Chapter Fourteen
Dodging the heavy rainfall, Julian climbed up into his carriage and sat down beside his pretty wife. In her fetching spring green traveling suit, he would admire her and forbid himself to touch the perfection. In the past week since their return to Willowreach from Burnett House, he’d paid inordinate attention to her. Claiming they were still in their honeymoon period, he had romanced her and she’d returned to his bed with her old enthusiasm for sensual play. Keeping her busy making love, he’d discovered how unrestrained she was in how she loved, how she laughed, how she gave of herself. And not just to him.
Each day for the past four, she’d gone to the village to check on the tenants’ health. Especially for the children, she was concerned. Julian had gone with her yesterday. In fact, from Ashford, he’d ordered a few supplies she requested. Powders and cough syrups, a catarrh she favored. When she noted that one of the tenant’s wives was very great with child, she’d said how she’d like to purchase a stethoscope.
“I had a collection of instruments in Corpus Christi, but I left them in America. I want to purchase a new set. They’d come in handy here.”
He’d agreed to buy a complete array of whatever she wanted. “I’ll send to London. You shall have them very soon.”
She’d hugged him tightly and exclaimed over and over again how pleased she was he’d let her nurse his people.
Why wouldn’t he? It brought her joy. It brought his people health. It inspired pride in her.
And she came to him again that night and this morning exuberant and loving. Though he hadn’t thought to buy her her instruments to lure her into bed, he relished his reward.
And he took delight in sending away her maid, even before dinner last night, and removing slowly, deliberately, every item of clothing she wore. She hadn’t objected. And it hadn’t decreased his appetite for her. Hours later, here he sat, eager as a boy to sample every tasty bit of her body.
And they were to spend hours in this damn coach. He snorted.
She was the beauty. And he was certainly an unruly beast.
His cock lengthened in awareness of her charms. Her lustrous black hair swept high into a soft coiffure, she wore a bonnet with an ostrich plume to match her outfit. Her eyes twinkled at him and he arched a brow at her, expecting a warning that he keep his hands to himself on this journey. He grinned at her and and shifted painfully against the squabs. He wasn’t used to denying himself the pleasure of her delectable body.
But he perked at the sound of a man yelling at his coachman.
“Wait, milord, wait!”
“Someone calls for you, Julian.” Lily had parted the curtain on the window. “An older man. Running in the rain.”
He glanced out his own window but in the deluge could make out no one. It had been raining ever since they’d arrived home, the thunder rampant. But in his bedroom, he and Lily had not minded so much. Out in the village, his servants told him the crops were submerged in puddles that threatened the saplings.
“Milord?” The coachman jerked open the carriage door, sheets of water dripping from his hat. “Tom Henry from Willow Bend’s here. Quick, he says. Must see you.”
“Bring him inside.”
“Sir?”
“I’ll talk to him. He can’t stand in the rain, man.”
Henry didn’t come to him for any but serious matters. One of the Bend’s village elders, he took his rank with prudence. Sixty years old, if not more, he tended the south fields of Willowreach as had his father and that man’s before him. He was bent, grizzled but with a kind demeanor that the village children loved. They called him Saint Nicholas at Christmas time.
“Milord,” Henry appealed to him, hustled inside by his coachman. He gave a small bow, pulling his forelock and shuffling his wool cap in two hands. “Milady. Fergive me, sir.”
“Yes, Tom. What is it?”
“I didn’t wish to bother ye, sir, but I thought ye should know. We’ve had two more go poorly with coughs last night.”
“Did you get Doctor Winslow up from Ashford?” Julian noted the man’s bleary eyes and slack demeanor.
“Aye, this morn, me wife did.”
“And has he arrived?”
“He did, milord. He’s says four lads ‘ave bronchitis and maybe more to come because two ‘ave fierce coughs.”
“Does Winslow suggest a cure?”
“He made us build tents from our blankets, milord, and pipe in steam.”
“Balsam mist is best,” Lily interjected.
“It is.” Julian turned, smiling at her. He recalled his own childhood malady, the racking pain of inflamed lungs and the aromatic relief of breathing in the moist air. “Did Winslow offer up Balsam mist?”
“He did, milord. But we ‘ave only one copper kettle and we need more.”
