Only Marriage Will Do (8 page)

“Georgie.” Nuthatch called over his shoulder.

A boy of about ten, who had just dumped steaming water into the tub, looked up. “Bring two pitchers of hot water to the last room on the right, then. And be quick about it.”

“Aye, Da.” The scamp bolted past his father, his footsteps echoing as he thumped down the steps.

Glynis flashed her host a grateful glance and followed him out the door.

The sudden silence seemed to emphasize that he and Juliet were alone for the first time since last night. This could spell trouble. Her intense gaze drew him toward her, the air fairly crackling with the current that ran between them. He opened his mouth to speak and took a step toward her. His boot squished, breaking the silence and the mood. He winced. His boots likely were ruined, as well.

Juliet sniggered and moved to the tub. She dipped her hand in and swished the bathwater. “You had best hurry your bath, my dear, before the water is too cold to do you any good at all.” She sounded too wifely for his taste. How far would she take this charade? Her pert little smile didn’t tell him if she had mischief on her mind or not, but he intended to find out.

“Your wish is, as always, my command, sweetheart.”

She blushed and the devil flew into him. “Will you give me a hand with this jacket? I fear I will make a mess no matter how I try to extricate myself.” He held his arms stiffly out, as he would for Edward.

Juliet stepped toward him then secured one of the linen drying cloths the inn had provided. She lay this on the floor behind him. “This should catch most of the mess.”

“Clever girl.”

She maneuvered behind him; grasped the shoulders of the coat; and pulled with short, brisk strokes. The saturated garment resisted, but she eased first one side, then the other until the coat dropped onto the cloth. She bent and wiped her hands on it as well.

Amiable turned, appreciating the unexpected but fine show of bosom as she bent over. “And the waistcoat, Juliet?” He unbuttoned it and moved his arms again into position.

The waistcoat came away in her hands, leaving Amiable clad in a spattered shirt, mud-encrusted breeches, and boots so caked with filth he’d be hard-pressed to name their original color. He turned just in time to see her scraping at the front of the silver waistcoat.

“This garment might actually be salvageable.” She laid it carefully to the side.

“Trying to retain some hope of a new frock?”

She shook her head. “Trying to be the best and most frugal wife imaginable, sir.” Her eyes reflected the warmth in her voice.

“I think those two qualities are mutually exclusive, don’t you?” Danger lurked in this exchange, but Lord he couldn’t stop himself any more than a moth could ignore a flame. “Do you think you can you help me off with my boots? There are times when a manservant is indispensable, and as you say, the water is getting colder by the minute.” He grasped the bedpost and held out his foot.

“Of course.” She bent to grasp the first boot, then stopped. “Wait.” She picked up his coat from the towel, turned it inside out, and wrapped the soiled side around his boot.

He groaned, his stomach sinking at the sight of his favorite jacket reduced to a rag.

At the sound, she looked up. “Well, you said it was ruined, Amiable.”

He fixed her with a hard stare. “You are not too big for me to turn over my knee, Juliet.”

She laughed and tossed her head then with a slight twist of her hands the boot fell to the floor with a
plop
.”

He goggled at her. “How did you learn to do that? Even Edwards cannot remove those boots so quickly.”

Juliet shrugged. “When we were young, Duncan used to tease me, saying a wife should know how to please her husband in all ways, even how to remove his boots.” Her chuckle turned into a throaty growl, setting his blood on fire. “I have only ever practiced on his boots, until now.” In an instant, the other boot lay in her hands, and she placed it beside its mate.

“You have amazing talents, my dear. I’ve never been tended this well.” He kept his eyes on the floor as he pulled his shirt out of his breeches. If he moved with caution, perhaps he wouldn’t sling more mud on the floor.

“I fear poor Edwards will not thank me for spoiling you. Here, let me help you. Hold your shirt up.”

He did so and stopped, shocked that she stood so close to him. Close enough for him to mark the dark ring around the outer rim of her brown irises. With growing alarm, he dropped his gaze to her hands as she reached for the first button of his breeches.

