Stormswept (16 page)

As Rhys led Juliana out into the dark night, she roused from her numb state to look around at the lanterns lighting the walks for her engagement party. If not for Rhys,
she’d be dancing in Stephen’s arms. He’d be treating her with his usual kindness and consideration, and later he’d kiss her while she closed her eyes and . . .

Thought of Rhys.

A curse welled up in her throat. She’d been so stupid! To have wasted all those years pining for him, comparing every man she’d met to him. He was a distrustful arse, pure and simple.

As Rhys led her toward the entrance, she stole a glance at the man she’d once worshipped. He was as handsome as he’d ever been, if not more so. And he still had that orator’s voice.

But in every other way, he’d changed. Angry lines were etched into his forehead, and his jaw seemed permanently clenched in a rage she barely understood. As she stared at his cold profile, despair washed over her.

Had their time together meant nothing to him? The Rhys she’d fallen in love with hadn’t been quick to believe lies about her.

No, that wasn’t true. She remembered the first time he’d come to Northcliffe Hall, when he’d accused her of spying. The Rhys she’d fallen in love with had been just as quick to believe the worst of her.

But at least back then he’d recognized his tendency to jump to conclusions. And he hadn’t been able to act on his assumptions in such a sweeping manner. Now he had a frightening power over her. A power that her wretched brothers had sanctioned, blast them!

She gritted her teeth. When she got her hands on Darcy again, she’d strangle him! She should have done so
the minute he started lying to Rhys. But she’d been too stunned to believe it. What madness had possessed him?

And Overton, too! Tears started in her eyes, and she swiped them away, hoping Rhys hadn’t noticed. Her brothers were traitors and didn’t deserve her tears. I’faith, they deserved to be hanged!

She must have made some choked sound, which attracted Rhys’s attention at last. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I shan’t make you walk all the way to my town house. My carriage is just outside the walls. I didn’t want to rouse questions earlier by having it bring me to the doorstep, so I came in the way I used to.”

The reminder of how he used to slip onto the grounds, how he used to love her, roused her temper. “Oh yes, you were very good at sneaking into places.”

“As I recall, I was invited.”

She remembered how quick she’d been to welcome him into her bedchamber. He’d probably thought her the worst of wantons.

Was this to be her punishment? A constant litany of her faults? If so, she had a surprise for him. She couldn’t do anything about his misreading of the past and her character, but she could refuse him the satisfaction of rousing her anger every time he sought to wound her.

Tense and silent, they reached the gates, which the gatekeeper opened as he saw her approach. No doubt the news had traveled through the household like wildfire. It was all she could do to face down the curious gatekeeper.

The carriage that awaited them was surprisingly fashionable. A liveried coachman sat on the perch, and the
horses were a pair of matched bays. Apparently, Rhys hadn’t lied about his improved circumstances.

That only deepened her despair. While he’d been amassing a fortune, nursing his unfounded distrust of her, she’d been mourning him. And all he could see was betrayal.

Still hurt by that, she refused his help when he reached to hand her up, even though it meant clambering into the carriage in a most unladylike manner.

As she settled herself on the plush seat, he took the one opposite her. “If you think to annoy me with your petty shows of resistance, Juliana, you might as well give up. Nothing you invent can compare with the many ‘annoyances’ the captain of the HMS
Nightmark
invented for impressed landsmen.”

She merely stared out the window as the carriage rumbled away from Northcliffe.

“And ignoring me won’t work, either,” he drawled.

Her gaze shot to him, and she winced at his gloating smile, which showed he thought he’d had the last laugh.

But her temper must have shown in her face, for his smile cooled. “Tell me,
cariad
, did you ever look at your betrothed that way?”

He spoke the Welsh endearment with an absolute contempt meant to wound. With as much cool nonchalance as she could muster, she said, “Unlike you, Stephen never deserved my anger. He was always sweet to me. I never even had to raise my voice to him, for he, at least, was a gentleman.”

“A rich, powerful gentleman. A pity he never saw your true self until today. He might have saved himself some
grief. But with all that money and position hanging in the balance, you had to hide your true self.”

