Beauty in Breeches

chapter Seven


Beatrice was unable to quell the anxiety she felt as she left her room after breakfasting in bed. She did not relish the idea of confronting Julius again right now, when her emotions were still so raw and all over the place. But that was not to be. He was in the morning room waiting for her. He was dressed immaculately, fastidiously even, the cut of his expensive jacket setting off the powerful width of his shoulders, his legs smooth and shapely in the well-tailored perfection of his dove-grey breeches. His dark hair was smoothly brushed, his handsome face drawn.

This man she had married was compelling, resolute and complex, for would she ever know what he was thinking unless he told her? He was also arrogant and proud, and she believed he would fight for what he wanted, for what he believed in, and she had no doubt that he believed that he could master her, subjugate her, turn her into the wife he wanted.

With what she incorrectly imagined was his supreme indifference to her, he lounged against the fireplace, his hands in his pockets, his face carefully blank, his eyes directed away from her, as if he couldn’t be bothered to look at her face.

Beatrice stared at him, her mind screaming for him to look at her. Her heart beat agonisingly with yearning, despairingly. She could not help but admire the fine shape of him, how she had come to know and like the male beauty of his naked body which overwhelmed her. She liked the hardness, the darkness of him, the width of his shoulders, the narrow grace of his hips, his flat, taut stomach, the long shapeliness of his legs. Yes, she loved all this—though it also disturbed her that she should want to see him like that again. She wanted to feel his arms about her body, his lips on hers, kissing her the way a man does when he loves a woman. But Julius had been unable to wait to leave their bed. In short, he didn’t love her. He never would and she must accept that and learn to live with it, no matter how hard that would be.

Closing the door, she moved to stand in the centre of the room with more confidence than she was feeling. ‘Good morning, Julius,’ she said stiffly.

He glanced at her and nodded. ‘Good morning, Beatrice.’ His voice was clipped. ‘I trust you slept well after I left.’

‘Yes—perfectly,’ she replied, thinking this man bore no resemblance to the one who had made love to her with such passion. This man was a stranger to her, a cold, forbidding man who looked at her with cold blatant uninterest. How could he be so nonchalant after the night they had spent together? At that moment all she could remember was her husband making love to her in a thousand tiny ways. Now his detached tone caught her off guard; his expression was as if he were studying an interesting document instead of his own wife.

Julius straightened and, with his hands behind his back, turned and strolled to the window, where he stood looking out. ‘I have to go away for a while.’

Beatrice stared at him in surprise. She hadn’t known what to expect when she had entered the room, but it certainly wasn’t this. Had she been such a disappointment to him, then? She felt her cheeks burn. He might as well have torn her heart out, but even worse, he dashed all her hopes, her romantic dreams.

‘Oh? Am I allowed to ask where you are going?’

‘Portsmouth. I received a message earlier. It appears that two of my vessels returning from India were badly damaged in a storm coming through the Bay of Biscay. One of the vessels is missing. Several of the crew on the surviving vessel lost their lives and there has been considerable damage to the cargo.’

‘I see—and—you have to go yourself?’

‘I have agents capable of assessing the damage, but I would like to see it for myself. There’s a loyal crew and thousands of pounds worth of cargo on the missing vessel, so it is imperative that I locate it.’

‘And do you expect to be gone long?’ she enquired, staring at his stiff back.

‘No longer than necessary—two weeks at the most. Meanwhile you are to remain here—where Lady Merrick can keep an eye on you.’

‘I don’t need to be kept an eye on, Julius,’ Beatrice replied, unable to hide her resentment. ‘I am quite capable of looking after myself.’

He spun round and looked at her. ‘I am sure you are, but Lady Merrick will be company for you in my absence. Were I to send you to Highfield you wouldn’t know anyone. I intend to take you down there on my return. Here you will find plenty to occupy your time. I want you to familiarise yourself with the house and the servants. Hayes, the butler, and Mrs Keeble, the housekeeper, will be on hand to answer your questions. I’d prefer it if you didn’t ride out just yet. None of the horses here are suitable.’

Beatrice bristled. ‘I’m sure there must be one. Your horse would suit me perfectly. As you know to your cost I am an accomplished horsewoman—and it will need to be exercised in your absence.’

‘No, Beatrice. Absolutely not.’ He was adamant. ‘You possess abundant courage, that I know—the kind of courage needed to fearlessly manage high-spirited horses—but apart from the grooms exercising my horse, he remains in the stable. Understand that. Besides, I shudder to think of the form of dress you would choose to wear. You would scandalise society if you rode through Hyde Park as you do in the country, astride in your breeches.’

