Authors: Eugenia Riley
“What, darling?” he encouraged
tenderly.
She glanced warily toward Natchez proper. “Did you ever think of contacting my mother’s people?”
Julian studied his proud,
vulnerable wife, his heart welling with love, deep compassion, and fierce
protectiveness toward her. He spoke savagely. “After the way they turned their
backs on her? Never!”
Before Mercy realized what she was
doing, she had slipped inside Julian’s arms and was tightly hugging his waist.
“I’m glad.” With her head snugly nestled beneath his chin, she glanced back
toward the hill. “I never want to see them.
Never
.”
A tremor of emotion seized Julian
at her passionate words. His arms clenched about his precious bride. He leaned
over to kiss the shiny splendor of her hair.
“Mercy!”
At the sound of a gay feminine
voice, the two moved apart and watched Lavinia approach.
“Mercy, M’sieur Devereux, come
with us up to Natchez!” Lavinia called with a grin. “Papa’s going to rent a
grand carriage and we’ll all go shopping and out to dinner.”
Mercy hesitated.
“Well, Mercy?” her husband asked
solemnly. “Last chance. Shall we go with them to Natchez?”
Mercy wavered for another moment,
then turned to Lavinia, wrinkling her nose playfully. “Thanks, Vinnie, but not
today. You know how we newlyweds are. I think we’ll just loll about the boat.”
“Well!” Lavinia colored vividly,
then giggled and waltzed off.
Watching the girl, both husband
and wife laughed. “So what will we do today?” Julian asked with wry amusement.
“Everyone else will be gone, and our stateroom is bound to be stifling.”
“But you have such a marvelous way
of cooling me off,” she whispered, her green eyes tempting him.
Julian clutched his adorable wife
to his heart.
Two days later, the
Natchez
docked at the booming industrial city of St. Louis. Julian registered them
at the Planter’s Hotel, and, for the next ten days, their home was a huge suite
overlooking the busy streets.
Mercy adored the time spent
sightseeing with Julian, for she had never before seen a city quite like St. Louis. Since becoming a major industrial port along the Mississippi, the city was
burgeoning, bursting at its seams. Manufacturing facilities of every type were
springing up—flour mills, meat packing plants, foundries, and hardware
factories.
To keep up with the level of
industrial expansion, immigrant labor was pouring in from all over the world.
Mercy was fascinated by the mishmash of French, German, Italian, and other
languages that she heard in the streets. She was equally enthralled by the
quaint clothing of the foreigners. While the city was clearly in a state of
flux, it also had charm—block after block of handsome brownstones, the tranquil
splendor of the Old Cathedral, the ornate wonder of the huge domed courthouse
that was even now being built.
While becoming acquainted with the
city, Julian and Mercy had more fun than she ever would have dreamed. They ate
at elegant restaurants, attended plays, operas, and horse races. They shopped,
purchasing small presents for the nuns and Julian's mother. They visited a
fabulous toy store, where Julian purchased a cast-iron train set, which he said
was for the son of a friend. They rode through the streets on horse-drawn
trolleys and watched a steamboat race down at the levee. They strolled through
lovely Lafayette Park. They held hands, talked, and laughed. Sometimes, they
merely stayed at the hotel in bed all day, making love and giggling over
glasses of champagne. While they still skirted the heavier issues of their past,
they became much better friends and the best of lovers.
Mercy was falling deeply in love
with Julian. She didn’t want to do so, yet she seemed to have no control over
her own emotions. Previously, she had always thought of her guardian as a
bad-tempered autocrat; but especially since they had wed, she’d seen more of
his other side. Julian was so handsome, so charming, so devastatingly romantic.
She was captivated by him. Indeed, she yearned for him so much that she seemed
to have little need for food or sleep. Julian, noticing that her wedding ring
had grown loose, ordered luscious trays of hors d’oeuvres and fed them to her
in bed; his solicitousness endeared him to her terribly. When she protested
that he was making her fat, he chuckled, patting her lower belly and saying
wickedly, “I plan to have you fat soon enough, madame.”
They had only one argument the
entire time they were in St. Louis, and that was on the day Julian took Mercy
shopping for new clothing. At the elegant shop not far from their hotel, Julian
had the owner bring out only matronly frocks—beige, mauve, and gray affairs
with high necks—while Mercy was determined to dress fashionably. Any dress that
was the least bit low-cut Julian instantly dismissed, and he and Mercy were
soon at loggerheads. Mercy got the distinct impression that her husband was
having a grand time squashing her fun, which only increased her exasperation.
When the shopkeeper brought out a
breathtaking low-cut gown of rich aqua taffeta, and Julian vetoed the frock
with an imperious wave of his hand, Mercy rebelled. She sprang up and politely
asked the woman to give her and her husband a moment alone in the fitting room.
