Authors: Eugenia Riley
“That’s correct,” Mercy
acknowledged with a stiff nod.
“Please, madame, come in,” Justine
said. Looking past Mercy, she also nodded to Henrí.
In strained silence, the two followed
Justine into the posh bungalow. The interior smelled marvelous, filled with the
sweet, spicy scents of homemade potpourri. In the parlor, Mercy took the chair
her hostess indicated, while Justine sat down flanking her on the settee. Henrí
slipped tactfully from the room; Mercy heard a door shut toward the back of the
house.
Mercy glanced about the room,
noting the lavish furnishings and expensive accoutrements. She turned back to
Justine. “Your son is—”
“Arnaud is out back, playing in
the walled garden. He’s perfectly safe there, but I assume Henrí has gone to
watch over him.”
Mercy nodded. “That is good . . .”
She dared to meet the other woman’s gaze. “I have no desire to involve your
child in this.”
“I see.” Justine smiled
quizzically. “You know, I’ve been rather expecting that you would come,
madame.”
Mercy’s chin raised up a notch.
“Have you?”
“Your curiosity is understandable
under the circumstances.”
“I expect so,” Mercy said tightly.
She studied the room in greater detail, noting the fine rosewood pieces, the
plush rug, the imported clocks and gewgaws. She swallowed with an effort. “I
can see my husband’s touch here.”
Justine slanted a sympathetic
glance toward Julian’s proud young wife. “It would help if you would tell me
what you wish to know, madame.”
“What I wish to know,” she
repeated ironically. “What I wish to know . . .” Her bright gaze flashed
defiantly to Justine, and her words spilled forth passionately. “I wish to know
what he means to you. What hold you have over him. What claim you make on his
future.”
“You love him very much, no?”
Justine asked gently.
Mercy’s hand flew to her mouth,
and she was unable to restrain a small gasp at Justine’s directness. It
occurred to her suddenly that she had come here to fight for Julian—and fight she
would. Her gaze collided proudly with the other woman’s. “
Oui
,” she said
simply.
Justine leaned forward. “Madame,
you have nothing to fear from me.”
Mercy laughed incredulously. “How
can you say that? Julian has a child with you!”
“That’s true. But the fact of the
matter is, my relationship with him has been platonic for some time now.” She
studied Mercy closely. “I suspect, ever since he fell in love with you.”
“What?” she gasped, her features
blanching.
Justine nodded. “You must know
that Julian loves you quite hopelessly.”
Sudden tears stung Mercy’s eyes,
and she glanced away in embarrassment. “Actually, I know nothing of the kind.”
“I realize your relationship with
Julian over the years has been turbulent. But why do you think he wanted to
marry you?”
“I really don’t know,” Mercy
admitted, lacing her fingers together. “Some continuing sense of duty, perhaps.
He’s never really told me of his true feeling or motives—just as he never told
me of you until after we were married.”
Justine sighed. “You’re angry with
him now because he didn’t tell you about me and Arnaud prior to your marriage?”
“Of course I’m angry.”
“I implored him to tell you the
truth—”
“
You
implored him?” Mercy
cut in in disbelief.
“
Oui
. But I think he
withheld the facts from you because he was afraid of losing you.”
Mercy laughed bitterly. “Forgive
me if I find your statement hopelessly naive. Julian didn’t tell me the truth
because he wanted to continue seeing you—and your son.”
Justine released a long breath,
and gazed at Mercy sadly. “That may have been part of his motive, but not in
the way you would think. As I have already stated, Julian and I are friends
now.”
Mercy frowned skeptically. “Tell
me, do you not feel at all threatened by the fact that Julian has married me?”
“I want his happiness,” Justine
said simply.
“And what happiness, what future,
is there for you without him?” Mercy demanded.
Justine shrugged. “My needs are
simple, madame. I have my son, my cottage. I’ve never expected more.”
“Not even when Julian asked you to
marry him?”
She sighed. “So he told you?”
“Actually, his mother did.”
Justine nodded. “Julian offered to
marry me because of the child. But I realized, of course, that his wedding me
would have been a disaster for him personally. Therefore, I refused.”
Mercy dared to look the other
woman straight in the eye. “Did you love him?”
Justine met Mercy’s gaze
unflinchingly. “Yes, madame, I did. I still do today, but in a much different
way. I love him like a brother.”