Juliet struggled to hide her smile, satisfaction welling within. They’d been going on as if they were a true married couple. Pray God it was an omen.

Amiable gasped.

Juliet peered up at him.

He had gone rigid. His eyes bulged.

Had a clod of cold mud fallen down his back? She followed the path of his gaze and her heart thumped wildly. Her hand hovered a bare touch away from his mud-soaked breeches. Her mouth went dry and her knees wobbled.

How in the world had she come to stand in front of a half-naked man, alone in his room, ready to strip off his breeches? Her hand actually rested lightly on the flap of the garment, next to a row of buttons. Did she dare continue?

Amiable stepped backward, taking the decision out of her hands. He breathed as though he’d run a mile.

“I beg your pardon, my lady.” He looked away and hastily stuffed his shirt back into his breeches. Little drops of mud flew everywhere. “I do not know what came over me. Please forgive my impertinence. I had no right to treat you thus.”

“What do you mean, Amiable?” She struggled to remain calm, even though her heart grew panicked as he withdrew from her. “You have treated me only with honor.”

“I acted as if you were my wife.” He turned to face her, straightening his back as he did, and widened the distance between them. “You are not, Juliet. Neither you nor I must forget that again. This masquerade is for the public only. In private you are still Lady Juliet Ferrers and I am Captain Dawson.”

His words smote her heart though they were nothing but the truth. They were not married and perhaps never would be. It would have been so easy for him to have thoroughly compromised her just then. He must know her willingness. Know also the consequences a gentleman faced if he acted so dishonorably. It seemed he had no desire to have her as his wife.

Anger and humiliation shot to the surface. “As you say, Captain Dawson.” She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice but didn’t think she’d succeeded. Damn him. Well, he’d seen the last of her for the evening. She whirled toward the door.

“You shouldn’t leave, Juliet,” he said softly. “We are supposed to be a married couple. People will think it odd if you spend too much time with your maid.”

She rounded on him, so furious she could barely see. “Should I instead stay and help you bathe? Do you wish to compromise me, Captain?” No answer. Wretch. “And for your information, I am well aware how married people act when in public. To their eyes, I have seen to the comfort of my husband and am now going to see to my maid, who is most likely upset by the events in the yard. She may be frightened she will be blamed for the mishap and dismissed. I need to reassure her that as long as I employ her she will not come to grief under your hand.”

Her parting shot delivered, she left, shutting the door with as much force as she thought acceptable without actually slamming it. She walked down the dimly lit corridor to the room designated for Glynis, shaking more with every step. After dinner, she would have to slip back down here to spend the night with her servant. She entered the chamber to find her maid washing off all traces of the adventure. Would that she could do so as well.

She waved Glynis to continue her ablutions and surveyed the small room with a disgruntled eye. It irked her to no end that he would end up in the most comfortable accommodations while she and Glynis would have to make do with a small table and chair, a washstand, and one narrow bed.

Fuming, she stalked over to the window. Worse and worse. Their room faced the front of the inn. As if to confirm her fears, a mail coach pulled in, horses snorting, harness jingling, coachmen loudly calling for the grooms and exhorting the passengers to hurry into the inn for their dinners. A noisier situation could not be imagined. She probably needn’t worry about the narrowness of the bed—she doubted she would get any sleep even if it had been three times the size. In the yard, grooms led the new team to the traces. One of the big gray horses plodded straight through the spot where the outline of Amiable’s body still lay clearly delineated in the mud.

Would have served him right if he’d have still been there and had to scramble out of the way. She was glad she had rubbed the mud from his boots with his ruined coat. If only she could remove the ache from her heart with equal thoroughness.

* * * *

“Hell and damnation.” Amiable cursed under his breath as the door banged shut behind Juliet. He had made as big a mess with her as with his filthy clothes. Drops of the clingy mud spattered the floor around him. Every movement seemed to dislodge more blobs. He shed his shirt and breeches, hoping the latter could be saved, doffed his drawers, and finally stepped into the steaming tub.

He groaned in contentment as the delicious heat relaxed his tense muscles. All except for the one that still stood stiff and painful from his groin. “The General” would probably not relax for quite some time. He lay back in the bath, eyes closed, and tried to will his flesh into submission.