She searched for some retort that would stop him dead. “Just as you did when you courted me, speaking lies and giving me gifts. With your estate hanging in the balance, you had to hide your true self.”

When his smile faded completely, she felt a moment’s satisfaction.

He leaned forward to glower at her. “You know I was unaware that Llynwydd belonged to you. That had nothing to do with why I married you, no matter what you thought.”

“That’s not what Darcy said. And of course, he always speaks the truth.”
Hah! Wriggle out of that one!

“And you believed every word he said.”

She leveled a solemn gaze on him. “No. Because I knew in my heart what you were. ’Tis why I waited so long for you.”

“So long?” He gave a harsh laugh. “Yes, you waited at least until a marquess came sniffing after you.” His eyes shimmered in the dim light. “How long did you wait before you let him court you, before you went hunting for a husband?”

She hid her hurt. He had a right to ask it, she supposed. “Surely you heard what Darcy said. Stephen came to court me only a year ago. I didn’t encourage his overtures until Darcy’s investigator told me you were dead.”

“Which was a lie.”

“Yes, but I believed it—or I wouldn’t have let Stephen court me at all.”

“And the little matter of your previous marriage didn’t come up. I wonder, how did you plan to deal with your Stephen on your wedding night?”

She couldn’t prevent the guilty flush that spread over her face. “I was hoping he wouldn’t notice.”

“Or perhaps that wasn’t even an issue.” His voice grew more cutting. “Perhaps he’d already sampled your delights and knew he was getting damaged goods. I daresay any man who’d had you wouldn’t have cared about your lack of innocence. Not once he’d discovered what a wanton you are in bed.”

She shot up in her seat. “How dare you! Stephen would never have—”

“Did you tell him about that convenient tree outside your window, so he could enter your bedroom at night and take you at his whim?” He leaned forward, breathing heavily. “Did you cry out every time he thrust deep into you, as you did with me? Did you—”

“Stop it! ” Sobs welled up in her throat. “Stop saying such awful things! You’re the only man who’s ever touched me that way, and you know it! ”

He fell back against his seat, panting hard, like a savage beast that had just run its poor prey to ground.

She fixed him with an accusing gaze. “I meant it when I promised to be faithful to you.”

“Obviously your definition of faithfulness differs vastly from mine.”

“What did you expect? That I’d languish away forever, believing you dead? You never sent any word. If I’d known you still lived, no power on earth would have kept
me from awaiting your return. But I didn’t know, don’t you see?”

“So you say,” he bit out.

She forced herself to be strong, to fight him with his own weapons. “And you? Were you faithful to me, as you promised on your wedding night?”

He stared at her. “Are you asking if I bedded other women?”

She nodded, unable to speak the words. She shouldn’t have brought it up. She’d already spent her years at Llynwydd remembering their wedding night, knowing that he’d bedded one of the dairymaids. Many a time she’d tortured herself, wondering which of the buxom women was the one who’d known him intimately.

He hesitated, as if uncertain whether to tell her. Then his jaw tightened. “What do you think? In America there were plenty of willing wenches who wanted to bed a war hero and didn’t mind being loose with their reputations. Do you think I threw them out of my bedchamber?”

Each word was designed to cut deeply. And he certainly drew blood.

Still, she fixed him with a steady gaze as the coach shuddered to a halt outside a town house. “I think you’re a two-faced devil with one set of standards for himself, and another for his wife.”

For a long moment, he simply glared at her. Then he thrust the coach door open and pointed to the town house door. “Get inside! Now! ”

With all the dignity she could muster, she stepped down from the coach and walked primly up the entrance
steps, scarcely noticing the expensive Palladian home with its marble columns and sashed windows. All she could think of was how to get out of this mad marriage with Rhys. She couldn’t continue in it when he sought to destroy her at every turn.

She heard him behind her and hastened her steps to avoid his touch. She needn’t have worried. He kept a marked distance from her as the doors opened before them, manned by servants who’d been watching from the windows.

A portly man stepped forward and bowed to Rhys. “All the rooms are in readiness as you instructed, sir.”

“The master bedroom is finished?”

“Yes, sir. We had a time getting it ready in only a week, but it’s done.”

