Authors: Eugenia Riley
Mercy touched his arm and stared
him straight in the eye. “Only because he was hurt. I wanted to go to you.”
His proudly gleaming gaze bored
into hers. “Did you?” he asked hoarsely.
“Oh, yes!” She clutched his arm
and spoke passionately. “Julian, I don’t want to be with Anton. I never slept
with him! You must believe me!”
He thrust his fingers through his
hair. “Actually, I never thought you slept with him,” he admitted, surprising
her. “You always honored our vows, at least outwardly. Still, I knew you were
planning to return to Natchez with him—”
“But I’m not,” she cut in firmly.
“Anton will be returning to Natchez alone. I’ve also promised him my mother’s
trust. So, you see, I’m destitute now. You have to take me back.”
Julian was so astonished that for
a moment, he could only stare at her. Then the familiar suspicion and cynicism
tightened his features. “Bravo, Mercy,” he mocked. “I commend your display of
wifely loyalty. And I’ll always provide for you, my dear—even though I know
your heart is not truly in this marriage.”
“Damn it, Julian!” Mercy said. “Do
you think you’re the only one who has suffered doubts or jealousy? Don’t you
know that over the last week, I’ve been going insane wondering if you were with
Justine?”
“Justine?” he repeated with a
rueful laugh. “For your information, Justine just married Henrí.”
Mercy gasped in mingled surprise
and relief. “So that’s why . . . Then the two of them must have been lovers all
along! Oh, Julian! I feared that it was your child Justine carries.”
Far from placated, Julian advanced
on her. “Aha! So you knew Justine was pregnant again, and you assumed . . . ?”
He waved a finger at her angrily. “But of course! It wasn’t enough that I told
you repeatedly how things were with the two of us. You never listened to me. You
never trusted me—”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her
and Henrí?”
“You wouldn’t have believed me,”
he accused. He turned away and added in a low, strangled tone, “You never
believed me. You never loved me.”
The words fell like a curtain of doom
in the awful silence. Even as Mercy tried to reach for him, he strode away,
pausing before the fireplace and resting his arm on the mantel. She watched a
tremor of emotion course through his tall form, and her heart ached for him.
“Julian, I’m sorry. Please forgive
me for not trusting you. I’m—I’m going to have your baby.”
He whirled to face her, a blinding
joy in his eyes. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. It happened that night in Natchez.”
He almost reached for her then.
She saw what the struggle cost him as his hand advanced, then retreated, as his
features clenched with terrible yearning and uncertainty.
At last he said stiffly, “I am
happy about the child. And she—or he—will always have a place in my life and in
my heart. But a child alone is not enough to bind us together,
chère
.
Neither will guilt—or obligation, or pity.”
Tears stung Mercy’s eyes. She
couldn’t believe it—after she had come to him, openly and honestly, he was
still casting her aside! Brokenly, she asked, “What if I say I love you?”
Naked longing burned in his eyes.
“Don’t say it unless you mean it!”
With a wrenching cry, Mercy threw
herself into his arms, her pride at last abandoned. “I love you, Julian,” she
choked out, burying her face in the hollow of his throat.
Another shudder gripped him. “For
the love of God, Mercy, don’t—”
“But I do—I love you!” she cried
desperately. “So much. I have for so long.”
Abruptly, he seized her face and
his eyes smoldered down into hers. “Then why didn’t you ever tell me so?”
She swallowed the huge lump in her
throat. “I couldn’t trust you before because I never could believe you truly
wanted me, or that you’d return my feelings. And every time we tried to talk,
it just seemed as if we ended up hurting each other.”
“I know,” he murmured fervently.
“But no more. Now, I don’t want to
go to Natchez—or anywhere. I just want to be with you.”
Her raw words at last reached him,
and, with an agonized groan, he caught her close. “Oh, my darling, how I’ve
yearned to hear those words from you! I love you, too,
chère
. I think
I’ve loved you from the very night I sat by your mother’s side.”
“Have you?” she cried.
“Oh, yes. It’s truly ironic how
we’ve both been at war with our pride.”
“But we’re together now,” she
whispered, staring up at him with her heart in her eyes. “Please, say we’re
together now.”
He brushed tears from her cheeks,
and his voice broke as he replied, “Yes, my love, we are. Now and for always.”
They kissed rapturously, devouring
each other in an outpouring of emotion. The intense desire to express their
love soon consumed them both. Julian lifted his wife into his arms and carried
her toward the settee. He couldn’t believe she’d at last come back to him, that
she truly loved him. The anguish of years was gone, and in its place was a
beauteous tide of healing, redemption, and forgiveness. His heart welled with
love for her—his sweet, proud, passionate wife.
As he pressed her down, he gloried
to the light of surrender in her eyes. He fumbled with her skirts, his hands
trembling with need. Suddenly, he felt as awkward and shy as an adolescent, he
wanted her so badly.
Her need was equal to his. She
eagerly assisted him, staring up into his eyes. At last he was perched above
her, rock hard, near bursting with need.
In a fierce, wanton move, she took
him inside her, hungrily and deeply. Crying out in delight, she pulled his lips
down to hers and sank her tongue into his mouth.
Above her, Julian was in such
heaven, he could have wept. He returned his wife’s passionate kiss and lifted
her into his riveting thrusts, until they were truly one.
There on the narrow divan, they
made their reconciliation complete.
New Orleans
,
1854
“M’sieur, it’s a boy! Madame is
fine, and the doctor has already left.”
As Risa’s delighted voice rang
across the parlor, Julian stepped forward. “A boy? You’re sure?”
“M’sieur,
please
,” the
young woman demurred, lowering her eyes.
