Chapter Ten

With Lily’s help, Julia transformed back into a young woman. When finished, she paused to glance in Lily’s mirror. She twisted this way and that and decided she’d pass as a traveling tradeswoman, farmer, or maid.

Her hair was properly coiled with a few strands left to dangle. The hat she’d purchased from Lily—at a high price, for the sake of the maid—sat slightly askew. Her full shift fell in pretty folds, and, once properly cinched and tied, the brown bedgown showed just enough of her shape to please.

As she moved down the stairs, her legs, breeches-free for the first time in days, felt exposed. She joined Rayne in the courtyard. His expression did not help her feel any less conspicuous.

“You disapprove?” she demanded.

He blinked. “No—no, not in the least. I…I’ve just never seen you in clothes like those.”

“I’ve never owned clothes like these. They’re a tradeswoman’s clothes. A former blacksmith, to be specific. And I love them!” She waved her arms. “I can move!”

He chuckled. “But you’d never pass muster in London.”

She put her hand on her hip. “Who says I want to pass muster in London anymore?”

He searched her gaze as if trying to decide if she were telling the truth. But why he seemed so struck by her quip, she couldn’t fathom.

“Well then,” he said finally, “shall we depart?”

He climbed into the carriage after she did and settled onto the bench with an oof.

“More comfortable than hay, hmm?” she asked.

“Oh, considering the company”—he winked—“I didn’t mind the hay.”

Her cheeks tinted. And then, just as he had the prior day, he stretched out his arm and beckoned. She couldn’t refuse—being close to him made the ride easier to bear. Being close to him made everything easier to bear.

She settled against his side as the carriage began to roll.

After everything that had happened the past few days, she had to admit that Farring had been correct. She hadn’t found anyone else to marry because she hadn’t wanted to marry anyone else. And she hadn’t wanted to marry anyone else because she only wanted Rayne. Now and forever. Always.

Even when his black hair grayed.

Even if he lost his swagger.

She slanted him a glance, trying to imagine Rayne, well, old.

He hummed as he rubbed his scruff. “I’m not sure I like your expression.”

“Just thinking.”

“I gathered. Aren’t you always thinking?”

“Of course.” She raised her brows. “Aren’t you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes my mind empties of thought.”

That, she couldn’t imagine. “You mean there are times you aren’t thinking anything at all? Times when you’re absolutely blank?”

“Absolutely blank. Especially when— Well, never mind.”

“When what?” She shifted.

“Don’t move away.”

“Not until you answer.”

“Will you come back if I answer?”

She nodded.

He sighed. “When I was in New York.”

Her heart sank. “Oh.”

“You said you’d come back if I answered.”

She didn’t move. “Do you miss New York?”

“Sometimes.” He took a deep breath. “I miss the work more than anything else. Turns out…I don’t much enjoy being idle. Just like”—he drew her firmly against his side—“I don’t enjoy being on this side of the carriage when you’re on the other.”

Nor did she enjoy being separated from him. She settled back against his side.

Just as he had before, he threaded his fingers through hers. “When all’s said and done, I’m afraid I’m going to have to thank Farring—and he’ll never let me forget it, either.”

“Why?”

He half-smiled as he traced a finger down her palm. “For not letting me leave the church until I agreed to deliver this coach to the dowager. Of course, he had no idea what you were planning.”

She bit her bottom lip. “Did he give you a reason why he wanted you to take the coach?”

“He wanted to ride with Kitt—with Mrs. Van Heldt.”

Her chest contracted. She covered her reaction with a forced cough. He studied her anyway, correctly reading, she suspected, her unintentional flare of jealousy.

“I’m going to tell you something only a few people know for certain.” He rested his hand on her neck as he placed his lips against her hair. “Not only is Katerina not my lover, we were never lovers—not even close.”

She turned up her face. “Are you telling me Katerina van Heldt, widely known to have been your lover, never actually was?”

“She never was.”

“Then why did you let me believe she was?”

“We had good reason to let people draw the conclusions they did.” His fingers tightened in her hand. “The rest is not my secret to share… Although your curiosity will, no doubt, be satisfied once we reach Periwinkle Gate.”

“Does Farring know you were never lovers?”

“Yes. Farring suggested the ruse. He was protecting…” He paused. “He was taking charge. As he does any time someone he loves is in danger.”

Was he speaking of Farring’s love for Katerina—or someone else? She stopped trying to puzzle together something Rayne had no intention of fully explaining. She couldn’t think, anyway. His tracing thumb did melty things to her anger…not to mention a few other choice parts.

“That makes another noble deed,” she said.

“Just a favor for a friend.” His thumb stopped moving. “I warned you last night—I’m not noble.”

“But you are noble and…unexpectedly chivalrous. And brave.”

She heard him swallow.