“At least one for each patient,” Lily said, frowning at Julian. “Do you have any at the house?”
“One. My governess used it for me when I’d take ill. Henry, go into the house and tell the housekeeper. You need the inhaler kettle and the Nelson inhalers, too.”
“How many of those do you have?” Lily asked.
“Two, three. I can’t recall.” Julian focused on Henry again. “Get your son to run to Ashford and tell Winslow I’ll buy two more copper kettles and three marble Nelson jars. Use them.”
“Thank you, milord. I will.”
“If more become ill, buy as many as you need. I’ll pay for them.”
The farmer bowed in thanks, the coachman closed the door upon them and in minutes, they were off down the road to London.
“That’s serious.” To have so many ill at once suggested a contagion.
“It’s the weather.” Lily shivered. “I’ve never seen so much rain.”
“Unusual and cold for end of June,” he said. “I’d forgotten about the mist. Thank you.”
“You were kind to have them buy more copper kettles and inhalers.”
“Bronchitis is no minor malady. I remember what it’s like to cough your lungs out.”
“Were you sick often with it?”
“Twice. Three times, perhaps.” He shook his head. “I can’t recall. My governess was a wizard, knew exactly what to do and I recovered quickly.”
“Perhaps we should cut short our visit in London and return home the day after the wedding.”
Lily’s generosity always gratified him. She thought of others. So different from most other women he’d known. Her family had recently returned to London from Paris to attend Elanna’s wedding. “Don’t you want to stay in town and visit after the wedding with Ada and Pierce?”
“Your tenants’ health is more important than my need to talk with my brother and sister. Besides, couldn’t we invite them to stay with us for a few days?”
Julian did not welcome the idea of sharing Lily with her family so soon since their wedding. He’d had quite enough of company at Val’s house party. But to prohibit Lily would be mean and ungracious of him. “If you’d like that, then do invite them all to Willowreach. Few like to stay in London as the summer approaches.”
She pursed her lips and glanced out the window, her cheeks red.
He took hope from her embarrassment. “Why are you blushing, my dear?”
She clamped her legs together. The sensuous move was like spark to tinder.
“Lily?” He put two fingers to her chin and led her to look up at him. He ducked to avoid getting poked by the feather in her bonnet. What he saw in her eyes was molten blue desire. “Shall I dispense with your hat, my darling?”
“You shouldn’t.” She sighed, forlorn, her mouth turned down.
Resigned, he put his lips to her cheek. Of course not.
“I’ll arrive a mess.” She put a hand to his thigh and squeezed.
He shuddered.
Her eyes drifted closed. A frisson shook her. “But you want me.”
“I do.” Frustration assaulted him. He’d be a cad to pull up to her father’s house and show that man how he’d mistreated his daughter.
She faced him, her expression stark with hunger for him. “Isn’t there a way?”
Growling, he lifted her under her arms and led her to straddle him.
“Exactly,” she breathed as she kissed him deeply, her lips parting from his ever so slowly.
He brushed her skirts and petticoats high up her shapely naked thighs. At the sight of her tight little bush, he swallowed hard. His cock strained against his trousers. He cupped her soft tight curls and sent one finger up inside her juicy channel. Barely biting back a whimper, she coiled over his chest and worked diligently at opening the buttons to his flies. In a second, she had his member out in her hand. She stroked him with sure intent.
He could have her. Give her pleasure. In his private carriage. Satisfy them both.
“Come sink over me.” He heard himself, insistent, gruff.
Eager, she went up on her toes and inched forward. With her hand on him, she guided him to her entrance as she drifted down over his flesh. When she settled and he could go no farther, she flung her head back, mouth open. He’d never seen her more beautiful. With reverence, he rocked into her. She was all sweet, hot heaven and he fought like a savage to keep his patience and give her as good as he got.
But she lowered her face and locked her gaze on his. All tempestuous siren, she rode him in swift, smooth rhythm. He lost his breath along with his mind and drove into her with a long moan. She was his and a glorious possession she was. She deserved all of him and he had every reason on earth to fuck her and fuck her well.
She came with a cry.
He followed, giving up his all to loving her.
Panting, murmuring senseless words, she fell against him.
The coach rolled on, striking a hole in the road, jostling her in his embrace. She flexed her muscles to hug his cock and he grunted in pleasure.
