Only Marriage Will Do (31 page)

Juliet trembled and squeezed her legs together. She would die if he touched her. A moan escaped her as he pressed his sweaty hand into the crack between them. He must have thought it a cry of pleasure, for his hand moved higher and stroked the curly hairs above her clenched thighs.

“You are so responsive to me,
ma petite
,” he said, his tone husky as he nuzzled her neck. “Why have you denied us this these many months?” He slid a finger down her warm flesh, seeking entrance.

“No!” Juliet reared up against him as revulsion won out.

“
Mon seigneur
.” A frantic voice called at the door.

Juliet screamed and tried to pull away. Frenzied knocking ensued.

St. Cyr jumped and snarled in French, “What the devil? Marcel, are you mad? Get away from that door.” He plunged his mouth back onto hers, his hand still busy down below.

No, no, no. She moaned and twisted, trying to push him away.

“Juliet. Do not fight me,
petite
.”

Despite the warning, she continued to struggle, rocking from side to side, trying to dislodge him. A sharp poke in her belly and she stilled immediately under his hand. Her child. Amiable’s child. Oh, God.

“Seigneur St. Cyr. You must come, my lord. There is trouble downstairs.” Marcel called frantically through the door. The pounding grew frenzied.

“
Conasse. Ce sont des conneries
.” Philippe uttered a vile curse and rolled off the bed. “What trouble, Marcel?” His head snapped back toward Juliet, his eyes hot on her. “Do not move an inch,
chérie
. I am more than eager to explore every tiny morsel of you, having had such a tantalizing taste.”

He strode to the door, not bothering to put on a robe, and jerked it open. “
Ce qui est si importante—
”

Philippe flew backward into the room, as though launched from a catapult. He crashed into a table and knocked it over. Candles spilled onto the floor, spitting wax onto the figure that did not move.

“Now get out and don’t return unless you want me to use this.” Footsteps retreated, but she heard them as from a distance. Her heart pounded, her full attention captured by the sound of that oh so familiar voice.

“Amiable.” She whispered his name, almost afraid to say it out loud lest she find him a terror-induced dream. Yet there he stood, her knight in shining armor, as she had always known him to be.

He strode into the room, tucking a pistol into his breeches, his gaze darting around the room until he spied her on the bed. He swooped in, cradling her in his arms.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” A quicksilver smile before he lowered his lips to hers.

“Oh, thank God you found me.” Juliet whispered, joy and relief so intense she burst into tears. The nightmare had ended.

“Shh, love. You are safe. I will not let you go again.” He rocked her, his very presence a soothing balm to her overwrought senses. The fresh outdoor air clung to him and mingled with his own distinctive, comforting, masculine scent. She sagged in his arms, at home, where she belonged forever.

She tried to huddle closer, clasping his cloak around her.

He stiffened, held her a little away from him. His eyes widened as his gaze swept her naked body. A murderous expression blackened his face. “Did he…Juliet, did St. Cyr…?” He gripped her arms to the point of pain.

She shook her head and bowed her head. “No. He kissed and caressed me but nothing further.” Clutching him to her, she sobbed, “Oh, Amiable. Take me away. I don’t care if I am married to him. I cannot bear for him to touch me.” She struggled to burrow even deeper into his arms, wanting to crawl inside his body to hide if she could.

“Do not worry, sweet. You will be a widow before we leave this house.” The completely cold, offhand manner of this statement sent a chill through her.

She shook her head, now more afraid than ever.

“No, you must not kill him. They would hang you.” She grabbed his arm. She must make him see sense. “He is my husband and the law would be on his side.” She paused, a new horror dawning. “It would be a scandal much like the one concerning the Earl Ferrers. The scandal that brought this all to pass.” She continued to shake her head. “No, we will go away together, somewhere he cannot find us.”

Amiable sighed and smoothed straggling curls of her hair from her face.

Her coiffure surely lay in ruins. What an odd thing to think at a time like this.

“There is nowhere we can go for very long, my dear. I will one day inherit my father’s title and estates. I will need a legitimate heir and I am determined he shall be our son. So we had best sort this out now.” He searched her eyes and shrugged. “Within the boundaries of the law, if you insist.”

