she stared back at him. Out of consideration for her obvious embarrassment, Julius extinguished the candles burning close to her, before taking his time in stripping himself naked. He unbuttoned and removed his shirt and laid it over a chair with his cravat and slipped out of his breeches and undergarments, tossing them atop the shirt.

When he was totally naked Beatrice stared at a certain part of his anatomy in horror, her face as white as the cravat he had just removed. She had always known men were different, but this was the first time she had seen one naked. Appalled by the size and colour of what she was seeing, she wanted to turn her head away, but found that she could not. Raising her eyes, she gazed at the rest of him. He was bathed in a light cast by the remaining candles and was aglow with deep golden shades that rippled along his hard, lean frame. His body was strong, proud, savage, determined and eternally masculine. Beatrice was no less shaken by the sight of him than by his slow perusal of her a few moments before. They weren’t touching, but they generated enough heat between them to light a fire.

As Beatrice dragged her gaze towards the bed, her eyes lit on her nightdress where the maid had left it draped over the quilt. She made a move to get it, but Julius stepped in front of her.

‘Please allow me to cover myself,’ she said, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice.

‘Now why would you want to do that?’

‘Because I never go to bed without wearing my nightdress. As for you—you seem to have an aversion for wearing clothes which I consider to be most indecent,’ she uttered with quiet reproach.

Julius chuckled softly, delighting in her innocence. ‘There are times, Beatrice, when clothing can be a hindrance. One’s wedding night is one of them.’ His eyes again caressed her from top to toe, touching her everywhere. ‘A man finds them troublesome when a wife wears them to bed.’ He held his arms out wide, his lips smiling about his white pirate’s teeth, proud of his nakedness. ‘This is what it’s about. A man and a woman alone. No maidenly blushes, no resistance, no fumbling with nightgowns.’

The colour deepened in Beatrice’s cheeks and she tried to quell the trepidation that had arisen. When she met his eyes the shock was sharp, for she suddenly realised the moment had arrived when she must pay her dues. Would he seek vengeance cruelly and cause her pain? How could she have cast herself into his grasp so recklessly? She made a move towards the door, but his hand shot out, his fingers fastened about her wrist.

‘Oh, no, my pet, there is no way out. Besides, you cannot leave the room undressed. You’ll likely set the servants all agog. It’s time for bed.’

‘But I’m not in the least tired.’

‘Good,’ he said, his whipcord arms coming slowly around her. ‘Neither am I,’ he murmured thickly against her throat.

The warmth of his body pressed full against the coolness of Beatrice’s own. The jolt of surprise she experienced had nothing to do with revulsion, but rather with the bold, manly feel of him. The alien hardness was a hot brand against her thighs. His face lowered. His mouth was scalding upon her breast and she was devoured in a searing, scorching flame that shot through her like a flaring rocket.

‘Oh, Julius,’ she panted in a whisper. ‘Please—don’t…’ She could not draw breath. ‘Please—stop…’

Leaning down, he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, promising himself every step of the way that their loving would be so perfect for her that she would never fear it again.

His strength was unexpected. He carried her easily, turning her and taking her down with him. His lips caressed her neck and ventured downwards until they were warm and moist upon her breast, rousing her to a heat she had not thought possible. She told herself she should resist what he was doing, that she didn’t want this, but she knew it would be useless, for she was no match against the power of his arms and shoulders, imbued with even greater strength by his charged emotional state.

The body that Julius’s own so fiercely desired lay beneath him and his uncontrollable hunger for her took command. He managed to free one hand and cup her breast. Her hair was spread out on the sheets, adding to her wild beauty. Her lips responded to his. While he held her firm so that their bodies were touching, his experienced mouth parted hers and flirted with her lips, her tongue, his hands caressing her body, her breasts, circling the rosy crests with his thumb until they stood proud and firm. Beatrice shivered with delight and clung to him—but suddenly, feeling her modesty about to be invaded when his hand slid boldly up the inside of her thigh, her wakened senses alarmed, she gasped and began to pull away as if she had been scorched.

‘Please—stop it. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do it.’

Blindly, the tears sprang from her eyes. His hard thighs were between her own, bringing his virile organ inexorably closer to the gateway of his desire.

Julius immediately knew how apprehensive she was and, although she resisted, he held her hips against his. Such was his desire, he was tempted to mount her and seek his release, but he fought it, determined to take her slowly, to cause her as little pain as possible.

‘No,’ he said gently as she tried to wriggle from beneath him. ‘Don’t pull away and I’ll do my best not to hurt you.’

But he did hurt her when his manhood, swollen and hard, touched her in brief dalliance, then pressed into the delicate softness of her. A quicksilver pain shot through her and Beatrice bit her lips to keep from crying out, hiding her face against the base of his throat. Her nails dug into the soft flesh of his back, but he seemed not to notice as his mouth touched her ear and with utmost care he began to move.