Wisely leaving the vibrant gown, the middle-aged owner swept out.
“What is wrong with this frock?”
Mercy demanded, the instant the shopkeeper was out of earshot.
Infuriatingly calm, Julian was
standing near the front wall of the room, leaning indolently against a pillar.
He glanced at the luscious gown hanging from its rack. “It’s highly immodest,
unsuitable for my wife.”
“Julian, you want me to dress like
somebody’s mother!”
He grinned wickedly. “You are
going to be somebody’s mother—and soon.”
“Oh, you’re such a rogue!” Mercy
rolled her eyes. “You want me to look like an old woman.”
He laughed. “We both know that
there’s absolutely no chance of that.”
Mercy glanced at the
mouth-watering frock with wistful yearning. She suddenly felt like a small
child denied a favorite treat. Her gaze met his beseechingly. “Julian, I want
it. I want to wear it to the theater tonight.”
He harrumphed, setting his jaw
stubbornly. “It looks like a strumpet’s dress.”
“It does not!”
“It does. And furthermore, if I
let you wear it to the theater tonight, every man there will undress you with
his eyes.”
Despite herself, she smirked. “But
only you can—”
“Yes?”
She drew closer and flashed him
her most seductive smile as she straightened his velvet lapels. His features
were still rigidly set, but she could tell from the slight quiver in his jaw
that her nearness was having its effect. She spoke in a sexy purr she normally
reserved for the bedroom. “Only you can truly undress me.”
Unwittingly, he groaned, looking
down at her with eyes filled with wry humor and darker desire. “You really like
to play the tease, don’t you, Mercy?”
“Perhaps I like to tease you?” she
suggested recklessly.
His gaze impaled her then, and his
hand reached out to grip her slim waist, his fingers splaying out lower,
suggestively. “Keep in mind, madame, that I’m a man who is perfectly capable of
putting a tease in her proper place.”
She pressed provocatively against
him. “I’m counting on it.”
Julian laughed his delight, fondly
swatting her derriere. “You’re a persuasive little brat—do you know it?”
“
Oui
.”
“And if I buy you the dress, what
will I get in return?”
She swallowed hard. “A kiss?”
He chuckled. “Much as I adore your
kisses, Madame Devereux, at this stage of the game, that will hardly be
enough—you’ve so deepened my appetites.”
“Julian!” Blushing to the roots of
her hair, Mercy glanced about quickly to make sure no one else was within
earshot.
“What will I get in return,
Mercy?” he pressed remorselessly.
She glanced hungrily from the
frock to him. “Anything.”
“Anything?” His eyes glittered
like those of an animal delighted to have cornered its prey. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, though she was half
afraid she had just plunged into deep, treacherous waters.
“Anything . . .” he murmured,
stroking his strong jaw. “Now, that offer is irresistible. Go find the
shopkeeper and tell her to wrap your dress.”
“Oh, Julian!” Impulsively, she
hugged him, and he chuckled again.
As she started off, he caught her
hand. “And tell her to wrap the frocks I chose, as well.”
She tossed her chin disdainfully.
“You needn’t bother to buy me those oppressive old shrouds, Julian. I shan’t
wear them.”
He whistled, a hard, implacable
tone in his voice. “Mercy, this stubborn streak of yours will be mastered.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “No,
it won’t.”
“Indeed?” He hauled her closer
with a grip of steel. “Then you never should have promised me
anything
.”
***
He teased her about her reckless
offer as they rode back to the hotel in a hired coach. “Now, my dear, since
we’re staying out late tonight, I’m taking you back to our suite for a nap.”
“A nap?” she exclaimed,
crestfallen. “But I don’t want a nap. I want to go to the country fair and the
ice cream parlor, like you promised.”
“Ah, but it’s you who promised me
anything,” he pointed out. Glancing at the box in her lap, he smiled slowly.
“We can always take the dress back.”
“
Non
!" She clutched
her treasure possessively.
“Then you’re taking a nap. You
haven’t gotten enough sleep lately.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Mine entirely. And since I intend
to thoroughly disrupt your slumber again tonight, you’re napping this
afternoon. If I don’t take better care of you, the next thing I know, you’ll be
ill.”
“If
you
don’t . . . !” Her
eyes seethed with indignation. “Julian, as I’ve pointed out before, I’m no
longer a child and you’re no longer my guardian. I’m perfectly capable of
taking care of myself. I’m your wife now, and furthermore—”
“A wife who promised to obey me,”
he cut in, thoroughly enjoying the exchange.
“And if I choose to defy you?” she
flung back at him.