From across the room rose a muted groan. Amiable cursed and shifted Juliet back onto the bed. He dragged the coverlet over her, swathing her in its soft folds. Then he stalked around the bed, finally towering over the naked man who stirred groggily on the floor. He bent suddenly. A sickening crunch rent the air. When he stood again, a satisfied smile wreathed his face. He scanned the floor then stooped once more to retrieve her clothing. “Come, my love. We must make haste.”

She scrambled across the bed and they repaired her appearance. Finally, she stood before him, and he helped tuck the pins back into her stomacher before she attached it to her bodice.

“That’ll have to do, love. We need to leave now.” He glanced at the unmoving form on the planked floor and his eyes narrowed. “Before I repent my decision to let this one live.”

Her gaze followed his and she repressed a shiver. She never wanted to lay eyes on that fiend again.

He lifted her in his arms and she thrilled to the warmth of his body against her, the wonderful security that always washed over her when he touched her. She clung to his neck as they descended the staircase to the first floor.

“My cloak.”

“You shall have mine, sweetheart.” He set her down and settled his long greatcoat around her slim shoulders. The dark gray garment engulfed her from neck to floor, pooling at her feet. He pulled the door open with such vehemence it rebounded into the wall with a thunderous crash. Swinging her into his arms again, he sped down the narrow steps outside to Vociferous and the young man waiting in the street.

“A boy come running out of the house a while back, sir. I couldn’t stop him and keep the horse too.” George shook his head regretfully. “I figured the horse might be a sight more useful to you.”

“Right you are, lad.” Amiable lifted Juliet onto the saddle then swung up behind her. “Head back to Morehouse and let Lord Dalbury know all is well. His sister is safe and going to a safe haven. I will follow directly I see her off.”

“Aye.” The footman grinned at both Amiable and Juliet. “And Merry Christmas to you, sir, and to your lady.”

Amiable looked at Juliet in the faint light and grinned. “Indeed, lad. It is a very Merry Christmas.” He clamped his arm around her and started his mount into a brisk trot through the half-frozen mud of the street.

Leaning against Amiable’s delicious warmth, she murmured, “Are we going back to Morehouse then?”

“No, love. St. Cyr will recover shortly and have both houses searched. Probably the Earl of Manning’s house as well. You were right. The law is on his side. If they find you, they will give you back to him. But we have a plan to keep you safe until we can make this right.” He tightened his arm around her.

She shook her head. “Oh, Amiable.” She snuggled back against him further, shaking with the cold that consumed her body. “I could not bear to go back to him.”

“He will never touch you again, my love. I swear it by all I hold sacred. I will kill him before I let him take you. No matter the consequences. You have my oath on it.”

His body tensed, and though the darkness obscured his face, she knew without a doubt he meant what he said. He would die to keep her safe from Philippe. The overwhelming sense of safety she had experienced from the very first time she had met him enfolded her, calmed her, persuaded her perhaps this great muddle would come right in the end.

“So where are you taking me? If I cannot go home or to any house we know, where am I to be?” She looked up at him, bewildered.

He laughed. “I am sending you to a safe house, though I know it not. However, I trust Katarina with my life and yours. All will be well with you there.” He slowed the horse to a walk.

She looked about, searching for some familiar landmark. St. Paul’s Cathedral loomed up ahead of her. The imposing structure managed to impart an aura of hope and peace.

Amiable snuggled her closer and whispered in her ear. “Once I put you into that hack yonder, I will leave you. It is a random carriage so it cannot be discovered. No one will be able to tell anyone where you are except Katarina and I, and neither of us will divulge your whereabouts. You will be truly safe, my dearest love, until we can annul your marriage and renew our vows.”

Despite the hope at his words, misery filled her heart. She couldn’t bear the thought of parting from him again. “Why must we be separated? Come with me. Can we not go together?” Hope swelled in her breast.

He shook his head. “No, my dear. I must remain at Morehouse and work with your brother to free you from St. Cyr. We must meet with Grimes as soon as possible, read the testimony of the witnesses, and make an objection to the court’s ruling. My father may have some influence with the courts. Perhaps the magistrates could reexamine the statements, look for forgeries. I may even need to travel to France and bring back this Jeanette Valois.”

