His Sinful Secret (4 page)

“Thank you. Ah, at last, some flicker of faith.”

“My faith is in her allure doing the trick, Colonel.” Fitzhugh grinned. “There’s no denying she’s a beautiful girl. It wouldn’t be like you not to notice.”

“I’ve noticed.” Michael turned and restlessly moved across the room.

Yes, he had. The unusual rich color of her glossy hair, like mahogany silk, warm and soft, framed a face that was fine-boned and elegant. Her figure was slender yet nicely shaped in the strategic places. And Fitzhugh was right: the long-lashed beauty of her dark blue eyes was striking. Julianne was a little quiet for his tastes, but then again, he hadn’t really ever attempted much conversation with her either.

In his mind, she still belonged to Harry. Unfortunately, he got the sense she also held the same preconception.

It seemed like the worst treachery ever to contemplate bedding the woman his brother had wanted for himself. On the other side of the coin, his parents had set aside their acute grief in celebration of this marriage. His mother, especially, had thrown herself into the preparations for the wedding with almost frantic joy, and it was hardly a secret that in her opinion the sooner a grandchild arrived, the better.

Michael was in one devil of a dilemma because of the murderous assault, and that was discounting the mystery of just who had bloodthirsty designs on his person.

“I suppose I could just tell her the truth. That on my way home from an appointment, someone attacked me. I have no idea why, or who he was, but I managed to defend myself, and he ran off. I kept it secret so as not to put a damper on the celebration or worry my mother in her current state of happiness. What do you think?”

“The truth usually isn’t your first choice.” Fitzhugh looked both dubious and amused.

“It usually isn’t an
option
at all,” Michael pointed out cynically. “As for my mother, that is true enough. She has had little joy since my brother’s death. Julianne might understand my motivation in keeping such an event to myself to protect my parents. I’m sure she still mourns Harry also and knows how important this wedding is to them.”

“ ’Tis natural she would. So you do mourn him, sir, or you wouldn’t be marrying the girl.”

Did he? Maybe. He’d never given himself time to think about it. Sometimes Fitzhugh was too damned insightful for comfort.

Michael gave a philosophical shrug, and then grimaced as pain shot through his side. “I would have to marry someday, so why not her? It’s expected.”

“Not what
you
expected, sir. You usually go your own way.”

That was true. He said neutrally, “She’s lovely and seems even tempered and not as spoiled as some of the petulant young society ladies I’ve had the misfortune to meet. At least now I won’t be besieged by eager mamas parading their daughters in front of me at every event. All my good friends have married.”

For love. Both Alex St. James and Luke Daudet, his comrades and brothers in arms, had found the women who completed them—the women they had to have despite familial and social obstacles.

Not everyone was so lucky. So he would wed out of duty. As he’d just said, Julianne was perfectly acceptable.

He added succinctly, “It’s time, and there’s freedom in being a married man.”

His valet chuckled, the sound rumbling out into the sunny room. “Freedom? Let me know if you still feel that way in a few months, Colonel.”

 

The state of the pink orchids in regard to how open the blooms were in comparison to the white ones did not really interest her much. Julianne listened with only half an ear as her mother and the Duchess of Southbrook chatted on over the flowers for the next day. Her attention was more on the knot in the pit of her stomach.

The elegant room seemed too small and close even though the long windows were open to the pleasant breeze. A cerulean blue sky outside showed not a single cloud, and the scent of roses wafted by like an elusive ghost, sweet and unseen. One would think the gorgeous weather would buoy her spirits, but instead she felt a dismal sense of fate when she thought about tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

It wasn’t precisely that Julianne didn’t want to marry Michael Hepburn. After all, he was handsome, wealthy, titled, and all the other things a young woman was supposed to admire. It was just that she sensed his attitude toward the match was as ambiguous as hers.

And why wouldn’t it be? He was as dragooned as she was, both of them pressured by their families and . . .

“Julianne?”