The feather on her hat stuck him in the eye. Chuckling, he pushed it away and cuddled her close.
She laughed.
“What’s funny?” he asked, pushing errant strands of hair from her temple.
“I wonder what my father would say if we arrived like this in Piccadilly.”
“He’d shoot me.”
She nuzzled her nose against his throat. “I’d like to stay like this.”
His cock was already shrinking. “You’d have to give me time to catch my breath.”
She rolled her eyes. “We should, you realize. Go again.”
He glanced down, both brows high. “And why is that?”
“You promised me an education.”
He threw her a pained look.
“You said such things were possible anywhere.” She ran a fingertip along the edge of his lower lip. “And to date, I count only our bed, the dining room table—”
“Don’t forget Val’s garden.”
“I remember,” she said with a shiver. “There’s a stable left. A hay stack, to be precise.”
“The floor,” he added.
“And standing up.”
His cock jumped at that idea. Stroking her inner thigh, he parted her wider. “We’ll perfect this position first. Hmm? What do you say?”
She wriggled in glee, her feminine folds yielding to the quest of his fingers. “Lead on.”
“Right you are.” And he continued his seduction of his willing, wanton wife.
* * * *
“Lady Elanna is definitely not a happy bride.”
Lily wished she didn’t agree with her younger sister, Ada. The eighteen-year-old, along with her father, her brother Pierce and Marianne had also been invited to this pre-wedding ball given by the Duke and Duchess of Seton. They’d returned from Paris for the occasion.
“Doesn’t her family see this?” Ada waved her fan, anxious for Elanna.
“They know.” Lily watched Julian’s sister in the far corner talking with her intended husband, Lord Carbury. Are they arguing? Here? “They approve of him.”
“Even though she doesn’t love him?”
Pierce, the younger, slimmer version of their tall, brusque, Black Irish father, gazed at the bride with a cool detachment. In his formal attire, the black and white highlighting his sharp bone structure, he was devastatingly handsome. Like their father, he moved quickly, decisively. He appeared a brash American who could enthrall or repel with one glance. “She’s quite luscious. A perfect China doll. I see why the man wants her. Who wouldn’t?”
Ada sniffed. “I think it’s slavery.”
Lily bristled, leary that a few guests who stood close by might overhear. “Do be discreet, my dears. This is my family now. Yours too.”
Ada inched nearer Lily. “I know, but this is terrible for her to have to marry him. To see them together is torture. We attended a dinner here last night, Lily. If you could have seen them. Horrid. He smothers her. She avoids him. Ignores him.”
“Hates him,” Pierce added and turned his back on the sight. Instead, he focused on Lily. “Tell me. I must learn. How are you, Lady Chelton? Well, I hope.” His blue gaze, a shade lighter than her own, pinned her with ribald interest.
She took a sip of her champagne. “I am, thank you, quite well.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “You’re sure? No discomforts? Irritations? Lack for anything, do you?”
“Nothing.” She understood Pierce’s concern—and his probe. After all, he hadn’t met Julian until the day before their wedding and as her older brother, protector as he’d always thought himself to be, Pierce needed reassurance. Particularly now that he so obviously was appalled at Elanna’s situation.
Pierce twitched his nose. “My new brother-in-law is kind?”
“Very. A gentleman. You will see.”
“He has enough of our money to make him a gentleman, if not king of England.”
“Please, Pierce.” She hated that he was so put out. But he was used to stating his mind. “You’re here to make an impression. Win friends. Make money. Gather your manners.”
“I will when I see you are safe.”
“I am.” I question to what degree if I am only desired. She put on an assured face and arched a brow at her brother.
“I’ve no reason to trust any of them. Stuffed prigs, the lot of them.” He placed his empty flute down on a passing footman’s tray and took another full one. “Our groom-to-be there,” he said with a withering look at Carbury, “grabs her arm with a longshoreman’s grip. What kind of father permits that to marry his daughter?”
A poor one. “This is not our choice.”
“Not what we would do,” Pierce said.
Ada nodded. “I won’t buy a husband I can’t stand.”
Lily shook her head. “Papa would not ask you to, Ada.”
The girl tipped her head, considering Lily. “You’re sure?”