‘It is much more natural and comfortable to ride that way. I see nothing wrong with it,’ she argued.

‘You wouldn’t, but ladies don’t ride astride. It isn’t done. Aside from any other consideration, just think of the damage it would do to my reputation if I were to allow my wife to ride in such a manner.’

‘I’m fast coming to think,’ Beatrice returned, ‘that this reputation of yours is invented by you as a convenient excuse to prevent me riding out in public.’ That riposte earned her a distinctly steely glare. Before he could think of a comment to go with it, she said, ‘As you know, my own horse is still at Standish House. Could I not arrange for it to be sent here?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ he said, having seen for himself how devoted she was to that horse of hers. ‘I’ll instruct the head groom to take care of it. Perhaps you should write a brief note to Lady Standish for her to authorise its removal from her stable. If she refuses to comply with your request, I shall take care of it myself on my return.’

‘Thank you, Julius. I would appreciate that.’

‘As my wife, I have no doubt people will want to make your acquaintance. Constance will be happy to assist you in the making and receiving of calls, and the ordering of more new gowns from your dressmaker will keep you busy.’

‘Yes, although I have enough dresses and fripperies to last me a lifetime. I suppose it will be pleasant to have Lady Merrick’s company on occasion—even when you return. Normal married couples cannot exist on a diet of love alone. And that description can hardly apply to us, can it, Julius?’ she remarked, unable to conceal the hurt she still felt when he had left her bed so soon after making love to her.

Julius looked at her steadily. His face was expressionless, his eyes hard and empty, an emptiness that told Beatrice nothing of what he felt, then he said, ‘It doesn’t become you to be sarcastic, Beatrice. And as far I am concerned, you will hardly find me lacking in husbandly duties—as it will be my pleasure and yours to discover when I return.’

Duties, Beatrice thought bleakly. Was that really all their marriage meant to him—all the passion, the sensations he awoke in her that made her almost delirious when he made love to her? Despite the distant attitude she had adopted afterwards, which had been a form of self-defence, last night she had become aware that something was happening. Something awe-inspiring and frightening had happened to her in that split second it had taken her heart to acknowledge it. And she could do nothing about it.

Julius certainly didn’t care for her and she had no intention of making a fool of herself by telling him she was beginning to care for him. He didn’t give a damn and, in truth, she could hardly blame him. He would more than likely find it highly amusing and tell her it was unfortunate for her. So though it cost her every bit of her strength and will-power, and her own bloody-minded pride, she would keep her feelings to herself.

‘When do you leave?’

‘As soon as the horses have been hitched to the coach.’

‘I see.’

At that moment there was a rap on the door. Julius crossed the room and opened it, speaking quietly to whoever it was before closing it.

‘It is ready. I must go.’

Suddenly Beatrice wanted to cry and she didn’t know why. Was it because she would miss him, would miss their sparring and the time when they would be alone in her room? How she longed for it now. He must never know how she felt. How he would laugh if he knew. She swallowed her tears and rallied.

‘Then what can I say other than to wish you a safe journey, Julius.’ Her voice was low, husky with an inner emotion she did her best to keep under control. Looking at him quickly, she caught a puzzling, watchful glint in his eyes—keen, eager, as though he hung on her next words, hoping she would say—what? She didn’t know. ‘I hope things are not as bad as you imagine when you reach Portsmouth.’

Her husband looked at her. Wearing a new morning dress, a creation of apple-green twill that emphasised her slender shape and set off the copper and gold of her hair, she looked like an alluring, enchanting temptress. He looked into her green eyes and his hands clenched at his sides as he fought the impulse to rebuke her for holding herself from him after their lovemaking, as though she could not bear for him to touch her again. And yet there had been moments in their second union when he had heard her sigh and her lips had been soft and she had returned his kisses, her hands caressing and clinging instead of clawing as though to steady herself as the climax washed over her. At that moment she had been totally his, dazed and submissive, a woman—his wife.

The urge to go to her, to take her in his arms and wrap her around him like a blanket and lose himself in her, to kiss her and tell her that he needn’t leave her, that all she had to do was tell him she didn’t want him to go, that she wanted him to stay with her, was strong, but, knowing the chances of her doing so was remote, without another word he turned on his heel.

His composure held tightly about him, raking his fingers through his hair and Beatrice’s heart, he went out.



Restless in spite of the desultory mood which had gripped her ever since Julius’s departure, over the following days Beatrice wandered about the house. It was the most opulent she had ever seen. Julius had bought it ten years ago with his newly acquired fortune. No expense had been spared. It had been decorated and furnished to his taste with every kind of luxury.