“Why don’t you try it?” he suggested.

“Try what?”

“Emptying your mind of thoughts.” He tightened his embrace.

Impossible.

She turned her cheek into his neck.

No one could sit quietly and not think…even when resting against the chest of a large, handsome man they loved.

And she could never, ever feel calm and content enough to fall asleep inside a moving carriage.

…

“What do you mean we’re almost there?” Julia gasped, indignant. She brushed away the hair that clung to her cheek. “You can’t mean to say I slept through no less than five horse changes and goodness-knows-how-many watering stops?”

Rayne shrugged. “You needed the rest, I suppose.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What were you doing while I was sleeping?”

“Sleeping, too, for the most part—or trying to arrange a change of postilions while not disturbing you. You looked so peaceful I’m only sorry I had to wake you now. However, there are a few things we must discuss before we arrive.”

Ah, yes. He’d said they would have to devise a story. Because, no matter how gentle he’d been, no matter how well they worked together or how much trust had grown between them, they had not come to any understanding.

As much as she felt as if they were eloping together, they were not.

“Have you any suggestions?” she asked, hating the tiny crack in her voice.

“Well…” He winced as he scratched the back of his neck. “I’d be obliged if our imaginary child-to-be didn’t make another appearance.”

She searched his gaze, wondering if his attempt at humor hid something similar to what she was feeling. “Must we lie to people who are your friends and Farring’s family?”

“Do you want to tell the dowager the truth? About…” He hesitated. “Belhaven?”

“No.” Belhaven. How could he still believe she was on her way to wed another man? “I am no longer certain about…Belhaven.”

His brows went up, and her blush deepened. She scowled as she reached for her hat.

“Allow me?” he asked.

She handed him the pin and the hat and turned her back. She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his hands as he carefully rearranged her hair.

Why was it that with Rayne love came simply but discussion proved difficult, which was the opposite of her experience with everyone else? She bit her lip, working up the courage to ask him the one question that scared her most.

“Are you determined to return to New York?”

Asking proved easier when her back was turned. Her throat dried anyway as she folded her hands in her lap, waiting for his answer.

He set her hat on her head. “Do I have a reason to stay?”

“I’d like to think so,” she whispered.

She shifted to face him. He cradled her cheeks, angled his head, and placed a gentle, chaste kiss to her lips. A kiss that left her tingling with possibility.

“With your permission,” he swallowed, “I’ll give the duchess your name.”

She nodded.

“Do you know what that means?”

She nodded again—no going back.

She filled with so much emotion she couldn’t find words. As the carriage slowed to a stop, he covered her hand with his. Explanations and details could wait, she decided. For now, the firm pressure of his fingers around hers was enough.

“Look.” He drew her to the window. “The infamous gate.”

She frowned. “But the gate is green!”

“Thought the gate would be blue, didn’t you?” He smiled as if even he did not quite understand. “Your first lesson…abandon all assumptions before we pass through.”

“Like Dante’s hope at the gates of hell? What a thing to say! You’ve been so cryptic I don’t know what to expect.”

“I’m sorry, minx. I daresay you’ll soon understand. I can promise you I wouldn’t bring just anyone here, however.”

His thumb moved along her hand, sending shivers of pleasure spiraling up her spine.

“How much has Farring told you about the dowager duchess?” he asked.

“He hasn’t said much.” Farring had suggested she would like the duchess when they met—but she couldn’t tell Rayne without giving away Farring’s role in his abduction. “Horatia mentioned that the dowager likes animals. In fact, now that I think about it, that’s all she’s ever said.”

“Well, the dowager does like animals. So does her staff. In fact, likes animals is a bit of an understatement. And don’t blame Horatia for secrecy. I’m not sure any of the Maxwell-Hughes ladies know quite what to say about the dowager. They are forbidden from visiting Periwinkle Gate. It’s not part of the Shepthorpe estate, it belongs to the duchess alone.”

Forbidden? “But why?”

“You’ll see.”

She had the distinct feeling she was going to find out more about the Duke of Shepthorpe’s extended family than she had the entire year of living with them—and perhaps more about Rayne, too.

He adjusted his cravat. “Whatever happens, just nod. After you get over the oddity, I’m certain you, of all people, will love this place.”

She liked the way his voice had gone soft when he’d said you…as if he understood her in a special way, as if he truly valued her insight.

The carriage pulled up beside a semicircular, turreted mansion she couldn’t describe as any particular architectural style. In fact, the parts of the building had been less constructed than layered like a tiered confection.

Not that it was small. Not at all. Hundreds of windows sparkled down onto the pebbled drive. And, if they’d come in the summer, the mansion would have been pillowed in clouds of green. Instead, empty tree branches crowded the building like the magical brambles that sprang to protect Briar Rose, the sleeping beauty.