“I am. Stop this, the two of you. There are finer things to do this evening than complain about others. Ada, you have a few admirers here. If you stop pouting, I think after Lady Elanna and Lord Carbury lead the first dance, you’ll have worshipers at your feet.”
“Oh, yes!” Ada sighed and clasped her fan to her chest. “I long to waltz. Do you think the orchestra will play that?”
“We shall see. Pierce, I’m certain Papa expects you to appear social, ask a lady or two to dance and wipe that scowl off your face.”
“Ha, ha, sis,” he said, casting off his gloom with a grin. “I want to see the new Marchioness of Chelton take the floor. Hope you haven’t forgotten how to waltz.”
“We both will show you,” said Julian as he appeared at her side and took her hand, “how that’s done.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she told him as he led her toward the edge of the ballroom floor. The servants had chalked the slippery wood so that dancers could hold their forms. As soon as the engaged couple took to the floor and danced a few bars, the duke and duchess and Julian and she would join them. “I needed rescuing.”
Julian shot a dark glance over his shoulder. “From Pierce and Ada?”
“They need to get to know you.”
“Don’t trust me with you, do they?” His voice was low, his expression as seductive.
“But they will.”
“Invite them to Willowreach.”
She demurred. “I rather like us as we are, for now.”
He put his gloved hand to her waist and drew her seductively close. He brought her hand to his mouth. “Oh, my darling, you are a jewel.”
The compliment raced through her like a waterfall. At moments like these, she could believe he loved her. What stopped him from saying it was the puzzle she could not put together.
At that moment, the orchestra struck up a Viennese waltz. The guests parted for Carbury as he led Elanna to the center of the floor. He beamed, a wreath of pride on his chubby face. She tried. Dear heaven, she tried to smile, but the look she gave her future husband was tremulous at best. And when he took her in his arms, she stiffened. And did she flinch at the contact?
Lily winced.
Julian gave some unearthly sound in the back of his throat.
Lily took a furtive glance at those assembled on the opposite side of the ballroom. A few narrowed their gazes on the bride. One older man frowned. Marianne, who stood beside Remy, caught Lily’s eye and gave one slight shake of her head. She’d noticed. Remy, however, focused on Julian. Whatever passed between them had Julian pursing his lips.
At long last, Julian’s parents took the floor.
At their own turn, Julian led Lily out and off they went. In long sweeping circles, Julian commanded her around the floor and she grinned at him.
“You’re very accomplished, my darling,” he said.
“We are a perfect match.”
“Expert at this and so much else,” he told her with a wink and they finished the dance with ease.
The delight in it drained from him.
“What’s wrong?”
He inhaled and scanned the room. “My father.”
“What did he want?” What had he said that so disturbed Julian?
“He’s his usual self.” The duke had asked to talk privately with him soon after she and Julian had arrived at their home that night. “Demanding.”
She didn’t want to know more. Seton’s business was his own. And Julian’s.
“Shall we have another champagne?” he asked her.
“I think we should.”
“Let’s. I’ve a mind to show you the garden and kiss you among the roses.”
“Is there perhaps a folly, too?”
He snorted, then led her through the double doors and into the moonlit night. There he strode toward the tall maze and swirled her against a cool patrician statue. His lips on hers were insistent, demanding a fierce response. She accepted them, but wondered at the cause.
She assumed he would tell her later. For now, his kisses were enough to occupy her mind and her body.
* * * *
Outside his parents’ house, Julian waited while Ada and Lily climbed up into the Hanniford town carriage. Pierce and Killian gestured for him to join the ladies and the two men followed him into the coach. The three men sat together facing the ladies.
“Remy brings Marianne home,” Killian informed the party as he settled into his corner. “I told her I don’t like it, but she insists.”
As a widow, Lily’s cousin had a bit of leeway to stay in the company of a man without a chaperone.
“Can she do that without hurting her reputation?” Pierce inquired of Julian. Acting like Cerberus at the gate, Pierce enjoyed his role and Julian sensed he would not give it up easily or soon.
“To a small extent, yes. She should come right home to us and not linger in his carriage.” Although the way his friend paid the blonde American beauty such respects that he’d danced with her four times this evening, Julian could wager the Frenchman wished to do more than simply see her to the door.
“She’ll create a stir,” Ada confided, a sheepish look at their father.