She did her best to acquaint herself with the servants and to familiarise herself with the running of the house, and the sphinxlike butler and Mrs Keeble were patience personified in telling her all she needed to know. Never having involved herself in domestic matters at Standish House, which she had considered tiresome and of little consequence anyway, and having no idea of what overseeing a large house and servants entailed, Beatrice was quite out of her depth.

She worked harder than she had ever worked before, but the multitude of responsibilities and tasks that confronted her daily as mistress of the house, rather than wearing her down, left her pleasantly exhausted and satisfied. She could not help, however, thinking of Julius, and missing him, very much aware how much he had got under her skin. Lady Merrick, who called on her most days, assured her that time would soon pass and he would return, but the confidence with which she spoke, while comforting, also left Beatrice more than a little fearful.

What would happen when he came back? Would the emotional chasm between them become an insurmountable obstacle? Was it possible that they could find a way of living together, or was there nothing there on which to build? There was little time for such thoughts until the day was done. But then, in the solitude of her bed, in the quiet of the night, her thoughts turned on themselves in a confusing mix. At these times she could stand the constriction of her room no longer and walked through the connecting door to pass a lonely vigil lying on his bed, wishing desperately for his return and the touch of his hands.

When she was not involving herself with household matters, Lady Merrick would whisk her away on excursions to the popular tea gardens of Vauxhall across the river and Pancras Wells. Beatrice went on her first river boat and went to admire the flowers at Kew and visited the museums and art galleries. In the afternoons they sometimes took advantage of the clement weather and drove in Hyde Park in the Merrick barouche to see and to be seen, often descending to join the numerous people fashionably strolling the lawns.

Shortly before her husband was expected to arrive home, a letter arrived addressed to her. It was from Julius. She stared at the bold handwriting in surprise, wondering what he could have to say to her that was so important he had to write to her. The letter was brief and to the point, its content making her heart plummet. Circumstances had arisen that meant he had to leave for Portugal on a matter of urgent business. He had no idea how long he would be gone—possibly weeks—and she was to remain in London until such time as he returned.

Beatrice was unprepared for the desolation that overwhelmed her, but she refused to be downhearted. And if Julius thought she was calmly to remain in his house doing whatever wives were supposed to do, then he could think again. Already she was tired of London and longed for the freedoms of the country where she could lose herself in the joy of riding a decent mount—and Larkhill wasn’t all that far away. Suddenly elation swelled inside her and she smiled audaciously as she was presented with a new objective. Half of her was glad Julius wasn’t here so that she could claim back her old home, and that half was starting to enjoy her new status and married life.

And so, the day after she had received her husband’s letter, with a small contingent of servants and having sent a note to Lady Merrick informing her of what she intended, she left for Larkhill.



The days Beatrice spent in her old home were like the golden days of her childhood. The main rooms were furnished with pieces Julius had had sent down from London. She was like a child as she wandered from room to room, beset by so many wonderful memories. The house was filled with shadows, all hazy, dreamlike as she moved about. How wonderful it would be, she thought, if she could remain at Larkhill for ever, but realistically she knew this was not possible. When Julius returned he would take her to Highfield, which was to be her home, but as long as she could visit Larkhill she would be content.

On her third morning while the dew was still on the ground and brilliant rays of early morning sunlight spilled across the lawn, she was pleasantly surprised when George paid her a visit. She met him on the drive, delirious with joy when she saw he had her precious Major in tow. After she had reacquainted herself with her mount, she turned her attention to her handsome cousin.

‘Aunt Moira forbade me to have any further contact with either you or Astrid, George. I shudder to think of her displeasure should she discover you have been here.’

George shrugged, unconcerned. ‘It was most unfair of her to do that. And anyway, I came to see you, not the other way round. We’ve missed you at the house. It isn’t the same without you. You really did put Mama’s nose out of joint when you up and married Chadwick. She accuses you of stealing him away from Astrid.’

‘I suppose it must look like that to her, but in reality it wasn’t. The whole Lord Chadwick affair was your mother’s scheme from the start, a brazen bit of matchmaking in her eagerness to secure for Astrid only the best. It was unfortunate for her that Julius never had any intention of offering for Astrid, so I cannot be accused of stealing him away.’

George frowned, his expression anxious as he studied his cousin’s face. ‘You are happy, aren’t you, Beatrice? You’ve no regrets about what you did?’