For a while the pain was fierce, but like the most violent of storms this passed, all the more quickly for its furious nature, and afterwards, as she lay against her husband, she could not understand why her breasts and her belly quivered in hot anticipation for the moment when he would reach for her again.



Their second union was so very different. Even as she tried to turn from him, Beatrice felt the betraying moisture from her loins and she could resist no longer. This time there was no pain. It was forgotten in the heat of motion and the sensation of Julius filling her, thrusting, touching all of her. Surprised, she felt herself respond to him and swell against him in pulsating waves of pleasure as he brought her body to life. And then bliss as a wonderful aura burst around them. Deep inside the sensations started to build and expand through her as his life-giving seed erupted and spilled into her, warming her, combining their minds and souls in physical release and the act of love.

She knew then what it was to be a woman, the hard, powerful body of a man pressed against her, his manhood still swollen and warm, still moving, but gently now. The pulsating contractions continued to build until the heat slowly subsided and left her body quivering with the after-effects. The parting of their bodies was jarring, like a bereavement from which she could not imagine recovery. Unbidden tears came to her eyes and she turned away, burying her face in the pillow, weeping silently so he would not see. How could she explain to him how she felt? Everything was changed now. Nothing was the same—she wasn’t the same. She wanted nothing more than to revel in this new discovery of herself and the fullness of the moment. Wanted desperately…what? What did she want? If only she could understand what had happened to her. What had she done? What had he done to her? Suddenly she knew a feeling of loneliness, for she had found such pleasure—a pagan pleasure in his arms—and something else, something dangerous to her, a feeling that shouldn’t exist, but it did. For what she wanted more than anything else at that moment was for him to speak her name in that tender tone—and to say I love you.

No matter how hard she tried to conceal her tears, Julius heard her muffled sobs. As if her need to hear him speak communicated itself to him, he spoke, but not with the tone or the words her heart yearned for. He spoke quietly and without emotion.

‘I apologise if I hurt you. I tried very hard not to. It would have hurt no matter who took you the first time.’

She shook her head and drew an unsteady breath. ‘No, you didn’t hurt me.’ Misery engulfed her. The words he uttered were a long way from saying I love you, which was what she wanted him to say. At that moment she sorely wished he would go away, for his presence wreaked havoc on the serenity she so desperately sought.

Julius reached out his hand to draw her back into his arms, but when he heard her say, ‘I would like to sleep now’, he hesitated, then withdrew it, sensing she wished to be left alone, yet reluctant to do so. He wanted to test her honesty and ask her again, for her to reassure him that he hadn’t hurt her, but he did not want her to tell him that she hadn’t felt all the things he had when he’d taken her. He lay still, listening as her breathing slowed and she drifted into a deep sleep.



Hearing some imperceptible movement coming from his own chambers, he was wide awake at once. In one fluid, easy motion he got out of bed. The sight of the rumpled sheets so like a battleground brought back the sensuous memories of their lovemaking. All the emotions, the crashing waves of a tortured sea, surged and eddied in his mind. His gaze lingered on his wife a moment, thinking she was asleep. He felt a great wave of surprising tenderness wash over him. How vulnerable and utterly lovely she looked—how incredibly beautiful she was with her hair spilling over the pillows and gleaming in the pale dawn light.

He had done his level best to hurt her as little as possible. He was tempted to lean over and lay a hand on her naked shoulder before thinking better. Remembering her tears, he backed away from the bed, telling himself she would not miss him and would be simply relieved that he had spared her the unwanted task of another nocturnal pursuit.

In his own room Julius heard a controlled knock on the door. Opening it, he was presented with a footman holding a small silver tray with a letter on it.

‘A message has arrived for you, sir. The courier said it was urgent, otherwise I would have waited until morning to give it to you.’

‘Here, I will take it.’ Julius tore open the letter and read it quickly. The news was bad. Cursing silently, he strode to the door to issue orders to have his valet wakened to pack his bags.



Feeling the man beside her stir, through half-closed eyes feigning sleep, Beatrice heard the bed creak as Julius moved away from her and returned to his own chambers. She opened her mouth to call him back, but the thought that he might not want to strangled the words in her throat.

Drawing the sheet over her nakedness, she rolled on to her back. The movement caused her some annoyance, for in certain parts of her body she was sore and bruised, yet at the same time that small electrifying pulse, which surged just at that part of her that ached the most, flared in the most amazing way.

Immersed in her reflections, feeling languid yet clear headed, she stared up at the canopy. What Julius had done to her had left her bemused and possessed by him. She had not expected her body to respond to his in such an overwhelming way. He had done things to her that should have disgusted her; instead she had clung to him, encouraged him, even, her treacherous body glorying in it, the evidence being the red-black smears of her blood on the sheets—a sign of his entry—his gain, and her loss.