He shrugged, then slowly lit a
cheroot. “Then plan to wear an ‘oppressive shroud’ to the theater tonight.”
“Ooooh!” she sputtered.
He laughed. “Now come here and
kiss me.”
“Go kiss a spittoon.”
A split second later, she was
unceremoniously hauled across the carriage into his lap, and thoroughly kissed.
“You were saying?” he asked, his eyes full of laughter.
“I’m not going to take a nap,” she
said, pouting.
He took a slow draw on his
cheroot. “Shall I call up to the coachman to turn us around?”
Glowering, Mercy feigned an
elaborate yawn.
***
Back at the hotel, she did take a
nap—that is, after Julian helped her undress and took vigorous steps to exhaust
her. Afterward, she dozed languidly beneath the sheet while he sat at the
writing table, composing a letter to his partner in New Orleans and watching
her sleep.
He soon lost interest in the
letter and simply stared at her—drinking in her beautiful, slightly flushed
face, her gorgeous, tumbled hair. He remembered tangling his hands in that lush
mane as they made love, and bringing her fevered gaze up to meet his. He
remembered her long, silky legs clenching about his waist, her hips arching to
take him deeper. He remembered her gasping and tossing her head as he climaxed
into her sweet body.
Mon Dieu
, he loved her so!
As for this business about the
clothing . . . He sighed. Truth to tell, Julian knew he was being a stubborn
ass in trying to force his vibrant young wife to dress like a matron. Yet he
was intensely jealous of the attentions other men paid her, probably because
half of him was afraid she still wished she’d married someone else.
Best to get her pregnant as soon
as possible, he mused, and then she would naturally have to wear more modest
clothing. His heart welled with joy and love at the thought of having his baby
growing inside her. A child would also bind her to him, and he would need a
strong bond established between them before he was compelled to tell her the
truth about Justine and Arnaud . . . He groaned at the thought.
Later, he ordered dinner brought
up to their room, so Mercy could sleep as long as possible. He was already
dressed in his evening clothes when he awakened his wife with a kiss.
Afterward, he paced and smoked, watching Mercy curl her hair into elaborate
ringlets and don the fabulous gown. As she stood before the pier mirror, he
mused that she looked like an angel straight from Satan’s lair, with the gown
hugging her seductive curves and displaying her breasts so enticingly. By some
miracle of engineering, her lush breasts stayed within the skimpy confines of
the gown, though they looked as if they’d surely escape at any moment. He
tightened his jaw and somehow managed not to comment.
Of course, Mercy noticed her
husband’s agitation as she prepared for the evening. Julian looked as tense and
dangerous as a bomb about to explode. He did not speak to her, not even when
the bellboy brought their dinner. However, when he seated her at the small
table, and her cleavage dipped even lower, she heard a strangled sound in his
throat and she raised her napkin to cover a giggle.
When they prepared to leave, he at
last shot her a heated look and said, “If those breasts pop out of that gown
tonight, I’m going to thrash you.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Very well, I wouldn’t dare,” he
retorted. “But by the time I finish with you, you’ll wish I had.” He extended
his aim and smiled menacingly. “Shall we go?”
***
From the moment they swept past
the pillared portico, Mercy was fascinated by the large downtown theater. The
lobby oozed luxury, with its deep velvety rugs and glittering chandeliers. She
was equally enthralled by the stylish clothing and fabulous jewelry of the
lively, chattering patrons.
Julian was still in a foul humor,
especially as Mercy caught the stare of practically every male in the place.
Indeed, he almost took a swing at one young dandy who boldly eyed Mercy’s bosom
as he strode past. Only her quick action in tugging her husband out of harm’s
way saved the young fop from being knocked on his heels. When Mercy implored
Julian to behave himself, his reply was a smoldering frown which promised later
retribution.
The play was Dumas’s
Pauline
,
which had only last year made its debut in London. While Mercy enjoyed the
delightful melodrama, Julian’s expression remained dark and abstracted, and his
index finger drew slow, concentric circles on her sensitive palm. The motion
seemed unspeakably erotic, and more than once, when she dared to meet his
burning gaze, she shuddered.
On the way back to the hotel,
seated across from him in the dark coach, she couldn’t read his shuttered
expression. His boot reached out to nudge the hem of her skirt, raising it
slightly in a gesture that seemed shockingly intimate and flirtatious.
“Did you enjoy the play, Mercy?”
he asked.
“Very much,” she replied.
Deliberately teasing him, she added, “Actually, I feel a little like Pauline
myself, caught in the web of . . .”
“Yes?”
“A charming villain.”
He chuckled. Then his voice grew
more serious. “Every man in the theater was staring at you tonight.”
“Did you find that threatening?”
she taunted.