‘No, none, George, truly. How can I not be happy when I have all this?’ She opened her arms wide to embrace her beloved Larkhill, laughing joyously. ‘I may not live here since Julius’s home is in Kent, but I can still visit.’

‘You do look radiant, Beatrice,’ George said on a serious note. ‘Chadwick must be doing something right.’

She flushed prettily, remembering her wedding night and all that had transpired. She was impatient for Julius to return so they could live like a properly married couple. ‘Julius is a most attentive husband,’ she said softly. ‘He is away just now—searching for one of his ships that disappeared during a storm in the Bay of Biscay, which is the reason why I’m here now. How is Astrid? Well, I hope?’

‘You will be surprised to learn that my dear sister is soon to follow you up the aisle.’

Beatrice stared at him. ‘You mean Aunt Moira is to allow her to marry Henry Talbot after all?’

George wasn’t smiling anymore. His concern for his sister was plain. ‘Don’t you believe it—no one so lowly. She’s to wed Lord Alden of Alden Hall in Essex—before Christmas, if Mama has anything to do with it. She’s determined not to let him slip through the net. You must have heard of him since he was a friend of Father’s.’

‘Lord Alden? But—he’s an old man—an extremely stout, lecherous old man as I recall.’ Beatrice remembered how Lord Alden had a tendency to grope the female servants if they ventured too close. ‘He’s old enough to be Astrid’s father.’

‘Exactly. Fifty-five, to be precise—and far too old for Astrid. Naturally she is averse to the marriage and spends most of her time weeping in her room.’

‘Poor Astrid. Then she mustn’t marry him. She’s in love with Henry—and he with her. As head of the family, it is within your power to stop her marrying Lord Alden.’

George shook his head. ‘I’ve tried, but you know Mama. Since you left her temper has become much worse. She will not be crossed or argued with and refuses to listen to reason. She’s determined to do this, Beatrice.’

‘But she cannot force Astrid to marry him.’

‘You’re wrong there. When Mama has a bee in her bonnet about something, she’s as immovable as the Rock of Gibraltar. She won’t pass up the chance of Astrid being a countess. Losing her game with you has increased her determination.’

And her spite, Beatrice thought crossly. She sighed deeply and linked her arm through George’s, in perfect, amiable harmony with each other as usual. ‘Yes, I imagine she has. Come inside and have some breakfast with me—bacon and eggs are on the menu, and kippers, too—and if we put our heads together we’ll try to work out what is to be done. Astrid cannot marry that man.’



Julius looked out of the carriage window, wishing the driver would go faster. He’d left Portsmouth at first light and now the sights and sounds of London were all around him. It had taken him two months to track down his stricken ship, which had managed to limp into a small port in Portugal, and a further two to have the cargo transferred to another vessel and to oversee the repairs before it was deemed seaworthy enough to embark for England.

Now he was impatient to be home and considered the shock his sudden arrival would cause to Beatrice. Had she changed in his absence? he wondered. Had she been lonely? Had she missed him? More than once it had occurred to him that she might resent having him return, that she might be enjoying the single life to the hilt, but that idea was nearly as repugnant as the idea that she might have found another on whom to bestow her affections.

What surprised him most was how much he had missed her. In his mind’s eye she glowed like a light. Every day and night he thought of her, conjured up her image in his mind, trying to imagine what she was doing, how she looked, tracing every curve of her face in his mind, remembering her magnificent green eyes and the soft sweetness of her lips. He relived every minute he had spent with her, recalling every word, every inflection, how it had felt to hold her, to make love to her.

They would not remain in London. He would take her to Highfield. He was eager to show Beatrice her new home. She would be happy there—they would be happy together. They would make their marriage work. They had to. If he wanted his family name and the title to continue, he must start providing heirs. He wanted his life to have meaning, to have a real marriage—meaningful and lasting, a wife and children and love—not the empty relationships that passed for marriage in society.

He wanted Beatrice more than he’d wanted anyone in his life. At thirty-one years of age and after more affairs than he cared to remember, he had fallen victim to an outrageously spirited, beautiful girl who blithely incurred his displeasure, amused and infuriated him as no other woman had ever done. He had started off determined to gain the upper hand, but somehow she had managed to get him by the throat.

He was driven by a ridiculous eagerness to see her, as if his life depended on it. At last the carriage pulled up outside his house and he got out, smiling to himself when he saw the Merrick carriage in front. No doubt Constance was calling on Beatrice. He was glad his young wife had had company in his absence.

He let himself in as Constance was on the point of leaving. In the process of pulling on her gloves, she stopped and stared at him in shocked amazement.

