Only Marriage Will Do (26 page)

“Why are you doing this, Philippe?” She strained in vain to hear sounds of Kat’s return. Should she shout for Grayson? That would anger Philippe even more. No telling what he might do. She must not let him take her from the house. At any cost.

“You are married to me and one day soon the law will allow me to claim you as my wife. At that time you would not want me to remember any unkindness you had done me, would you,
pauvre petite
?” His scent, part perfume, part excitement, echoed vividly the night in the Ambassador’s rooms.

“But a short time ago you burned for me,
mon amour
,” he whispered. “I can make you burn again. I can make you forget everything but the passion we shared once you are in my arms.” He moved closer, easing his arm around her shoulders.

She could not conceive of a time she had thought she loved him. She shifted on the narrow sofa but had to sit still or land on the floor among the sharp shards of the shattered teacup.

He cradled her face. “My beautiful Juliet. Shall I remind you,
petite
, how it was between us?” He leaned toward her and she braced herself as his lips brushed hers.

She jerked her head backward, clamping her mouth closed.

He chuckled, urged her head back toward him, and opened his mouth to claim her again as his.

She squealed, a muted cry no one would hear. She couldn’t even open her lips to scream. He’d construe such an action as an invitation to ravage her mouth. Instead, she twisted her face away from his and tried to push him away.

Neither ploy worked.

He held her face immobile, a mere hairbreadth away from his. With his powerful body pressed into hers, any attempt to shove him away became futile. His ragged breathing rasped loudly in her ear and she braced herself for the horror of his mouth on her again.

The quiet click of a pistol being cocked penetrated her terrified mind.

Philippe froze and in the momentary distraction, she wrenched her head away from him toward the center of the room.

Amiable stood, arm outstretched, with the barrel of the flintlock pistol pointed at Philippe’s head. Her husband’s eyes focused on the target, a snarl on his lips.

“I suggest, St. Cyr, that you release my wife this instant. I have shot men this close before, and the effect is quite spectacular.” He took a step forward, the gun inches from the man’s face. “Release her. Now. I promise I will not hesitate to kill you. Would you like to try me?”

Small drops of sweat appeared on Philippe’s brow and his skin gave off a sharp, metallic smell. His evil smile turned into a grimace. Finger by finger he released his grip, keeping his eyes trained on Amiable and his pistol.

She snatched her wrist away, bolted up off the sofa, and ran to her husband.

Amiable put his arm around her and drew her to his side. “Now get out of this house. Before I decide to splatter your blood all over my brother-in-law’s carpet.” He motioned him toward the door.

St. Cyr rose to his feet, his eyes flitting from pistol to Juliet. He shrugged and crossed to the door. Poised on the threshold, he turned back, his glittering, cold eyes singling out Juliet. “I will not forget this morning,
ma petite
. When we are finally alone again, I will make sure you remember it also.”

The memory of being bound to the wall sconce, her handkerchief stuffed in her mouth during their encounter in the French Ambassador’s guest room leapt to mind. She whimpered and her legs went weak.

Amiable aimed the pistol at St. Cyr’s forehead. “Out.”

A parting sneer from the Frenchman and he whirled out of the room.

* * * *

Amiable lowered the flintlock and just managed to catch Juliet as she slumped against him.

“Damn it. Grayson!”

The butler appeared instantly.

“Take this.” He thrust the pistol at the startled man.

Grayson took it gingerly by the grip and pointed it downward. Frowning, he turned around in a circle, looking about the room.

Amiable gathered his unconscious wife to his chest and lifted her body, limp as a rag doll. “Grayson, put that down on the desk before you drop it and shoot yourself.” He hurried from the room, taking the steps of the marble staircase two at a time.

When he arrived on the second floor, he turned to the right, calling for Glynis. He reached the end of the hallway and grasped the knob on the door to the right, only to have it snatched out of his grasp and jerked open. He almost dropped Juliet at the feet of a startled upstairs maid who let out a squawk.

The girl’s eyes widened and the bucket of ashes she carried fell to the floor. “Oh, Lady Juliet. Sir, what’s happened to her?”

Amiable brushed past her, bent on reaching the bed.