Mercy shook her head ironically.
“Forgive me if I find all of this most difficult to believe.”
“Is it difficult for you to
believe that I would place Julian’s welfare above all else?” Justine
challenged.
Staring at Justine’s open, honest
face, Mercy realized that she was quite sincere—at least in her devotion to
Julian. “I think you care for him deeply,” she murmured. “And it’s no wonder
he’s so—er—fond of you.”
“And what about you, madame? Do
you place his happiness above all else?”
“I . . .” Mercy gestured lamely.
At last she said fatalistically, “What does it matter? It’s obvious that my
husband is indifferent to whatever I may feel about him.”
Justine laughed. “Oh, madame. Let
me assure you that Julian is anything but indifferent to your feelings. Give
him a chance, I implore you.”
Mercy was staring confusedly at
Justine when a child’s voice trilled out, “Mama! Look what I found.”
Mercy turned toward the archway
and watched a boy of four dance into the room carrying a stalk of blooming
lavender. Mercy’s heart melted at the sight of Julian’s son. So this was her
husband’s love child. With curly black hair and smooth features, Arnaud was a
miniature of his father; he was dressed in a snappy black suit with knee-pants
and a red bow tie.
Justine held out her hand to her
son. “Come here, Arnaud, and meet our guest.”
The boy hurried to his mother’s
side, ensconcing himself in the safety of her outstretched arm. He turned to
stare at Mercy with polite curiosity.
Justine cleared her throat.
“Arnaud, this is—”
Mercy leaned forward and
interrupted, “Arnaud, I am Mercy, a friend of your mother’s.”
“How do you do, madame?” the boy
asked, bowing gallantly.
Mercy couldn’t resist a smile; the
child was utterly charming. “I am fine, thank you. And you?”
Suitably encouraged, Arnaud walked
over to their guest, thrusting the stalk of lavender beneath Mercy’s nose. “The
flowers smell very sweet, don’t they, madame?”
“Arnaud!” Justine gasped from the
sidelines. “Pray, don’t stab our guest with that stalk!”
“It’s all right,” Mercy hastily
assured her. She turned irresistibly to Julian’s child, melting at the look of
innocent expectation in his huge blue eyes. She took a deep breath of the
flowered stalk he extended. “Oh, yes, Arnaud. The blooms are divine.”
He nodded happily. “Will you take
them home?” he asked generously. “To make . . .” He frowned and turned to his
mother. “What is it you make with the blooms, Mama?”
“A potpourri, love,” Justine said
with an adoring smile.
Arnaud nodded and laid the stalk
across Mercy’s lap. “You must make one, as well.”
“Thank you, you are most kind,”
Mercy replied.
Arnaud beamed with happiness. “I
saw a hummingbird in the garden. And two butterflies.”
“You did? How fascinating.”
“And I have a train,” he added
eagerly, changing subjects with the ease of a four-year-old. “Papa gave it to
me. Do you know Papa?”
“Yes,” Mercy said tightly.
“Would you like to see my train,
madame?”
“Of course.”
His eyes danced with glee. “I
shall go get it, then.”
Mercy watched the happy child skip
out of the room. She glanced at Justine, taking in the other woman’s
compassionate look. “He’s precious,” she whispered. “And so bright.”
“Thank you,” Justine replied with
a mother’s proud smile. “I must agree. But tell me, madame—why did you not tell
Arnaud that you’re married to Julian now?”
Mercy’s voice was hoarse as she
replied. “Nothing would have been accomplished by the admission. I’d prefer
that your son not know that I’m Julian’s wife.”
“You are most kind,” Justine said.
Mercy nodded, blinking back sudden
tears. For now she understood completely why Julian was so protective of
Justine and Arnaud. Indeed, after being with Arnaud for only a few minutes, she
felt equally protective of Julian’s child.
Oh,
mon Dieu
, how she could
ever compete with this darling boy in Julian’s heart? In truth, she knew she
dared not even try.
And what if she could never bear
Julian such a lovely child?
Her visit with Justine and Arnaud
had left Mercy feeling anything but reassured.
***
For the balance of the day, Mercy
struggled between her wounded pride and her fear of losing Julian.
Yes, she acknowledged, Julian had
committed a major breach of trust in not telling her about Justine and Arnaud
prior to their marriage. His withholding such critical facts from her made her
wonder what else he’d kept from her, and made her remember her father’s death.
