Beauty in Breeches

chapter Eight


Beatrice spun round, shocked by the implication of his words and that he expected her to tumble into bed with him after all the hurtful things he had said to her. ‘Shame on you, Julius,’ she retorted, her cheeks aflame. ‘I have not been in the house two minutes and already you are thinking of…’

His black brows crept upwards and with a defiant look he sauntered towards her with the predatory grace of a panther. When he spoke his voice was silky smooth. ‘What, Beatrice? Of what am I thinking?’

‘Of—of bedding me after all you have just said… Can you not think of anything else?’ Her heart was pounding with wild confusion and she was flustered now he was so close.

She was determined to deny him, but inside her that treacherous spark ignited. Trying to deny her attraction to him was useless. There was a churning sensation in her stomach, like the fluttering wings of a captive butterfly, and a mounting heat swept through her and her body began to stir.

Julius chuckled softly, wondering why, from the very first, she’d had the power to attract him—wondering why he felt this consuming, unquenchable need now to possess and gentle her without breaking her spirit.

Placing a finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face to his. ‘I’m afraid not, my love. But then after an absence of four months and relatively a new bridegroom, it is not unusual.’

She swallowed and quivered when his finger ran over the curve of her cheek, knowing that in no time at all she would lose her ability to resist him. ‘Please allow me to leave, Julius.’

‘I will,’ he breathed, his whisper fraught with wicked seduction, ‘in a moment.’ He bent his head to kiss the place where his finger had been before, teasing her senses into a wild awakening for him. Beatrice closed her eyes, unable to move. ‘I know you want me.’ Taking her arms, he drew her against the solid wall of his chest. ‘I intend to see if I can still make you respond to me as you did before I left your bed on our wedding night.’

‘Please don’t,’ she gasped, turning her head aside, drowning in humiliation at the brutal reminder of how wantonly she had behaved then.

By the time his lips caressed her earlobe, she was overcome with the need for his kiss. Unable to stop herself, with a low moan she turned her face to his and offered him her mouth. He claimed it immediately and she revelled in his embrace, despite her earlier determination not to let this happen. Ending the kiss, he held her fevered stare before lowering his head to her breast. She watched in hazy silence as he gathered her waist in his hands and gently kissed her breast through her gown, his warm breath permeating the fabric. Her heart slammed into her ribs and she could not have uttered a word of protest if she had wanted to when his lips moved on to the V-shaped neckline and he pressed fervent kisses on the exposed flesh.

She rested her hands on his wide shoulders as his mouth travelled upwards, brushing along the sensitive column of her throat, her ear and the curve of her cheek. She made no effort whatsoever to stop him when he pushed his fingers through her hair and held her head firm, taking her lips once more. All thoughts beyond this moment and this man fled. His lips moved over hers with a flowing, demanding passion, an insistence that she kiss him back that was almost beyond denial.

What he was doing to her was more than Beatrice could withstand. With a silent moan of despair, she yielded to his kiss, parting her lips beneath the sensual pressure and, at that moment, his tongue slid between them, invading her mouth and taking possession of her. Lost in a stormy sea of desire, confusion and yearning, she felt him relinquish his hold on her head and splay his hand across her lower spine, forcing her closer to him, moulding her melting body to the hardening contours of his. She could feel the taut strength of his legs and thighs pressing intimately against hers. His other hand cupped her breast, his thumb brushing back and forth across her sensitised nipple, an action that was overwhelming. He could do with her what he willed. Her body was open to him. He could take her there and then, and he surely knew it.

The ardour with which Beatrice was responding to his kiss had a devastating effect on Julius’s starved body. Desire flowed through his bloodstream like wildfire, pounding in his loins. Fighting back the urge to lay her down on the carpet and ravage her there and then, he dragged his lips from hers and drew a long, steady breath.

Her heart still pounding, her mind still reeling with pleasure, Beatrice closed her eyes and rested her head weakly on her husband’s chest and felt him press a gentle kiss on her hair. At last she found the power to raise her head and open her eyes; she looked at him with a haziness similar to that of drinking too much wine.