“I just finished her ladyship’s room, sir.” She cast a glance at Juliet and motioned him to the bed. She wrung her hands as Amiable laid Juliet on the rose satin cover. “Can I fetch something for you?”

“Get Glynis. Send for Pritchett.”

She scurried out of the room, calling for a footman.

He sat on the bed, chaffing Juliet’s cold hands, searching for some signs of life. She lay still, unnaturally pale for his usually blooming wife. Could the shock of the altercation downstairs somehow have killed her? Life would cease to have meaning if anything happened to her.

Someone knocked softly. “May we come in, Amiable?” Kat called through the half-open door.

“Come.” Amiable barked as he felt Juliet’s forehead. Too cold and clammy.

Katarina hurried to the bedside. “How is she?”

Amiable shook his head. “I don’t know.” He shot a look toward Dalbury, his face drawn and grim, and Lord Trevor, who had apparently followed them to the house. “I’ve sent for Pritchett. Where the devil is Glynis?”

“Be easy, Amiable.” Katarina peered at her sister-in-law’s white face, then made straight for the dressing table. She returned with a small vial, snapped the lid open, and waved the bottle under Juliet’s nose.

Gasping, Juliet sat up and looked around, blinking at the unexpected crowd. Her gaze settled on his face.

“Amiable. Oh, Amiable.” She threw herself into his arms and dissolved into tears.

He glanced at Katarina.

She replaced the smelling salts on the table and motioned to the men to follow her out of the room. “Give them some time alone together. She needs to tell him what happened. Then you need to stop him from murdering St. Cyr.”

The door closed behind them, leaving Amiable alone once more with his wife.

“Shh, love.” He clutched her to him and rubbed her back. “It will be all right. He will never touch you again. You are mine and no one will ever take you from me.”

At these words, her sobs intensified and she shook as she clasped him with a frantic grip.

He continued to stroke her back, her hair, croon soft endearments in her ear. Blast it, she must stop this weeping. It seemed to be escalating, rather than abating. “Juliet, love, you must stop. This cannot be good for our child.”

He looked at the smelling salts. Should he use them again?

She stilled, took a deep breath, and relaxed against him.

Thank God. Carefully, he peeled her arms from around him and sat her back on the bed. She looked the very devil, eyes red, cheeks splotched, hair straggling around her face in woebegone wisps. Yet more beautiful than he had ever seen her. More precious than he had ever dreamed.

“Are you all right now, sweetheart? Are you hurt at all or just frightened?”

She shook her head, dashing away tears. “No. Not hurt. He didn’t hurt me, though I hated being so close to him. I’m just very glad you arrived when you did. If he had kissed me it would have been so disgusting I think I would have died.” She pursed her lips and frowned. “I have been afraid, though, Amiable.” A ragged breath and she covered her face with her hands. “Afraid you did not want me anymore. Did not love me anymore.”

Damn his folly. He had waited too long to reconcile with her. As a result, he had caused her undue distress.

He drew her back to him and enfolded her in his arms. “Hush, love. That is my fault. I am sorry I did not speak sooner. Of course, I love you. You are my life, Juliet. Please believe me.” He sighed and kissed the top of her head. “I know I hurt you when I left the Keep, but the shock of your revelation…I had to get away, sort things out.”

She drew back to gaze into his face. “Did you sort them out, Amiable? I had hoped you would forgive me when Mr. Sutton confessed his feelings for Honoria. But you didn’t.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks.

He sighed and captured the drops with his thumb. “I should have done, my love, but that day, when the situation resolved itself so neatly, I feared you still did not understand how grievous your actions had been. I determined not to reconcile with you until you did.” He kissed her forehead, her eyes. Tasted her sweet mouth.

“I am so sorry, my dear.” He held her head so she could look into his face. “I love you, Juliet. I love our child. I am committed with my last breath to making a home for him or her, and any brothers or sisters, in which to grow up happy and healthy. With two loving parents. Just as I had.”

“Truly?” Tears spilled over again.

“Word of honor.”

“Then you will stay with me?”

“You won’t be able to get rid of me, sweetheart.” He smiled as her face lit up.

She drew his head toward her.