“Marianne knows her own mind, Ada,” Lily said. “She likes the duke. They’ve known each other as long as Julian and I. And she wouldn’t do anything to hurt us.”
Killian grumbled. “To hell with us. I’m concerned with her. The Duc de Remy has a notorious reputation for keeping mistresses. I simply demand he treat her honorably.”
Julian took that as a blow. Remy was not unprincipled. He loved women, lots of them. Usually one at a time. But he’d never loved one long enough or well enough to marry any. The extraordinary aspect of Remy’s regard for Marianne Roland was that it had lasted this long—and as far as Julian could tell, without culminating in any physical intimacy. He’d have a talk with Remy about his enchantment with the comely lady. Tomorrow at the wedding breakfast.
Killian pursed his lips, rubbed his fingers together and stared at him. “I understand, Julian, that you and your father talked this evening before the ball. Did he tell you about the purchase of the company stock?”
Anger rose to clog his throat. Outrageous that Killian would even ask about a private conversation, he found a polite response. “He did. He told me it’s almost complete.”
“He threw a wrench in the works, too.” Killian grew red with irritation.
His father was angry, resented that Julian had taken Killian Hanniford’s money, insulted that his only son had taken the American buccaneer’s oldest daughter as his wife. Worse, he was insanely proud that Elanna was about to sell herself to take the Earl of Carbury into her bed. The Duke of Seton had quite a few misplaced values. To say nothing of poor ethics and worse morals. It’s what had made him the man he was today. Or less than. “Whatever that obstacle is—and I do not wish to know—it is none of my business.”
Across from him, Lily went quite still and stared at Julian with wide eyes. Did she expect an argument?
Julian would not give it. Nor would he yield ground.
Killian waved a hand. “Does he want you to negotiate with me?”
“No, sir. He didn’t ask that of me.”
Killian cocked a brow at him as if to ask what was discussed.
Julian inclined his head but glanced away. The worst thing he wanted to reveal was the topic of that conversation. He’d been trying to forget it, in fact.
The Duke of Seton sought funds. Money. Lots of it.
But his father could die before Julian ever considered giving him a farthing. He could then squander it in hell.
* * * *
Elanna and Carbury’s wedding at St. George’s in Hanover Square had gone without a flaw. Although Elanna looked angelic in her finery of cream Bruges lace and Italian raw satin, she’d resembled a ghost. Her cheeks were wan and her eyes glassy as she walked down the aisle toward her groom. Carbury appeared as he always had when near his bride—proud. Triumphant.
His attitude, however, was a bit galling. Lily took her eyes from the earl, haughty as he fawned over his bride of two hours. His meaty hand on her shoulder. In fact, too far down her shoulder to be prudent in polite society during his wedding breakfast.
Standing beside her and Ada in the Seton house dining room, Julian saw it, too. He winced, emptying his glass. “Excuse me, please, my dear. Ada. I’m must talk with Remy.” Marching off, Julian looked as if he were going to a firing squad.
Since last night at the Setons’ ball, he’d been silent, brooding. Lily had attempted to draw him out, teasing him with risqué temptations if he’d communicate with her. He’d declined with kind apologies, even as he made love to her with a brooding intensity that set her pulse pounding. She’d been left to speculate what had turned him sour during his discussion with his father. She’d asked but Julian had declined to answer.
Ada leaned close to Lily, fighting a devilish grin. “Did you know that Marianne did not come home until after two o’clock?”
Lily had suspected as much when Marianne had not answered her bedroom door this morning when Lily had knocked.
“Papa doesn’t know,” Ada added. “But I’d bet he suspects.”
Lily trained her gaze on her father who stood, champagne flute in hand, focusing down on a tall, elegant woman in a whimsical, blue feathered hat. Lily couldn’t see her face, but odds were she was beyond stunning. Papa didn’t countenance any but that. Yet by the cut of her blue moire gown and the abundance of sapphires at her throat, she was a lady of means. By her posture, she was a person at ease in this posh gathering of wedding guests. But by the way she spoke to Black Irish Hanniford, she imparted some fantastic tale with hand gestures that spoke of birds and trees and maybe even monkeys. While he…
Lily bit her lip, quelling her laughter.
Her father focused on the lady’s mouth as if he’d nibble her for breakfast.
“Papa thinks she’s fabulous,” Ada said on a giggle.