Julius took a step back, satisfaction in his eyes and a worldly smile. ‘You are an exceptional woman, Beatrice. No more foolish talk of not wanting me. I think I have just proved a point. Now go and get your bath. I will be up to see you shortly.’

Beatrice turned from him and somehow made her legs carry her to the door. Slipping out, she went to her bedchamber, spent and breathless, and even more confused than she had been before. She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes, trying to regain her wits. Julius had uncovered a wanton streak in her she never knew existed and there was nothing she could do. Beneath the caressing boldness of his hands and his lips, she was his woman, and though she was honest enough to admit her treacherous woman’s body came alive—not against her will, but willingly—it was with a heavy heart. As intoxicating as it was, she realised it was a completely separate thing from what she really wanted—an intimacy of the heart with Julius.

Her feelings for her husband overrode all else. Everything else faded into insignificance—even Larkhill didn’t seem so important any more. She could already feel his control closing around her, suffocating her. His rank, his strength, his intelligence, his power, his ability to still her protests with his lips—all this made Julius a powerful man indeed. She could feel herself sliding into his grasp and was steadily losing the will to control her own destiny.



Julius sauntered into his wife’s bedchamber. Having bathed and dismissed her maid, Beatrice was seated at her satinwood dressing-table, her elbows on the surface, her forehead resting on her hands. Even with her hair shining like newly minted gold in the sun, she looked the picture of heartbreaking dejection. She hadn’t heard him enter. He started to turn away and leave her to her privacy, then, with a sigh, he changed his mind and went further into the room. Closer now, he realised her shoulders were shaking with sobs and he felt a surge of remorse, cursing himself for behaving like an insensitive, blundering idiot.

He was barely able to believe his own selfish callousness. He should have been gentler with her, more of a husband than a hard-bitten businessman with a bitter past. His churlish display had upset her, alienated her, and he regretted that. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. Being the cause of her misery, he knew he was in for a delicate round of diplomacy. ‘Beatrice?’

She started violently at the sound of his voice. Snapping her head up, she dashed her tears away with the back of her hand and, picking up her hairbrush, began brushing her hair vigorously.

‘What do you want?’ she managed to say, her voice flat.

‘To apologise.’

This was not what Beatrice had expected. Her eyes met his in the mirror and her lips twisted wryly. ‘You? Apologise? Is the callous attitude you used on me earlier supposed to be endearing? Is this what I am to expect in the future if I unwittingly transgress?’

‘This is how I am, Beatrice. I am not perfect.’

‘No, you’re not.’ She sighed despondently, tired of the argument. ‘It doesn’t matter. You were right. I’ve been a fool, a stupid fool for thinking that by marrying you I would bring Larkhill back into my life, and now I shall have to live with the consequences of my stupidity.’

Julius’s heart turned over when he looked at her reflection in the mirror and saw the wounded look in her glorious green eyes. Going to stand behind her, he stilled her hand and took the brush from her, taking on the task of brushing the long silken mass himself.

Beatrice made no move to stop him. She just sat quietly, watching him through the vanity mirror. The image of his tall, masculine frame occupied with such a feminine task enabled her to manage a weak smile.

‘You missed your vocation, Julius. You would have made a good lady’s maid.’

He grinned leisurely. ‘I would be only too happy to stand in when your maid is absent.’ He paused and gazed into her eyes. ‘Why were you crying?’

‘Because I couldn’t help it. I am ashamed of myself. I was crying for my own ineptitude, my incompetence and my inability to manage my own life.’

‘I don’t agree. I think you have a natural talent for all three. You’re being too harsh on yourself, Beatrice. Your aunt made it clear that you were not particularly welcome in her house, therefore you had no desire to stay where you were not wanted. But without means where could you go? You yearned for your old home, which was the only place where you had known happiness, and you saw me as a means of getting it back. I cannot blame you for that.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No, I don’t.’ He experienced a feeling of comprehension, for while he had been struggling with his own life, her world had also been falling apart. At least now he had an insight of what lay behind her fear and dread, and what had driven her to do what she had.

‘Nevertheless, I can see how, by my actions, I have humiliated and embarrassed you. I should not have done that. I thought of no one but myself. You can divorce me if you like. I wouldn’t blame you.’

Julius stiffened. ‘Is that what you want?’