Eager, he met her, pressed his mouth to hers, soft and willing. Tensions eased throughout his body as he relaxed against her. Like a homecoming. Their noses bumped, their tongues clashed, and wetness appeared on his cheeks. He pressed her back onto the pillows.

She slid her hand down, inside his pants, and wrapped it around his stiffening member.

“Juliet.” He’d forgotten she could be so bold.

She laughed and gave him a gentle squeeze. “It has been almost two months since we were last together. Is it really so surprising I have missed my husband’s attentions?” Her face sobered. “You taught me to love your body, Amiable. Your absence tore my very soul. Did you not feel the same?”

He nuzzled her neck, his passion rising at the warmth of her hand. “Yes, my love. I did. I have missed your body and soul as well.” He began to unbutton his breeches then stopped, groaned. “Damn it.” He reached inside and regretfully pried her fingers from his flesh.

“Amiable?”

He sat up, rubbing the sudden tension in his neck. “I’m sorry, love, but nothing has been settled about this accursed proxy marriage. We still do not know which marriage is the valid one.”

“But if we live together as man and wife, we proclaim we believe our marriage to be the true one. If we do not live together, we give the impression we do
not
believe it is legally binding.”

The beauty of her wisdom struck him dumb. By living apart, it might seem as though they believed their marriage not legitimate. So the best way to affirm they were married…Without a word he slid off the bed, stripped off his coat, and ripped the breeches from his body.

“What are you doing?” She stared at him, eyes wide.

“You convinced me, love.” He laughed and made quick work of the rest of his clothing. Once naked, he leaned over the bed, cupped her head in his hands, and kissed her again, longer and more thoroughly. He took his time, exploring all the secret places in her mouth he had missed for so long. She returned his attentions with like fervor, until both panted with a desire that bloomed like a cherry tree in the springtime. He pulled her off the bed and her clothes rained down upon the floor as from a whirlwind. Once she stood naked before him, he drank in the sight with silent gulps.

He ran his hand along her neck, over a warm shoulder, and down to cup a breast fuller than he remembered.

Her hands were busy also, caressing his shoulders, arms, and back with the sure, possessive hand of a wife.

He knelt, facing her now well-rounded belly, and leaned his cheek against her. Rewarded with a firm thump from within, he grinned up at her.

The love that shone in her eyes sent an ache straight to his groin. Impatient now, he grasped her around the waist, rose, and moved swiftly to the bed. He lay down on his back then positioned her on top of him, reveling in the feel of her warm skin all along his body. She propped herself up on his chest and stared into his eyes with twin pools of jeweled honey.

“I have missed you so much, my love.”

“And I you, beloved.” He caressed her cheek and pulled her mouth to his.

His shaft rose, aching and insistent. Unwilling to release her, he rolled them until she lay beneath him. He slid into her eager channel as smoothly as though it had been an hour and not months since they were last so entwined.

His dire need goaded him to thrust hard and vigorously, seeking a quick release for his pent-up passion. Head and heart reminded him his wife had hungers, too, and her pleasure must also be appeased. And there was a tiny babe to consider.

He withdrew and thrust forward, careful and slow.

Juliet moaned low and swayed her hips from side to side.

His blood pounded, threatened to consume him. He groaned with his need but continued his steady rhythm within her, like the ebb and flow of the ocean. He leaned down to suck at her full breast, all the while forcing himself to keep up the slower tempo, building the tension that would spin them into heaven.

She shivered and moaned louder, her hands restlessly stroking his back, his ribs, his arms, sending shock waves along his already taut nerves. Then she grasped his buttocks, urging him to quicker strokes. Her cries as she reached her peak propelled him into a frenzy. Deep within her the rhythmic clench and release around his hard shaft drove him to his own powerful release. He spilled himself seemingly forever into her warm, clinging depths before he sagged against her.

Sated, engrossed in murmuring her name and words of love, it took him a moment to realize he could crush her and the child. He heaved himself to the side and gathered her to him, wrapping her in his arms. He would meld their flesh together if he could.

“Never.” Eyes closed, he still panted from that incredible climax.

“Never?” She rubbed her head catlike against his shoulder.