“It’s about time he thought that of a lady, wouldn’t you say?”
“Wouldn’t you mind if he married again?” Ada asked as if she’d never thought he’d do such a thing.
“At the moment, he’s interested only in talking to the lady, Ada.”
“Well, since Mama died, he’s been so alone.”
Not quite alone. Ada, away at boarding school and sheltered from the realities of their father’s day-to-day existence, had no means to know of their sire’s mistresses. With one in Baltimore and one in Corpus Christi, he was always well-occupied and had seemed content with his arrangements. Never complaining. Never talking about finding a wife.
“It’s been thirteen years now,” Ada mused. “He must want companionship, wouldn’t you say?”
Lily had always predicted her father’s type of companionship would be a buxom widow who knew how to laugh, preferably in bed. Naked. Marianne added that the lady better know a few Irish pub songs and be able to drink like a sailor.
“He should find a woman who amuses him.” This one looks eligible and…eminently beddable.
“I say.” Marianne approached them, worry lining her brow. “Do not look over now. Too many are. But we have unhappy lovebirds.”
“Oh, no.” Lily feared an argument between them. Had done since the dreadful announcement of their engagement. Horrible that today their pot would boil over and in public. But there was no mistaking Elanna’s raised voice and Carbury’s rebuke. Elanna’s fists were clenched and Carbury’s eyes bulged from his head. This looked like war.
Where was Julian?
Lily panicked, glanced about and saw him in deep conversation with Remy. Julian could stop this.
“I will not, I tell you!” Elanna yelled at Carbury. “You cannot force me.”
“But I will, my dear,” Carbury said with a sneer.
Elanna yanked free of him, her face scarlet, triumph in her posture as she marched away from her groom.
Julian and Remy darted forward.
Elanna sailed past Lily, tears cascading down her cheeks.
“Bastard.” Pierce came abreast of Lily. “I could kill him.”
“Stop!” She caught his arm. “Dear God, don’t move.”
Everyone in the room froze.
Carbury’s eyes bulged from his head as he whirled on Pierce. One male guest took a step toward him.
Julian stepped in front of the earl and waylaid him.
The Duchess of Seton fluttered among them, her lips quivering with restrained anger and chagrin. “Nerves, nerves. Nothing more. Do play on,” she encouraged the cellist who had been giving forth some Bach or Beethoven ditty.
Carbury glared at Julian. Straightening his waistcoat, he reddened. “I’ll see to my bride.”
The duke hastened behind Carbury, muttering to himself.
Alarm spread across Julian’s face. His brows shot together as he swung toward the exit where his sister and Carbury had disappeared. Then he hurried after them.
Marianne groaned. “This marriage was never going to work.”
Ada glanced from her cousin to Lily. “What? They never liked each other?”
“Like?” Pierce gave a joyless laugh. “She loathes him.”
With a flick of her eyes, Lily warned her brother and sister to say no more.
“Should you go?” Marianne asked Lily as they watched the duchess scurry from the ballroom.
“Do not.” Remy stood beside them, his attention riveted on the vacant doorway.
Down the marbled corridor from some far room, voices rose and rushed toward the reception in echoes of hate. Male, female, high-pitched, accusatory.
“I’ll get the butler,” murmured Remy to the assembled group. “I know him well. He must close all the doors. Excuse me.”
Lily could scarcely catch her breath. Ada and Marianne blanched. Pierce focused on the doorway to the hall, and began to pace like a leopard in a cage.
Remy reappeared, the butler and two footmen behind him. Down the hall, the sounds of slammed doors reverberated into the ballroom.
But closed doors did not silence the sounds of bitter arguments.
A crash of china and a woman’s scream rent the air.
The guests were mesmerized.
Julian rushed into the ballroom, shouting at Remy to “Come, come quickly!”
Remy ran after him.
No one spoke. Lily stared at Marianne, undone by the chaos.
Within a minute, Remy charged back into the room. His face bright red, he rushed to Marianne and Lily. “Come quickly. They need you.”
Lily thrust her flute into Ada’s hands. Marianne did, too.
Pierce headed toward the doors, but Remy grabbed his arms and hauled him backward. “Don’t.”
“What’s happened?” Pierce demanded of him.
“The duke has had a stroke.”