She sighed dejectedly, looking down at her hands. ‘It no longer matters what I want. The choice is yours, Julius.’

Putting the brush down, Julius turned and walked slowly across the room to the window, where he stood looking out. Divorce! It was unthinkable. He could not imagine having to go back to the way his life had been before he had met Beatrice—back to the darkness, the loneliness, the endless isolation, the despair, though he would never admit it to anyone. To be with Beatrice now, to have known her as a husband knows his wife and then to have her walk away, that would reduce him to a wretched creature who had been cast out. Whatever it took, he knew he would do anything to keep her with him.

Recovering his composure, he said firmly, ‘There will be no divorce.’

Beatrice stared at her image for a moment as relief washed over her. Closing her eyes, she tried to gather her thoughts, to know what to say, what to think. Julius had never spoken of how much he cared for her, not even pretended to. She wasn’t certain of his feelings—she wasn’t certain of her own, either. All she really knew was that the sight of his hard, handsome face and the bold amber eyes never failed to make her entire being feel tense and alive. She liked being with him, she liked it when he kissed her and when he made love to her. Added to his other attractions, she knew that Julius had a depth of character other men lacked. She was confused as to how she should feel and think, but that didn’t really matter one way or the other, because she was going to love him. It was happening and she couldn’t stop it.

Julius came up behind her and his hands settled on her shoulders. In the mirror she watched him bend his dark head, felt his warm lips against the curve of her neck sending tingling sensations down her back.

‘You’re very beautiful, Beatrice. I suppose you don’t want to hear it, but it’s true. I feel we are well suited to help each other. A rare jewel. That’s what you are.’ She was very still, unable to move as he drew her hair aside and placed a kiss lightly in the nape of her neck, before whispering in her ear, ‘And quite irresistible.’

She wanted to contradict him, but her tongue remained silent. The rest of her body began to sing and her pulse raced at the warmth of his breath on her neck.

He looked deeply into her eyes, wanting to show her what he felt when he looked at her, not just what he saw. ‘Will you do something for me?’

The raw emotion in his voice registered on Beatrice and she felt her bones begin to melt. ‘What? What is it you want?’ she asked with a nervous tremor in her voice.

Julius raised his head and his lips curved in a smile, while striving to keep his raw hungry need to be inside her at bay. ‘I know exactly what I want; if you come to bed with me now, I’ll show you. I want to see you naked on the bed with your hair spread across the pillows. I want to look at your face while I touch you and make love to you, because I badly need to know how you feel.’

Mesmerised by the seductive invitation in those eyes and the velvet roughness of his deep voice, Beatrice stood up and wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck, knowing that, for him, this was a moment of atonement. Julius swung her into his arms, driven to try to make amends to her in the only way he knew how. Carrying her to the bed, he lowered her gently onto the quilt and followed her down, his lips finding hers in a long, deep kiss.

When he could finally tear himself away from her to remove his clothes, Beatrice watched him unashamedly, glorying in his magnificent body. Slipping out of her robe, she slid beneath the covers and waited for him to join her. When he did, he gathered her to him.

‘You’re trembling,’ he said in the gentlest of voices.

‘I know,’ she admitted nervously. ‘I don’t know why.’

‘Don’t you?’ he asked softly. ‘Perhaps this might help,’ he murmured, placing his hungry lips on hers to still their tremor, tasting the hot sweetness of her mouth.

Feeling as if her heart would surely burst with what was inside her, Beatrice made a tiny, smothered sound of desire and answered him with a melting kiss of her own. It was enough. Julius gathered her tightly to him, pulling her against his full length, clasping her against his rigid thighs while his lips were both rough and tender. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she felt an aching sense of loss that was replaced by sweet torment as he slid his mouth down her neck to her breasts, nuzzling them slowly before his lips closed tightly over her taut nipple. She moaned in helpless pleasure, desire streaking through her, her hands tangling in his hair, her back arching in helpless surrender.