After five minutes, he’d only succeeded in making it worse. Images of Juliet with her hand working to unbutton his breeches would not abate. Fantasies of her loosing his heated flesh and stroking him until he burst filled his head. Her scent of jasmine lingered in the room, taunting him with her presence until he ached hot and hard for her. Unless he acted the cad and went to seek another companion for the night, only one course remained available to him. He grasped his throbbing flesh and moments later shuddered his release. He sagged against the back of the tub. The ache had gone, but the relief remained hollow.

How had he managed to get himself into such a mess? All his thoughts concentrated on Juliet and the longing she created within him. Amazing that he could feel a tender regard for a woman so soon after his hopes were raised about Katarina. Had he not loved her as deeply as he believed? Or was this feeling for Juliet only lust? If so, then why hadn’t he just succumbed to that lovely temptation and let her strip him naked and plunge himself into her sweet, hot depths? She had seemed willing enough.

He moved restlessly in the water, searching for a comfortable position. His protective nature had asserted itself once more—this time to protect her against him. He could no more take her virtue than he could kill her. This lovely woman had become too dear, too sweet for him to dally with and leave a ruined woman, even if his conscience would allow it.

To save her, he’d had to hurt her. Her infatuation with him seemed to run deep. In love with the idea of him being a “knight in shining armor,” she did not see the very real danger he presented. Knights had needs as well. His rebuff just now might have stung her pride, but it had been for the best. If only he could continue to keep her at arm’s length until the end of the journey. At least seven more days on the road. Not an easy task now that he regarded her as more than a friend.

Much more than a friend, to be brutally honest. He admired her courage, her decisiveness, her determination to get what she wanted. He loved a spirited woman, the quality that had drawn him to Katarina. Juliet’s outspokenness did not rival Kat’s, but neither could she be called mealy-mouthed. Yet she seemed a perpetual “damsel in distress,” which had an appeal all its own. Not to mention her beauty into the bargain.

He sat up and reached for the soap and a cloth, determined to erase the vestiges of his adventure in the mud from his body and the pleasures of Juliet from his mind. He would not take advantage of her vulnerability to get her into his bed, with or without benefit of marriage. She might believe herself in love with him, but that would certainly change when he left her at her brother’s estate. Out of sight, out of mind. A few days after he left she would count her escape fortunate. If they were to marry, there could be no escape for her when she realized she had tied herself not to a chivalrous knight from the Round Table, but to a flesh and blood man with real faults.

No need to deny his desire for Juliet, but he had lusted after others before. Such a shallow passion hardly provided a good reason for marrying. His parent’s loving union had made him long for a similar married life. Unfortunately, the only woman he had ever proposed to had turned him down. He could assuage that fresh hurt with the devotion Juliet offered, although he doubted his heart had been touched again so soon after being rebuffed. Juliet would be only a substitute for the love he had lost.

He continued to remove the soap and dirt from his body, washed and rinsed his hair, and at last stood up, cool water sluicing down him. He stepped from the tub, reached for a piece of toweling to dry himself, and set out to dress for dinner. Perhaps over dinner they could come to some sort of agreement about their behavior during the remainder of the trip.

Just over a quarter hour later dinner arrived. Juliet did not. He waited ten minutes, his mouth watering while the chicken and vegetables became increasingly lukewarm. Finally, he tossed his napkin down on the table and went in search of his “wife.”

He knocked on Glynis’s door and the maid answered, her face a puckered frown.

“Is Lady Juliet ready? Our dinner is getting cold.” He tried to keep a pleasant tone, although the insolent look on the girl’s face made it difficult.

“My lady says to tell you she is not hungry and will not be dining this evening.” Her frosty glare dared him to object.

“I will be the judge of that.” Amiable shoved his way past her, much as he had done with the servant at Dunham House yesterday morning. He strode over to the still figure in a chair placed before the cold fireplace. She did not acknowledge his presence by word or movement, though she must know he stood right beside her, towering over her. She would have to be dead to miss him.