“Duncan can—”

“Dalbury cannot possibly do all of this by himself, not with all of his other obligations.” He tightened his embrace. “Besides, you are my wife, my responsibility now. At least you will be safe from St. Cyr. That matters most of all.”

“I suppose Duncan cannot neglect his duties.” What he said made sense, though she wanted only to stay within the circle of his arms.

He dismounted and she slid down into his arms, her own going around his sleek body, holding him fast. He cupped her face in his hands and tilted it up to meet his lips.

The sensation of coming home filled her with quiet joy, all her attention on the joining of their mouths. Hers, open even before he touched her, greedily pulled his tongue into her, stroking, sucking, cherishing him. Lost to the world, she reveled in the depths of him, warm, wine spiced, a feast for her senses that must make her a glutton. For this feast needed to last in her memory until some unknown time in the future when they could again come together. She would savor every last drop of him, lest cruel fate somehow prevent such a reunion.

After what seemed an age and yet but a moment, he pulled his mouth away. “You had best leave now, sweetheart, else I will not be able to let you go.”

She nodded, flushed and warm from their intimate embrace. She gazed up into his passion-filled eyes, now darkest blue with desire, and whispered, “I love you, Amiable, as my life. Come for me soon, my love, with news we are to be husband and wife in law even as we are in spirit.”

He nodded and pressed a small bag of coins and a folded piece of paper into her hands. “For your fare, love. And Katarina said to give that note to the person you find at the end of your journey. ”

Then he took her to one of the waiting hacks and put her inside. As he closed the door he whispered, “Go with God and my heart.” He then muttered an address to the coachman and without a backward glance, mounted his horse and rode away.

It took every bit of her self-control to keep her from leaping from the carriage and running after him. Such a foolish action would accomplish nothing except to make their misery worse. She resolved to complete the plan, no matter how heart wrenching to watch him ride away.

She leaned back on the creaky, worn leather upholstery and looked out at St. Paul’s once more, drawing what comfort she could from the imposing structure. With a sudden jerk the hack set off, beginning what she prayed would be the final stage of her marriage to Viscount St. Cyr.

The clock chimed one o’clock in the morning when Amiable entered Morehouse to find the place still ablaze with lights and the family gathered in an upstairs sitting room. The only ones not in attendance, the butler informed him, were the Marquess and Marchioness. Excitement and exhaustion had caught up with Katarina at last, and Dalbury had insisted he escort her home. Her malady played into their plan as well. If she was sequestered in her bedchamber, no one would dare question her about Juliet’s whereabouts. Amiable would go to them at a decent hour later this morning to relate the goings on in Fenchurch Street.

As he stalked into the room, the swell of voices deafened him, the sound resembling a flock of geese with a measure of corn strewn among them. He paced to the sideboard, splashed a hefty amount of brandy into a glass, and downed it in a gulp. Comforted by the burn that spread through his stomach, he turned at last and faced his family’s questions.

“Did you find her?”

“Where did you find her?”

“Is she all right?”

“Where is she?”

Above all the excited chaos, his father’s voice captured his attention when he bellowed, “Did you kill the bastard?”

The chattering stopped as though cut off with a knife. All eyes turned to Amiable, and everyone actually leaned toward him in order to catch his every word.

His hand clenched on the cut-crystal tumbler. “No, Father. I did not. I wanted to, God knows, but Juliet prevented me. A good thing she did, I suppose. If the man is her husband, then he is the wronged one and I would likely hang for his death.”

He loosened his grip on the glass and set it down. “I did, however, knock him senseless. Twice. A somewhat satisfying substitute to say the least. I believe his nose will never be quite as aristocratic.” He grinned, and the group relaxed into more subdued laughter and jabbering before he continued.

“The tracking ploy worked perfectly. I located them in Fenchurch Street and am relieved to say Juliet is fine.” He took a deep breath, tension creeping into his muscles until they ached. “It was a very close thing, however.” He surveyed the room, filled with faces old and young, and chose his words carefully. “Fortunately, he had not harmed her in
any
way.”