Deliberately taking his time, Julius slid his hands over her like a connoisseur, caressing with skilful reverence, claiming every inch of her for his own, heating her skin and making her ache with soon-to-be-fulfilled yearnings. Eager to do some exploring of her own, Beatrice heard the quickening of his breath as her fingers inched tentatively over his bare flesh, savouring the sculpted hardness of his chest and abdomen. His hands slid lower, curving around her hips, his lips trailing lower and nuzzling closer to the curly triangle between her legs. Beatrice gasped, tilting her head back, her hand gripping his shoulders, her head pounding like a maddened thing, filled with a mixture of excitement and impatience for him to take her.

Julius felt her escalating desire. All his cool control stripped away. Desperate for her, he pulled her beneath him as though he could not withstand another second of denial. Lifting her taut buttocks to receive him, he entered her.

Beatrice opened completely to him, moulding her hips to his as he began to move, presenting him with a gift of surrender, unwittingly driving him to unparalleled agonies of desire, her surrender answering something deep within his soul. Wanting all he had to give, something wild, raw and primitive and savage built inside her, racing through her veins with wrenching pleasure, the undulant waves of his taking increasing to a crescendo of resounding power. Nothing either of them felt was suppressed or hidden, there was just exquisite joy.

They reached their climax in wild, wonderful, burning unison. Julius’s body jerked convulsively again and again, and he clasped her to him, feeling the tiny, shudders of her body as she rung the last pleasure of her orgasm from him. Breathing hard against her cheek, his heart raging in frantic tempo with hers, his body merging into hers, his seed deep inside her, he was more pleased by what had just happened between them than by any other sexual experience of his life. It was also, he thought, the most profound moment of his life.

When reality returned and his breathing evened out, he moved on to his side. Beatrice’s hair spilled over his naked chest like a drift of satin and he raised a hand to smooth it off her face, feeling humbled and blessed by her unselfish ardour—and relieved that this time she didn’t turn from him. Content and sated, their bodies succumbing to the dreamy aftermath of complete consummation, they remained that way for several minutes, then Beatrice stirred and draped a leaden arm around his waist. Julius tipped her chin up so that he could gaze into her eyes.

‘How do you feel?’ he asked softly.

Beatrice’s long, curling lashes fluttered up and her eyes like two languid green pools gazed into his—this man, her husband. She had not sought his love, she did not expect it, and she certainly had no right to it, but at that moment, more than anything she had wanted in her life before, she wanted it.

‘I feel like a wife,’ she whispered. ‘Your wife.’

He laughed huskily. ‘Which is exactly what you are, my love. My wife in every sense. And I feel like a husband,’ he said, with tender solemnity. ‘To think I actually believed there was no such thing as marital bliss.’ Relaxing against the pillows, he revelled in the simple joy of having her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. ‘How incredibly stupid I have been.’

‘No, you are not stupid,’ his wife declared loyally, turning her face up to his. ‘Although I would dearly like to know what has given you reason to think that.’ She observed a tightening of his features and something in his eyes warned her not to press, but she was not to be put off. Placing her lips against his shoulder in the gentlest caress, her heart aching, she wished he would open up to her. ‘As your wife I would like to know something of your past, Julius—your parents. Will you not tell me?’

‘Time enough for that,’ he replied, closing his eyes.

Beatrice wriggled on to her stomach and propped herself up on her arms, her face only inches from his. ‘Please be open with me, Julius. I want to know the nature of the man I married. I have always been forthcoming about myself—and you witnessed for yourself the misery of what my life was like at Standish House. I too find it hard to speak about my deepest feelings, but I would willingly do so with you. Despite all my efforts to keep you from seeing my many insecurities, you have a habit of pulling them out of me. I think that is because now I am your wife, I want you to know who I am. I know you are a very private person, Julius, and I respect that, but if you cannot open up to me as I am willing to do with you—even if it’s just a little at a time—then we have no chance of happiness until you can begin to share yourself with me.’

For a moment he did not move, nor did he reply. Then he opened his eyes and met her direct gaze. From the very start, despite her outward show of confidence, as he had gazed into those soft green eyes he had sensed in this brave, unspoiled girl a great capacity for love that made him hope that in time his own most secret yearning would be fulfilled. It was a yearning he had never known and never thought he could have until Beatrice had thrust herself forwards and challenged his spirit. He now felt that he could tell her something of his past without revealing the dark secret he kept locked away in the furthest corner of his mind.