‘Why—Julius! You’re back! Why didn’t you let us know you were arriving today?’

He grinned, embracing her warmly. ‘I thought I’d surprise you. It’s taken me longer than I expected tracking down that damned ship. How is Beatrice? She is well, I hope?’

Lady Merrick became flustered as she considered how best to explain Beatrice’s absence. ‘I—I expect she is—but…’

He was no longer smiling as servants began moving quickly in all directions to inform those who didn’t know that the master was home. ‘Expect? What are you saying, Constance?’

‘Beatrice isn’t here, Julius. She’s—at Larkhill.’

For a moment Julius was unable to absorb the full shock of what she said. In a low, deadly voice, he said, ‘What did you say?’

‘That Beatrice is at Larkhill.’

‘But I specifically told her I wanted her to remain here in London until my return. I was under the impression that she would do just that.’

‘Oh but she did—at first,’ Lady Merrick said defensively.

‘When did she leave?’

‘Shortly after she received your letter telling her you would be away for some time.’

‘And have you heard from her since she left?’

Lady Merrick shook her head. ‘No, but then I didn’t expect to. I called today on the off chance, thinking she might have returned.’

Furious with Beatrice for refusing to yield to his authority, Julius strode into the drawing room and poured himself a large brandy. Sinking into a chair, he drank deep, but the fiery liquid did nothing to soothe his raw nerves.

Having followed him, Lady Merrick saw the harshness in his taut features and sighed with helpless understanding. ‘I know how displeased you must be about this, but can you really blame her? London is all very well, but Beatrice is a country girl at heart. Be honest with yourself, Julius. It must have crossed your mind that she would go to Larkhill.’

‘As a matter of fact it didn’t. When I told her to remain here I expected her to abide by my wishes. How dare she even consider disobeying me? How dare she? The conniving little… I should have realised it was no small task expecting her to remain in London when that damned house beckoned.’

In dumbfounded amazement, Lady Merrick stared at him, beginning to understand the reason why he was so furious with Beatrice. It was unbelievable that Julius, who had always treated women with a combination of easy indulgence and amused tolerance, could have fallen victim to the same kind of feelings that affected the rest of the human race. Apparently this self-confident, invulnerable man had lost his heart to his own wife.

She suppressed the urge to smile. ‘Did you not realise that with Beatrice’s need for control, such an order would only make her feel pressured into defying you? What do you intend to do about it?’

‘Right now I can think of several things that are appealing—one of them being to wring her neck and another to go after her and drag her off to Highfield and put her under lock and key.’

Lady Merrick sighed and shook her head. ‘I can imagine what society would make of that—more grist for the mill.’

‘I don’t give a damn what society thinks,’ Julius said curtly, which was not the truth. In this case he did care; he was furious at being made to look a laughing stock by being unable to keep his wife under control. ‘I know just how to handle my errant wife, believe me.’

Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and took a long, harsh breath, trying to bring his temper under control. Beatrice would either bend to his will or he would break her to it, but either way she would learn to behave herself, he decided with cold resolve. For a few minutes he considered going down to Larkhill and confronting her openly with the ruthlessness that she deserved, then discarded the idea. He would make her come to him and he knew exactly how to do it.



Beatrice and George trotted into the stable yard at Larkhill, having spent a wonderful morning riding in the crisp November air over grassy tops of hills, meadows and shallow valleys. George was the first to notice the small elderly man walking about the yard, a younger man in tow, notebook in hand. In dark, sober suits they seemed to be inspecting the buildings. On seeing them they stopped what they were doing and began walking in their direction.

‘I say, Beatrice, it looks as if you have visitors.’

Beatrice held her horse in check and watched the strangers approach. ‘Who are you, sir,’ she said, addressing the older of the two, ‘and what are you doing here?’ She was somewhat bemused by their presence.

‘I am Mr Sinclair of Sinclair and Lawson, estate agents, and this is my clerk, Robert Denham. I believe you must be Lady Chadwick, Marchioness of Maitland.’

Without taking her eyes off him Beatrice nodded. ‘An estate agent? Forgive me, Mr Sinclair, but I have made no arrangements for an estate agent to view Larkhill. I think you must have made a mistake. Perhaps it is some other property you wish to see in the area. If so, I am sure I can direct you to it.’

‘Oh, no, my lady. It is Larkhill I have been instructed to view.’

‘On whose instruction?’

‘Lord Chadwick—your husband, Lady Chadwick.’

Beatrice froze. A premonition of dread gripped her heart. Perfect months of dreaming away the days at Larkhill—golden days, happy days, days filled with joy and contentment, of riding with George and basking in the memories of her childhood—turned into panicked confusion.