The sound of her name being said so firmly made her start. She looked up and saw two expectant faces. She stammered, “I’m . . . I’m sorry. What were we discussing?”

The duchess was a petite woman with thick chestnut hair much like her son’s, and the same refined bone structure. She waved a hand in an airy gesture and smiled. “Your distraction is to be expected, I’m sure, my dear child, so do not apologize. I would wager Michael is just as distracted. He barely breezed in to breakfast and left without taking more than a few bites.”

It defied her powers of imagination to picture the distant marquess as anything other than cool and self-possessed, but Julianne nodded politely. It was even harder to imagine him breezing anywhere, and that brought a small, involuntary inner grin.

The duchess rose, managing to somehow seem both regal and motherly at the same time. “The time between now and the ceremony will be a virtual whirlwind, so I’ll take my leave. Let me know what you decide about the flowers.”

Oh, yes, the orchids. Julianne flushed a little over so patently not paying attention. “Of course, Your Grace.”

The older woman came over and patted her cheek, just a very light, affectionate touch. “This all makes me very happy. I cannot wait for the wedding.”

It
did
make the duchess happy. There was no mistake when it came to that point. Her fiancé’s mother beamed at her.

After the duchess left in a swirl of perfume and expensive silk, Julianne gave a rueful smile. “My attention didn’t wander because I wasn’t interested, but I do confess the color of the flowers really does not matter much to me.”

“It is expected for you to have quite a lot on your mind.” Her mother sipped her tea and then decisively set aside her cup. “I wonder . . . well, if since we are now alone and tomorrow will be here in the blink of an eye, if we shouldn’t go ahead and take this opportunity to talk about the wedding.”

It seemed like all they
did
was talk about the wedding and that had been happening for months. Julianne stifled an audible groan. “You’ve taken care of every detail, Mother. Other than the possible state of the flower buds tomorrow, I can’t think of what else there is to discuss. Surely all is accounted for and in place. It’s been planned to the most minute facet of what will happen.”

Though her figure had gone from slim to a more matronly form and there was a faint hint of silver in her upswept auburn hair, her mother was both lovely and affectionate. They’d always been close in the sense that she was the only daughter, but they had also disparate personalities in many ways. Julianne tended to like books and music, and her mother was definitely a social creature, highly engaged in society. Julianne had known all her life that the match with a ducal heir was important in the eyes of her family. It pleased her mother, and, in turn, that pleased her father.

“We need to discuss your wedding
night
.” The words were said with a certain prim resignation. “Now is as good a time as any, as we may not have the opportunity again before the event.”

The event.
That had an ominous ring to it.

The vague subject of husbandly rights, marriage beds, and procreating children had once been intriguing and off-limits, but lately Julianne tried not to think about it. It brought to mind a tall man with mesmerizing hazel eyes and chestnut hair with a glint of gold who supposedly was being granted the right to do with her whatever he wanted after tomorrow at four o’clock in the afternoon.

“If you wish.” Julianne could hear the stiffness in her voice. She sat upright on a brocade settee, her palms a bit damp, so she surreptitiously wiped them on her skirts.

“What I wish is for you to be prepared, not a frightened, ignorant bride. The marquess is a worldly man. He’ll expect a certain type of conduct.”

It was irritating to think that everyone was concerned with how she pleased him, but no one seemed to worry over whether or not he pleased her.

Julianne stifled her annoyance. “Very well.”

There was a palpable hesitation in which her mother fussily arranged her skirts. “You will be required to share Lord Longhaven’s bed—you do realize this.”

She probably realized a great deal more than her mother knew. Girls gossiped, which was just as well, because certainly no one else wished to tell her anything about the subject. That included her mother, for though she’d brought the subject up, there was a long pause.

The afternoon was very warm and a slight breeze ruffled the curtains by the open window. Julianne declined to comment, just looking at her mother with inquiring interest.