‘It is the way I’ve always been,’ he said in answer to her question. ‘I cannot change the way I am.’

‘I would not expect you to do that, but it is not unnatural for a wife to want to know about her husband. I know you’ve had a difficult past—indeed, we have both suffered because of what our fathers did,’ she said, knowing that whatever she said now might determine their whole future. ‘Lady Merrick has told me a little about your life, and you, if you remember, when you brought me to London. I know of your achievements and how they made you rich, but your family remains a mystery to me. Why, Julius? Why won’t you tell me? I know it is largely down to your father. Is it because you are ashamed? Because if so, I will tell you now that I don’t care who your parents were.’

Rage blazed in Julius’s eyes for a moment, but then he sighed resignedly. ‘Yes, Beatrice, I suppose I am ashamed, but there is more to it than that.’

‘Please tell me?’ she asked softly.

‘If you insist on knowing, I will tell you. Until his demise my whole life revolved around my father. He was a greedy man. It was not in his nature to live his life in modest comfort. He was the Marquess of Maitland, once a name to gain admittance into the highest political and social circles. He was also the worst in a long line of gamblers, falling deeper and deeper into debt running into tens of thousands of pounds. Everything of value was stripped away to pay the bills and his gambling debts. It was sheer hell for my mother. She was constantly at her wits’ end. He was not a good man, nor was he kind—especially not to my mother. He also drank heavily and treated her very badly.’

Beatrice watched, her beautiful eyes wide with shock as pain slashed across his features. ‘That must have been awful for her—and for you, having to witness it.’

Reaching up he pushed her hair casually over her shoulder. ‘He was a brute. The banks were threatening foreclosure on loans he could not hope to cover. Nothing remained against which capital might have been raised. I had a personal income, but Father took it all. He stole and gambled away every penny. Even the properties were gone—pledged against loans he could not hope to repay.’

‘Lady Merrick told me it was some money given to you by your grandmother and your own intelligence and good sense that enabled you to succeed. I admire you for that.’

‘Yes, God bless her. Without her—without that money—I could not have done it.’

Beatrice smiled. ‘Oh, I’m sure you would have found a way. Is your grandmother still alive?’

He hesitated, and for a moment Beatrice thought he wasn’t going to say more. When he did, his deep voice was strangely hesitant, almost as if he was testing his ability to talk about it. ‘She died shortly before…’

‘Before what?’ Pain slashed his features once more. She touched his cheek. ‘Julius, please tell me.’

He turned his head to one side and quietly said, ‘Before my mother.’

‘There—was a fire—at Highfield. Your parents…’

He turned and looked at her once more, a fierce light having entered his eyes. It was so hard to say these things, even harder than he had thought it would be, each word an ocean of pain, and he felt as if he were a youth all over again.

Beatrice did not say anything, but simply listened as the words carried on pouring out of him.

‘Both my parents perished. Only days before, Father had suffered badly on the stock market and it went from bad to worse when he tried to recoup his losses at the tables. On the night of the fire, finally realising his dreams of greatness were shattered, he returned to Highfield. Arriving late at night, he thought he was alone in the house. My mother was supposed to be visiting a friend. Unbeknown to my father, she was feeling unwell and decided to put off her visit. She was asleep when he returned.’

Beatrice’s heart quaked and her soul was beginning to hurt at the forlorn air around him. ‘Julius, what are you saying? Surely you don’t think he set fire to the house deliberately—that he—’

‘What? Committed suicide? That he killed my mother?’ He spoke with glacial calm. ‘How would I know? How would anyone know that? Some say it was started accidentally. Some say it wasn’t. The fact that he dismissed all the servants before the fire started speaks for itself,’ he finished grimly.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Beatrice whispered through a blur of tears, and all the sympathy and warmth in her heart was mirrored in her eyes. Once she had foolishly thought she knew what a broken heart was like. How wrong she had been, for it was only now breaking for this man who had to live with the knowledge that his father might have killed his mother. ‘You must have been out of your mind with shock and grief. I can understand why you didn’t want to talk about it.’