Julius was back.

She stared at Mr Sinclair in utter disbelief, her mouth agape. A wave of dizziness rushed over her. She gripped her riding crop and for a moment could not speak at all. She was utterly stunned, crazed confusion charging through her veins.

‘But there has to be some mistake. There must be.’

‘There is no mistake, Lady Chadwick. Your husband has instructed me to do a valuation on the estate with a view to selling. I hope you don’t mind that I have made a start, but with such a large property to inspect it will take up most of the day. I did call at the house and was told you were not at home.’

The yard seemed to spin and Beatrice began to panic. She felt powerless, completely overwhelmed, thwarted, cornered. What a fool she had been. Why hadn’t she foreseen that the blackguard would do something like this? Jolting herself out of her shock, Beatrice dismounted, handing the reins to a groom.

‘Then please do continue, Mr Sinclair,’ she said tightly, knowing better than to countermand her husband’s instructions. ‘Please excuse me.’ Walking quickly towards the house, Beatrice could feel her face harden with anger. She knew why Julius was doing this. It was a means of gaining power over her. But it wasn’t going to work. She glanced at George as he tried to keep up with her. ‘I must leave for London at once. Julius cannot do this. To sell Larkhill—why, it’s unthinkable.’

‘He has every right,’ George said gently. ‘In truth, Beatrice, I’m surprised he hasn’t done so before now.’

‘But he can’t,’ Beatrice cried. ‘He can’t. Otherwise what was the point of it all?’

‘Did it never occur to you that he would do it?’

‘No—no, it didn’t. Oh, George, what a stupid, blind fool I’ve been. But all is not lost. I’ll go to him, speak to him. I have to make him see that he cannot do this.’

‘Of course you must, but—you won’t forget about Astrid, will you, Beatrice?’

She paused, looked at him and, seeing his worried look, her expression softened. ‘How could I? Astrid is always in my thoughts. I am so concerned about her. I’ll speak to Julius. I am sure he will know what to do.’



Beatrice’s disbelieving dread increased with every mile that took her to her husband. She suddenly found herself at war with herself. Half of her was besieged by the wild joy at the thought that the man who had obsessed her thoughts since she had first laid eyes on him was home at last, and the other half was indignant and furious that he intended to take from her the very thing that had brought them together in the first place, without any discussion on the matter.

Oh, but Julius Chadwick was a sly one. By blatantly ignoring her feelings, without so much as a by your leave, like some wicked puppet master it was his way of telling her that he had taken control of her life and there was nothing she could do about it.



On reaching the house she hurried inside. She was met by Hayes in the hall. In stentorian tones he welcomed her home and informed her that her husband was in his study, working.

‘Oh. Well, that’s too bad. Tell him I’m here, will you, Hayes, and that I want to see him.’

‘As you wish, my lady.’

Hayes crossed the hall to do her bidding. Breathing rapidly, Beatrice waited, her hands on her waist, the toe of her foot tapping impatiently, her eyes glued to the study door, behind which lurked the man responsible for her fury. She heard Hayes clear his throat and then proceed to tell Julius that his wife had arrived home and wished to speak to him.

Julius’s low voice vibrated with annoyance. ‘Tell my wife to go to her room. I will be up to see her shortly. In the meantime I have important work to attend to.’

Furious at being ordered to her room like a mindless piece of chattel, without further ado Beatrice marched to the wood-panelled study and pushed her way past Hayes. Julius was sitting at his desk, dictating a letter to his secretary. His head snapped up, his gaze riveting on her, and his expression went from shock to relief to cold anger. ‘Beatrice!’

Putting a tight rein on her temper as she walked across the carpet, Beatrice could not take her eyes off him. He looked just as handsome as ever, just as ruggedly virile and formidably large. She refused to admit, however, that his chiselled male perfection had any effect on her. With unarguable logic, she said, ‘I apologise for disturbing you, Julius. Obviously you consider me of less importance than your business concerns, but after an absence of four months, I’m sure you can spare a few minutes to speak to your wife.’

With deadly calm, Julius laid down his quill and turned his gaze on his secretary. ‘Leave us, will you, Harry?’ he said curtly. ‘We’ll finish this later.’

When Harry and Hayes had left the room Julius turned his attention on his wife. He took one look at her face and knew that his ruse to bring her back to London had worked. What he read in her face was a mixture of fury and dread. Little did she know that he had been waiting for her, that he knew that when Mr Sinclair introduced himself and informed her of his reason for being at Larkhill, it wouldn’t take long for her to come hurtling back to London. He was not disappointed. In fact, she had made it faster than he’d imagined.