“Good,” Rhys said, staring absently about him.

Juliana followed his gaze. Everything looked newly furbished. Too late, she remembered gossip among the tradesmen about the eccentric American who’d bought the old Webberley town house. Dear heaven, if she’d only realized . . .

Then the implications of that sank in. Instead of coming to speak rationally to her the minute he’d arrived in town, Rhys had sneaked into her engagement party like a thief, then aired his grievances before all of society.

“Will that be all, sir?” the servant asked.

Rhys nodded. “We leave for Llynwydd in the morning. In future, I’ll notify you in plenty of time whenever we plan to be in residence.” He cast her an enigmatic glance. “For tonight, you and the other servants are dismissed. We don’t wish to be disturbed.”

Her gaze flew to his. There was an ominous meaning behind his words. “I shall require a maid to help me undress—”

“We do not wish to be disturbed,” he repeated.

The servant wisely disappeared through a door off the downstairs hall.

“Come, my dear wife,” Rhys said, “let me show you the master bedchamber.”

“I’d rather just go to my own,” she said as they ascended the stairs. “I’m sure I can find it myself.”

“Oh, no.” He clasped her arm, making it clear he wouldn’t tolerate resistance. “I fully intend to accompany you to your room. And to bed. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

Good Lord. They’d reached the top of the stairs already, and the master bedroom proved to be the first door on the hallway. Frantically, she sought some delaying tactic, but before she could find one, he’d opened the door and urged her inside.

Mouth dry, she entered and glanced around. The room shouted masculinity. The dark woods, the rich blue velvet curtains and bed drapings made her feel like a trespasser. A pair of man’s boots, newly polished, sat at the foot of the bed. His. This was his. All of it was his.

She faced him warily. He’d come in behind her, and now made a point of locking the door and putting the key in his pocket.

When he stared at her as a hungry man stares at a succulent hen, then sat down to remove his shoes, she sucked in a harsh breath. I’faith, he planned to bed her. Now. Tonight.

Was this to be her punishment? Did he truly think she’d let him take her, as if years hadn’t passed between them? If so, he was in for a surprise.

He stood and strode to a table against a window where a crystal decanter of bloodred liquid sat. With slow, deliberate movements, he poured two glasses. “Wine?”

She shook her head. If his plan was to seduce her, she would soon disabuse him of that notion. She was no longer the untried, foolish girl he’d enticed with poems and gifts. She knew her own mind now, and he was
not
simply going to pick up where they’d left off. Not after all the lies he’d believed about her.

As he sipped from his glass, his gaze raked her with the insolence of a horse trader picking a prize mare. “I can’t believe I’d forgotten how truly beautiful you are.”

When she said nothing to that, he set the wine aside and rounded the bed toward her. Curious to see what he would do, she stayed still as he approached. He stopped mere inches away, reaching up to draw a jeweled pin from her hair.

A cursed trembling began in her body as he removed the pins until her hair tumbled down about her shoulders. He was so close she could touch him, could brush her fingers over the clean-shaven chin and the thin blade of a nose if she wanted. His wine-scented breath feathered over her face, summoning up long-buried memories—of the way his mouth once covered hers, teasing, possessing.

She fought the memories. This wasn’t the Rhys who’d taken her with care on their wedding night. This was the Rhys who believed her a schemer and a liar. And as long as he did, she wouldn’t let him seduce her.

He lifted her hair, letting it fall over his hands, then rubbing the strands between his fingers. His eyes glittered as he stared at it in the candlelight. “I’d also forgotten how soft your hair is.” As she held her breath, her emotions rioting, he stroked the mass over her shoulder.

Suddenly he stiffened and jerked his hand back, pivoting away. He crossed the room, his expression grim as he picked up his wine again, not looking at her.

“Take off your clothes.” He gulped some wine, then set the glass down hard on the table.

“Not until you leave.”

He faced her, eyes wild. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear earlier. You’re my wife now, and I’m never leaving again.” He trailed his gaze over her body. “When I said I intended to take you and my estate back, I meant in every way. And if you’re wise, you’ll try to appease my anger instead of playing the innocent.”