‘All their married life my father crushed my mother. I loved her down to the depths of my soul and could not forgive him for the hurt he dealt her by his actions. I was appalled by the enormity of his debts and that, along with what he might have done to my mother, was the moment when I truly think I began to hate him. Can you imagine what it is like to do that, Beatrice? That was also the moment when I began to hate myself for harbouring such feelings.’

He fell silent and after a moment he looked at his wife, as if remembering she was there. He saw some of the horror in her eyes, and said, ‘Now you know my deepest secret. You are right. You are entitled to know all this, but God help me, Beatrice, until this moment I could not tell another living soul how I felt.’

Beatrice didn’t know what to say. How could any words suffice? ‘Thank you for telling me, for sharing that with me.’

‘Thankfully I was then in a position to pay off my father’s debts and lost no time in having the part of the house damaged by the fire rebuilt. As far as I was concerned, that was the end of it.’

He said that, Beatrice noted, with deadly finality. It was as if he’d resolved matters to his complete satisfaction in his own mind, and nothing and no one could ever intrude on the place where he had put his parents to rest.

‘After that I threw myself into my work, travelling east and west to try to forget.’

‘And—Larkhill?’ she whispered tentatively. ‘You haven’t mentioned how my father came to lose it to you.’

Apart from a tensing of his body, Julius’s face remained expressionless. ‘I would prefer not to go into details of that night, Beatrice. Suffice to know that after paying off the mortgage I placed the estate in the hands of an agent to run in my absence. The first time I saw Larkhill was when I went to assess it for myself. In all honesty I had no idea you existed. I didn’t know your father had a daughter. If I had known it would bring me face to face with you and the pain of your loss, not for the world would I have gone down there.’ He met her gaze. ‘How do you feel now you know the whole sorry story?’ he asked, gently smoothing the tousled curls with his hand. ‘Are you wishing you’d never laid eyes on me? I wouldn’t blame you.’

‘Please don’t think that. I’m glad you’ve told me. I cannot imagine what would have become of our marriage if you had not shared this with me. It’s too big, too important to have let it stand between us for the rest of our lives.’

‘And there will be no more talk of divorce? In for a penny, in for a pound?’ he murmured, encouraged that she didn’t pull away.

Beatrice swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat and, lifting her head, she gave him a wobbly smile. ‘Yes, something like that.’

‘And you have no concerns about the position of being my wife—about what that entails?’

‘Tell me what it is you expect your wife to do.’

He upturned her face to his, gazing deep into her eyes. ‘Always remain by the side of the marquess and desire him as you do now with all the passion you are capable of—all the days of your life.’

Beatrice tilted her head to one side, her heart pounding so hard she believed he must hear it. ‘I already do that, but will the marquess continue to desire his marchioness with the same amount of passion he asks of her?’

He cupped her cheek in his hand, loving all the subtle nuances of feeling conveyed in her expression. ‘I believe I could manage that—in fact, I believe the marquess already does.’ He wiped a tear away with his thumb. Only then did she realise she was crying.

‘Oh, Julius! I pray God you are sincere, for I could not bear it if you weren’t. I—I love you, you see…’

His face hardened and he pressed his finger to her lips, silencing her. ‘Don’t say it, Beatrice,’ he said with quiet, implacable firmness and a caution he had always maintained when it came to affairs of the heart. ‘Already you have given me far more than I could ever expect. Do not give more than that.’

Beatrice lowered her eyes and said no more about it, but his rejection of her love hurt more than she imagined possible. She accepted that she loved him, that he gave her great joy, and it broke her heart to think he might never reciprocate her love. Looking at him once more, she put her face close to his, studying it intently, looking to see if there were any more secrets. As though he suspected that she was trying to see into his mind, there was a darkening to his eyes which after a moment seemed to disappear like a cloud blown away by the wind. There was nothing to see, but she could not explain the tiny frisson of doubt that would not leave her.

‘Please don’t lie to me or hold anything back, Julius. We must both agree to set a pattern of honesty and frankness for the future. You married me because I made it difficult for you to refuse—and I married you because I wanted to bring Larkhill back into my life.’

‘What are you saying?’

Raising her head, she met his gaze. ‘That things change in the most peculiar way. Not for one moment did I think I would end up feeling like this when I challenged you to that race. When I first realised I had feelings for you I told myself I was deceiving myself and continued to do so. I do not know when those feelings began, but what I do know is that they are feelings so much stronger and deeper than anything I have ever felt before.’