There was an air of barely controlled impatience about her that fairly crackled. Her hair hung in a tangled pennant of glossy waves. She was flushed. Her eyes had a luminous quality, green and dazzling, of a woman who had spent weeks in a state of bliss and contentment and with no wish to have it spoiled by a returning husband. It maddened him and fascinated him and made him desire her all at the same time, but he controlled the urge to drag her off to bed and looked at her in chilly, fierce reproach.

‘Since you’re here, I suppose we’d better get this over with now rather than later.’

Beatrice’s head was whirling as she cast about for words. Until then she had thought she remembered exactly how he looked, but she was mistaken. His tan jacket clung to his wide shoulders and his thick hair was brushed back from his wide forehead. His face was one of arrogant handsomeness, with its sculptured mouth and striking amber eyes. But now she noticed the cynicism in those eyes and a ruthless set to his jaw. She searched his features, but found no sign that this forbidding man had held her and made love to her with seductive sensuality on their wedding night. Now everything about him exuded ruthlessness and brute strength.

She moved to stand directly in front of him, her hands clenched into fists. ‘You know why I have come back to London, so don’t pretend you are surprised to see me. How could you do this?’ she cried in brazen confrontation. ‘I find it contemptible and completely underhand.’

Julius loomed over her, holding himself completely still, his eyes boring into hers. When he spoke his voice was icier than an ice floe, and his words chilled Beatrice more than that. ‘What I find underhand is for you to disobey me. It was foolish of me to expect to find my wife waiting for me to return home, to fling herself into my arms and shed tears of joy at my safe return. And if you’re about to tell me how sorely you’ve missed me, the fact that you left for Larkhill as soon as my back was turned is a little incongruous. If you want to soften my attitude towards you and win my forgiveness for disobeying me, then you will have to think of something else.’

The sweet drift of happiness Beatrice had felt on waking at Larkhill that morning shattered away and her heart hardened and her face turned mutinous. ‘Win your forgiveness?’ she exploded, her colour rising with indignation, anger and confusion warring inside her head. Julius had never cared about her and he had no right to act like a self-righteous, outraged husband. ‘And why, pray, should I want your forgiveness? I don’t want it.’

‘Oh, yes, lady, you do.’ His voice was soft, mild even, but there was a core of iron in it which told Beatrice to beware. His face was like granite, his mouth stern and his eyes had darkened in their fury.

‘The way I see it, I have done nothing wrong,’ she persisted. ‘Your forgiveness is the last thing I care about.’

Julius caught his breath and his jaw clamped with the grinding resolution which had kept him always in control of those with whom he dealt. Show no one your thoughts, had always been his rule, but this rebellious wife of his had a habit of pushing his temper beyond his control.

‘Beatrice,’ he said, ‘if you’re wondering how far you can push me, you’ve just reached your limit. I expect you to understand the rules.’ His eyes challenged her dangerously. ‘The idea of being defied by my own wife is unthinkable. As long as you behave yourself I am willing to let you enjoy the full benefits of your position as the Marchioness of Maitland. So think very carefully before you make the mistake of defying my orders in the future. You’ll regret it, I promise you. I can be ugly when I am crossed. You would do well to remember it.’

Anger at being spoken to like a recalcitrant child poured through Beatrice. She could not believe that this was her husband speaking to her, that he was worse than she remembered—more arrogant, more dictatorial and completely heartless. Despite the cold tingle of alarm his silken voice caused in her, stripping away some of her confidence, she lifted her chin.

‘You cannot bully me into compliance, Julius. I can see that my removing myself to the country has upset you, though I cannot for the life of me see why. What did you expect me to do—sit about all day and slowly go out of my mind?’

‘Other wives seem to find plenty to fill their days.’

‘Ha,’ she scoffed. ‘Running their husband’s house—in the kitchen and the pantry, discussing menus and counting linen, and when all that is done sitting by the fireside embroidering samplers and darning socks. When you left I did all that and found it tedious.’

‘For two weeks, Beatrice. You did that for two weeks, before you went haring off to Larkhill.’

‘And why not?’ she persisted. ‘I miss the freedom of the country—my horse. London is horrid in the summer. Most people take themselves off to the country.’

‘The Merricks don’t. They reside in London all the year round.’

‘Only because Lady Merrick likes London and likes being around people. Besides, they don’t have a country residence to retire to.’