Chuckling, Julian crossed the room
and shoved a cigar into Henrí’s astonished mouth. “It’s a boy, my friend. Now
your little Fabian will have another playmate.”
“Congratulations,” Henrí said
proudly.
Julian turned to the two small
children who were playing nearby on the rug in a beam of morning sunshine. His
daughter, two-year-old Corrine, was an exuberant moppet with her mother’s red
curls and her father’s blue eyes. She looked adorable in her blue summer dress,
lacy white pinafore, and matching stockings. Henrí’s son,
two-and-a-half-year-old Fabian, was a beautiful, quiet child with Justine’s
smile and his father’s honey brown eyes.
“Corrine, my love,” Julian said,
kneeling beside the child. “We have a brother.”
Dropping her block, Corrine
glanced up at her beloved father in astonishment. “Brudder? Brudder boy?”
“Brudder boy,” Julian confirmed,
laughing. He pulled the toddler into his arms and stood, kissing her soft
cheek.
“Papa, go see!” Corrine trilled,
waving her plump arms.
“By all means,” her doting father
agreed. “Henrí, if you’ll excuse us?”
Henrí chuckled as father and
daughter left the room. Upstairs, Julian carried Corrine into the bright
bedroom. His heart welled with joy at the sight of Mercy lying asleep on the
bed, looking more beautiful than ever with her long lashes resting against her
cheeks and her red hair spread out across the pillow. In her arms was a tiny
bundle—a sleeping infant with a small shock of coal-black hair.
Admonishing his daughter to be
quiet, Julian carried Corrine to the bed. Both father and daughter stared
solemnly at the new arrival. The sleeping babe was busily chewing on a tiny
fist; Julian’s heart twisted with tenderness at the sight. Even Corrine’s
expression was awed as she stared at her new brother.
“Well?” he asked his daughter.
“Papa keep?” she whispered
eagerly.
“Of course Papa keep,” Julian
replied with a chuckle, kissing the top of Corrine’s head.
Hearing a low laugh, Julian
belatedly noticed Justine standing on the far side of the bed, her figure
partially obscured by the bed curtains. She stepped forward, her stomach large
with Henrí’s second child.
Julian slanted her an admonishing
look. “Justine, you should not be on your feet still. It’s bad enough that you
sat up with Mercy half the night.”
Smiling serenely, Justine came
around the bed to join them. “I was delighted to help where I could. Henrí and
I do not get to see you and your wife often enough.”
A muscle worked in his jaw as he
glanced at the bed. “He is beautiful, no?”
“Oh, yes.”
His arms clenched around his
precious Corrine. “I’m glad the first one was . . . I mean . . .”
She touched his sleeve. “I
understand, Julian. But Arnaud would have wanted us to continue with our
lives.” They shared a poignant look. Then, as Corrine wiggled, Justine spoke to
the child. “My dear, would you like to come downstairs with me and have some
cookies and milk with Fabian?”
“Oh, yes!” Corrine cried.
Julian set his daughter on her
feet. Smiling, Justine took Corrine’s small hand and led her from the room.
Julian sat down on the bed next to
Mercy, taking her hand and kissing it. He again feasted his eyes on her and his
son, and it occurred to him that he’d never felt happier than he did at this
moment.
Mercy’s eyes blinked open, and she
smiled radiantly up at him. “Darling, we have a son.”
“So I’ve surmised,” he returned
proudly.
“Does Corrine know?”
“Oh, yes. She’s already decided we
should keep him.”
Smiling, Mercy shifted slightly to
stare down at the infant in her arms. “Oh, I adore him, Julian. He’s going to
look just like you. What shall we call him?”
“Now, that is a question,” he
mused, scratching his jaw.
“We named Corrine after my
mother,” she pointed out, “so why don’t we name him after your father?”
“Jacques,” Julian murmured. “Yes,
I like that.”
She sighed dreamily. “I can’t wait
for us to make another one.”
“What?” he cried. “This, after I
listened to your screams half the night?”
She smiled. “The pain is already
forgotten.” She wrinkled her nose at him and added in a sultry purr, “But not
the pleasure.”
He grinned. “Why, you vixen.”
Yet she smirked at him
unrepentantly. “How could I ever forget the night we made our little
Jacques—when you chased me all over the house, tearing at my clothes?”
“And then I caught you,” he
supplied meaningfully.
“And made love to me outside
beneath the cypress stairway, in the pouring rain . . .” Even now she sighed
dreamily at the memory of him driving into her so passionately, with the storm
raging about them.
Julian’s grin broadened as he
wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Madame, you are married to a man who most
definitely knows how to give a tease her just desserts.”
Suddenly, all levity fled her
expression, and her eyes grew moist and wistful as they met his. “Julian, I
love you so.”
“Not nearly as much as I love
you,” he replied with equal emotion.
“You’ve made me so happy.”
“Not nearly as happy as you’ve
made me,” he whispered back.
For many minutes, they kissed and
shared their joy. Then, simultaneously, all three occupants on the bed yawned.
Mercy and Julian laughed, then cuddled up together with the babe securely
between them.
The door opened and Justine
admitted Corrine. As the woman left, the child toddled across the room with
cookie in hand and solemnly clambered up onto the bed and into her father’s
waiting arms.
The small family dozed in the
golden light of morning.
Eugenia Riley is the award-winning, bestselling author of
dozens of historical, contemporary, and time-travel romances, including A TRYST
IN TIME, TIMESWEPT BRIDE and EMBERS OF TIME. She has written for publishers
including Avon, Bantam, Warner, Harlequin, and Dorchester. Ms. Riley's WALTZ IN
TIME won her the 1998 HOLT Medallion for Best Book with a Southern Theme. She
has received thousands of fan letters on her romance novels, from locations all
over the world.
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