‘You are right,’ he murmured. ‘Things do have a way of changing. But I’m beginning to like the result of your scheming. I would like you to know that from the moment when I first laid eyes on you I wanted you—badly, my love.’

Beatrice jerked her head back and gave him an indignant look. ‘You did? You should have told me.’

Julius chuckled and rolled her on to her back. ‘What? And spoil the fun? Not in a million years,’ he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

Beatrice laughed at his unprincipled determination to get what he wanted and his complete lack of contrition for it. ‘Shame on you, Julius Chadwick. Have you no principles at all?’ she demanded.

He pulled her further down the bed and covered her body with his own. ‘None whatsoever,’ he told her before taking her lips in a kiss that she was unable to resist, and their bodies joined once more in a dizzying union of delight.



After their loving, with a feeling of well-serviced bliss lingering in his body, Julius was enjoying looking at his wife seated at her dressing table. She had slipped into her robe, which was nothing more than a wisp of satin and lace and ribbons in a delicate shade of peach. His eyes lingered on the thrust of her breasts as she raised her arms and attempted to bring her tousled hair into some kind of order. He admired the long graceful line of her back and the fall of her golden hair. As he watched her his throat went dry. Dear Lord, she had been beautiful before, but now she was glorious. Before they had married she had seemed wholesome and innocent, but now she seemed different, like a young woman who had come into her own. She glowed and bloomed and seemed softer somehow. In the mirror her eyes were drifting, dreaming, and she looked like a woman whose senses were fulfilled, physically and emotionally.

When she stood up and stretched languidly, like a cat beneath the sun’s warmth, the slender, graceful length of her was outlined beneath her robe. The fabric strained over her breasts, rich and full. Her figure was taut and trim, yet he saw the slight roundness of her belly as her robe clung to her.

All at once Julius felt unbalanced by the strength of his emotions. Was it possible that his wife was with child? Doubting his suspicion, he cautiously looked again. No, the swelling was there, noticeably. He was perfectly still as though the slightest movement might disturb his thoughts. He wondered if she knew she was with child and, wondering if she did know, why she wasn’t telling him of his impending fatherhood?

He did his best to calm himself. Should he tell her he knew her secret? Should he wait for her to tell him of her own accord? The child would make a difference to their marriage, he realised that, and he and Beatrice must try to shape some solidity into their lives—for the child. The child. The mere thought of a child growing inside Beatrice warmed his cold heart until it glowed with something sweet and loving. He felt a thrill of anticipation race through him and his heart gave a leap of excitement. He wanted to reach out for her, to touch and caress that little mound, but his pounding heart told him to be cautious, not to rush things.

He glanced at her face. She seemed preoccupied, troubled, suddenly, and he wondered if she might be considering how best to tell him of her pregnancy.

‘Is there something you wish to tell me, Beatrice?’ he prompted with peculiar gravity.

On a sigh she turned and looked at him. ‘Yes.’

His heart soared. He waited in hope and expectation for what she was to say.

‘It—it’s Astrid, Julius. I am so concerned about her.’

Dumbfounded, Julius stared at her. ‘What? Astrid?’ He sounded stupid. That wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. ‘What about Astrid?’

‘Aunt Moira is forcing her into marriage with a man almost old enough to be her grandfather. Oh, Julius, I have to help her.’

Julius swallowed down his immense disappointment. ‘You may speak freely. Please tell me the facts. What is the name of the prospective bridegroom?’

‘Lord Alden. I am sure you are acquainted with him.’

‘I am. And has Astrid asked for your help?’

‘No.’

‘Then do you think you should interfere?’

She stiffened. ‘Interfere? I would not call concern for a dear cousin interfering. I’m at my wits’ end trying to work out what to do.’

‘Have you spoken to her?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I have not. Aunt Moira will not let her see me. I’ve seen George on occasion and he is powerless against his mother.’

‘Lady Moira cannot force Astrid to marry against her will.’