Finally, she said in a rush, “He will wish to touch you in certain places, maybe even remove your nightdress. It will please him, and you must allow it, and anything else he wants to do. Afterward, he will probably retire to his own room, but perhaps not. As in everything, it is his choice.”

The lack of balance in power between men and women was one of Julianne’s least favorite subjects. “It doesn’t sound all that appealing if I have no say in the matter.”

“You don’t,” her mother said bluntly. “It is how the world works. Keep in mind, you must give him the heir he needs. It really is not all that unpleasant. Just tolerate it without complaint and all will be fine.”

High praise for the
event
indeed.
My wedding night becomes more appealing by the moment,
Julianne thought with ironic amusement. “I have never quite understood why, if it is a duty, some women willfully are unfaithful.”

Apparently nonplussed, her mother took her time fussily pouring herself more tea. “It would be preferable for you not to listen to sordid whispers.”

“What would be preferable would be a more candid explanation of the process. Some women must enjoy it if they risk public censure to take a lover. And how is it sordid to talk about the marriage bed?”

“Julianne.”

The reproof wasn’t a surprise. Julianne loved her mother but also knew she wasn’t good at discussing deeper topics than the current fashions. This conversation certainly wasn’t enlightening.

She explained, “I simply hope there is more to it all than the feeling of being a broodmare.”

“Of course there is.” Her mother raised the cup to her lips and took a genteel sip. “Just do as he says and allow him what he wishes and the two of you will get along in harmonious accord. When it comes down to it, the situation is simple enough.”

Simple? Marriage to the Marquess of Longhaven? Somehow Julianne doubted it. With Harry it might have been, but everything had changed.

There was a time to acknowledge that a conversation was going no further, so she merely rose and went over to kiss her mother’s cheek. “I appreciate the advice.”

Her mother smiled, looking relieved. “You are going to make such a beautiful bride. He’ll be enchanted.”

Michael Hepburn enchanted? Julianne imagined it would take a great deal to stir the man in question to such a state. Much more than a beautiful gown and a ceremony that had been thrust down both their throats. Like her, he no doubt wasn’t enchanted; he was
resigned
.

Not a promising start. Both of them resigned to their respective fates.

“I think I’ll go upstairs and rest a bit,” she lied, with a quick glance at the ormolu clock on the mantel, the steady tick a reminder that every minute that passed was important. Thank goodness the duchess hadn’t lingered any longer over the orchid dilemma or she would be late.

Tomorrow I will be married,
Julianne reminded herself.

Today, she had something even more pressing to address. She wasn’t Lady Longhaven yet, and she had an assignation to keep.

 

His last night of unmarried life, and he was spending it in a cold, damp spot on a deserted wharf, soaked to the skin by a thin fog that had moved in like an avenging spirit, the moisture insidious and almost unseen, but nonetheless chilling him to the bones.

The figure materialized from the mist alongside a building that was given over to decay, the gaping doorway leering like a toothless smile, rotted timbers listing the entire structure to the side. Warily, Michael watched the quiet approach.

“Longhaven.”

“Hello, Charles.”

“Bloody inhospitable evening.”

“I agree. Last night the weather was better, but the evening still a bit on the eventful side.” Michael felt the throb of his wound, a small, ironic smile on his mouth. “As I was attacked after the meeting. Any ideas?”

“Attacked, you say?”The man in front of him frowned, his brows shooting together. “Again?”

“Again.” It was a grim agreement.

“You don’t look hurt.”

“If that is praise for my fortitude, thank you.”

His companion chuckled, but as the moonlight, hazy at best, shifted, gliding along the slick surface of the slippery pier, Charles Peyton’s austere features held a troubled cast. “Because of this attack, you’ve come to the conclusion the first incident was not random, then?”

“I have the mark of a knife blade in my side to support my theory that someone seems to have some fairly bloodthirsty intentions.”

“That’s unfortunate. Did he escape?”

No solicitous concern over his health, but, after all, some danger was inevitable and Michael had obviously survived the ambush. “This one did, yes.”