Her doubts were terrible.
Yet Julian had this other family
waiting for him, eager to love him unconditionally. If she continued to shut
him out, could she really blame him if he turned to Justine once more?
If he hadn’t already? After all,
Justine was a serene, giving, patient woman—everything she wasn’t. No wonder
Julian had fallen in love with her. Why wouldn’t he again seek out her services
in bed?
These thoughts nearly drove Mercy
mad. For the truth was, she still loved Julian hopelessly, and if their
marriage was to survive, she knew she must abandon her pride and fight for him,
find some way to end this impasse.
Late that night, when he still
hadn’t appeared, she donned her wrapper and went downstairs. The parlor and dining
room were dark and deserted, but she spotted a narrow slit of light spilling
from beneath the door to his office beyond. Cautiously, she approached and
rapped gently on the panel.
“What is it?” came Julian’s
muffled, irritated voice.
Mercy braced herself, then opened
the door and stepped inside. Julian sat at his desk, unshaven and bleary-eyed,
his shirt half opened. He had that wild look in his eyes that she remembered so
well from the night she’d sneaked out of the convent to see him. He looked dangerous
and sexy as hell. Oh,
mon Dieu
, she’d surely chosen a disastrous time to
confront him.
Yet it was too late to retreat,
for Julian’s cold eyes fixed on her at the doorway. “What are doing up so
late?” he demanded, rising unsteadily to his feet.
She wrung her hands. “I came to
check on you.”
He swayed slightly and braced his
palms on the desk, his features twisted in a sneer. “Such wifely devotion is
commendable.”
Mercy turned to close the door, taking
a deep breath to hold on to her patience. “Julian, I felt we should talk.”
He ambled around to the front of
his desk, leaning against it in a casual male stance that was anything but
reassuring. His blue eyes bored into hers. “To what do I owe the honor, then?”
Mercy bit her lip. He wasn’t going
to make this easy. Not that she really blamed him. She took a tentative step
toward him and tilted her chin. “Where have you been these last nights?”
He cocked an eyebrow at that. “Do
you care?”
“Yes.”
He gave her a hard, assessing
look, then shrugged. “I’ve been working late at the Exchange, trying to catch
up on all the business that was neglected during my absence.”
She drew a ragged breath. “Have
you been with Justine?”
“Do you care?” he repeated.
“Yes,” she hissed.
His lower lip curled derisively.
“Forgive me if I dispute your claim.”
Gritting her teeth, she drew a
step closer. She realized she must have really hurt him with her recent
unfeeling words. “Julian, about what I said last week—”
“Yes?” His voice grew tight and a
mask closed over his features.
“I—I didn’t mean it,” she admitted
in a small voice.
He laughed sardonically, then
started toward her. “What didn’t you mean, dear wife? That I’m a liar and a
cad? That you wish you’d never married me? Or that you only enjoy what we have
in bed?”
“I . . .” Swallowing a huge lump
of pride, she said, “I didn’t mean any of it.”
He loomed before her now and was
studying her with a penetrating scowl that made her pulses pound. “What a
refreshing change of heart.”
His sarcasm cut her to the quick.
“Julian, I—”
“You must be feeling amorous,
Mercy.”
Her gaze flashed up to his. Oh, he
could be a heartless scoundrel at times! “Why must you make this so difficult?”
she demanded with a passionate gesture.
“
This
,” he uttered
ironically, “is really quite simple. You miss my services in bed,
n’est-ce
pas
?”
She miserably clenched and
unclenched her fists. “Julian, it’s not just that.”
“Oh, isn’t it?” He eyed her up and
down. “You know, I’m tempted to take you up on your generous proposal—only
you’re not offering me what I want.”
“What do you want, then?” she
cried.
His gleaming gaze impaled her. “I
want your heart.”
Julian’s words hit Mercy like a
massive blow, and silence crashed all around them. Gazing into his hard,
glittering eyes, she was tempted to tell him he had her heart; yet pride and
fear choked off the words, and she could only stare at him helplessly. How
could she give him her heart when he held himself so cool and aloof? God help
her, she still didn’t know if her feelings would ever be safe with him. She
couldn’t doubt that he wanted her heart just to break it, to hurt her as much
as she’d hurt him.