Julius stared down at the tempestuous young woman, her face both delicate and vivid with her stormy eyes and soft lips, and he suddenly saw her as she’d looked in the garden at Standish House, her enchanting face turned up to the night sky. As they’d discussed the stars there had been a softness about her, an elusive gentleness that was as fragile and vulnerable as the delicate flowers that surrounded her. She was still that same young woman, completely female, sensual and she was his wife. He had made love to her, but he did not possess her, for the sweet, wild essence of her still belonged to her.

She was not a conventional woman. She was young, naïve and vulnerable and could not be blamed for rebelling against the restrictions which held her. She was not submissive or pliant and was unwilling to be moulded to the whims of others. The fury within him lessened and, as he looked down into her glorious eyes, his stomach clenched at the thought of hurting her.

‘For the time I have been away you have had more freedom than most, Beatrice, and now I have returned I would like to see your defiant heart more involved with household affairs.’

She accepted his words coldly, her head high, her cheeks flushed. ‘Anyone would think you married me for my domestic accomplishments, when we both know different. It may have escaped your notice, but I haven’t had a great deal of experience with being a wife. So if you have finished reprimanding me, my lord, I have a matter of my own to raise with you.’

‘I know.’ Satisfied that she was adequately chastened, Julius perched his hip on the edge of the desk and folded his arms across his chest.

‘You cannot mean to sell Larkhill,’ she said, unable to keep the desperation from her voice. ‘Julius, you can’t.’

‘I don’t need Larkhill. It means nothing to me.’

‘But it does to me,’ she flared with a sudden impassioned flourish, her eyes blurred with tears. ‘It means everything to me. You know that. Why do you have to change things? Why are you doing this? Why do you have to hurt me? Is it to punish me for manipulating you into marriage? If so, then would you please find some other way of doing it instead of selling Larkhill.’

‘I have already decided,’ he said firmly. ‘The matter is settled. As soon as I have a copy of Mr Sinclair’s valuation, the Larkhill estate will be put on the market. I am hoping for a quick sale.’

For a moment Beatrice’s mind could not adjust itself to the fact that he really was going to go through with it. How could he do that? How could she live and never see Larkhill again? At least at Standish House she had still been able to see the fields, the tall trees, the low, wet meadows, the quiet places only she knew about. Resentment of Julius burned in her heart.

When she spoke her voice was low and trembling with contempt. ‘What a cold, unfeeling blackguard you are, Julius Chadwick. This is nothing short of tyranny. You are enjoying every minute of what I am going through. Because of what I did, you will naturally want to torment me as much as possible to pay me back. Little did I think when I named the forfeit after beating you in that race that you would do this to me.’

‘Then you should have had more sense. You should have foreseen that I might call your bluff.’

‘Well, I didn’t. Why didn’t you tell me at the start you might do this? Why let it go so far? Don’t you see it was a way out for you? When you asked me to back down I would have done so at once and disappeared out of your life for ever.’

‘Perhaps I didn’t want you to disappear, Beatrice. You intrigued me. I had just returned to England after a long absence and I realised that to continue the line I must have heirs, and to have heirs I needed a wife. I was considering searching for some high-bred débutante. I hadn’t started looking and then you came along with your outrageous challenge. The moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were different. I am not just referring to your beauty—I’ve known beautiful women before and quite frankly they bored me to tears. I had no intention of selling Larkhill when I met you. It is a valuable property. The land yields well. I would have been a fool to get rid of it then.’

‘It still is. I may have made it difficult for you to refuse to honour the forfeit, but I did not believe you would be so petty or mean spirited as to retaliate and sell a property that is still viable merely to punish me.’

‘And if I had told you I meant to sell it, would you really have backed down?’

‘Of course I would. Without Larkhill there was no point in any of it.’

Relinquishing his perch Julius stood up and moved closer, a cynical twist curling his lips. ‘You never fail to amaze me, Beatrice. You are the only woman who has not been drawn to me by my title or my gold. All you care about is that damned house. Well, all your scheming has come to nothing. No matter how much money it brings in every year from the rents and the land, the sooner it’s out of our lives the better. The mistake is yours. Accept it. There is no going back so you will have to learn to live with the consequences of your actions—however painful that will be.’

Beatrice looked at him for a long time and then she nodded slightly. ‘Yes—yes, you’re right, Julius. The mistake is mine.’ Without another word she turned from him and went to the door.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To have a bath and a change of clothes.’

Julius’s strong mouth began to smile. It turned into an audacious grin, his temper replaced by something else. ‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since coming home. It will be my pleasure to get you out of those clothes.’