‘Yes, she can. Astrid is terrified of her. She is cowed by her mother. She will do what she is told to do. But George tells me that she is suffering greatly. She is making herself ill.’ Moving towards the bed, she sat beside him, moving closer when his arm came round her, and in a small voice, she said, ‘Julius—could you, perhaps…?’

Annoyed that she should feel such concern for her cousin when he was riven with questions about her condition, he lifted his head and looked at her in that lofty manner so characteristic of him. ‘And what would you have me do? Leave it, Beatrice. Do not interfere in this.’

Beatrice held his gaze, stung by his words, but determined to stand her ground to the bitter end. She felt that she was fighting for Astrid’s very life. ‘Do you doubt the seriousness of my cousin’s plight?’

‘I think it might have been exaggerated. Married to Lord Alden, Astrid will be mistress of one of the finest houses in the country and she will find him a generous husband. Beatrice, I will not become involved in this. I will not be used.’

‘And so Astrid will have to suffer a miserable marriage to a lascivious old man so that your good name might be preserved? Shame on you, Julius.’

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. Beatrice stared back at him, outwardly calm while her emotions became a turmoil of anger, fear, exasperation and compassion—and a deep, abiding love for her husband.

Julius scowled, knowing that what she said was right—Alden was a lecherous old man and he couldn’t blame Beatrice for wanting to prevent her gentle cousin from marrying him. ‘All right, Beatrice,’ he said more agreeably. ‘You win. I promise I will give the matter some thought.’

Gently pushing her away, he tossed back the covers. Swinging his long, muscular legs over the side of the bed, he stood up and proceeded to dress, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips when he saw his wife’s face light up with joyous delight. Utterly defeated in this, laughing softly, he strode round the bed and caught her to him, kissing her lips before turning for the door.

‘But think on, my love. Do not strain the bonds of husbandly affection beyond this. Now I will leave you to dress and see you at dinner.’

On a sigh Beatrice sank on to the bed. ‘Julius,’ she said softly. With his hand on the door handle he turned and glanced back at her, hearing the emotion that clogged her voice. ‘Thank you.’

He smiled. ‘For what?’

‘For everything.’

The smile faded from his face, replaced by an expression so intense, so profoundly proud that he could not speak.



Over the days that followed, instead of repairing to Highfield, Julius decided to stay in London for a few weeks to be close to the offices where he conducted his business and for Beatrice to enjoy the position of prestige in society she was entitled to. For the first time in his life he enjoyed the company of a woman—taking her places, showing her off and lavishing expensive gifts on her.

When the novelty of their unconventional marriage had run its course among the members of the ton, they became a favoured couple, much sought after for any social occasion. Invitations arrived at the house in large numbers. They went through them together, laughingly inventing excuses to decline some of the invitations so they could spend their time together in serenity and seduction.

Beatrice’s days were filled with contentment. Her nights were spent in Julius’s bed and the primitive, wild splendour of his lovemaking. He would linger over her with painstaking tenderness, making love to her slowly, prolonging her release, until she had to plead with him to end the wonderful sweet torment. Other times he would reach for her in hunger and take her quickly. She came to learn there was a baseness to him, too, when he would take no denial, when his kisses could be fierce and demanding, his passion all-consuming, leaving her breathless but thoroughly content in the warm security of his embrace.

He taught her many things, one of them being to show him what she wanted. He also taught her the power she had over his body—and how to use it. Always an avid learner, Beatrice put her new-found knowledge into immediate and highly effective use; but, when not stirred to impassioned heights, she would simply nestle in her husband’s arms, feeling the brush of his lips on her brow or a nuzzling kiss against her ear. He was the husband that women dream of having for their own and Beatrice was still stunned by the realisation that he was hers.

Among a society where it was considered unfashionable for husbands and wives to spend all their waking hours together, the Marquess and Marchioness of Maitland—who were rarely seen apart and were clearly very much enamoured of each other in a way that went beyond wedlock—made it fashionable. With collective sighs of envy, society had to admit that they made a striking couple, the marquess incredibly handsome, smiling that lazy approving smile at his beautiful young wife, who seemed to have the ability to make him laugh in a way no one had ever heard him laugh before. And the marquess clearly adored his wife and didn’t care if the whole world knew it. Theirs was a most unusual marriage.