“What do you think?” Rayne asked.

“I don’t know what to think,” Julia replied. “But I like it.”

He chuckled under his breath. “I thought you might.”

“I feel like we’ve ridden into a fairy story!”

“In a sense, you have…the Dowager Duchess of Shepthorpe is better known to the world as Mother Hatchard.”

Julia clasped a hand to her throat. “The nursery rhyme author?”

“One and the same, though the present duke would be obliged if you never mentioned the fact aloud.”

“Scandalous!”

Rayne lifted his brows. “You don’t yet know the half.”

“Is this place quite respectable?”

“Depends on your definition,” Rayne replied.

A footman wearing the uniform of the 95th Rifles opened the carriage door. He and Rayne exchanged an oddly familiar greeting before Rayne helped her down.

“You’ve arrived.” A woman dressed as if she were headed to Almack’s waved her handkerchief from the doorway. “Just a moment, please.”

She swept down the stairs with great majesty. Well, Rayne had said the duchess was eccentric, hadn’t he?

Julia curtsied. “Your Grace.”

“Gracious me!” The woman tittered. “I’m the housekeeper, Mrs. Shillingham. I assume you’d prefer your usual room, Lord Rayne?”

“You’re too kind.” He bowed. “And a room for the lady, if you please.”

Mrs. Shillingham glanced between them. “We have prepared the one adjoining yours, of course.” She made a grand turn and swept back up the stairs in the same manner she’d come down.

Julia’s incredulous gaze slipped to Rayne.

“And now for your second lesson,” he said under his breath. “Don’t ask questions.”

“No questions?” But she had so many.

“If you’re wise.” He cleared his throat and addressed the housekeeper. “When might we have an audience with the mother?”

The mother?

“The mother, I am afraid, is out.” They entered an elaborate black-and-white marble hall. Mrs. Shillingham twirled again. “She is ever so heartbroken not to greet you, of course. And to miss meeting Lady Julia. Farring’s letter set the whole house aflutter, as you can imagine.”

Julia froze.

Rayne caught her wide-eyed expression and raised his brow. “Farring’s letter, you say?”

“Yes, of course. The letter explained everything.” Mrs. Shillingham rapped Rayne’s arm. “And I must say, none of us believed a word. But you are, aren’t you?” She grinned. “You’re eloping with Farring’s young friend, Lady Julia. The very same Lady Julia who we’ve heard so much about!”

Rayne’s smile remained fixed, but his eyes cooled. “Would my dear friend Farring lie?”

“Depends on the situation, of course,” Mrs. Shillingham replied. “But he wouldn’t give up Periwinkle Gate’s secrets to just anyone, would he?”

“Indeed.” Rayne inhaled. “Well, we’re here, aren’t we? I wouldn’t wish to disappoint, after all. Seems I live”—his tone deepened—“to entertain my friends.”

Mrs. Shillingham turned to Julia. “We’re so happy you’ve come, my dear.”

Julia forced a smile. “Thank you. I’m…happy, too.”

“Will the mother be long?” Rayne asked.

“No telling,” Mrs. Shillingham answered. “Had word of an animal in need, you see. And, sadly, she’s taken Master Theo and Annette. Theo was, of course, delighted to hear your news, Lord Rayne. Do come upstairs, won’t you?” Her eyes ran up and down Rayne’s dusty clothes. “We started drawing a bath as soon as the gates opened—thank heavens for my excellent intuition—and I wouldn’t want the water to get cold. I’ll have Fräulein Anna bring up chocolate and a light repast.”

“Thank you,” Julia repeated, by rote.

Any repast brought to her room would go to waste. She’d keep nothing down. Not now.

Damn Farring.

Why had he told the whole household she and Rayne were eloping? And who was this Theo who was “so delighted” to hear Rayne’s news?

In the carriage, she and Rayne had come so close to finally discussing what lay between them. To drop from those heights into the deep chill of his fury-cold glare left her dizzy. She fell behind on the stair.

“Come, come,” the housekeeper prompted.

“Problem, Lady Julia?” Rayne asked.

What was he thinking? And how—how—was she going to explain what she wasn’t certain she understood?

A shrill whistle below halted their progression. Mrs. Shillingham closed her eyes and gave a slight, longsuffering shake of her head.

“Mr. Musgrave,” she said in a deep-throated tone, “what have I told you about that whistle?”

“Need you, Mrs. Shillingham. Sir Cackles is loose and headed for the orangery.”

“Again?” The housekeeper rolled her eyes. She placed a light hand on Rayne’s arm. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“By all means,” he answered. “We’ll find our way from here.”

“Very well.” She smiled. “Ta.”

Rayne sent Julia another hard look and then continued down the hall.

“Rayne?”

He opened the door. “Your room, Lady Julia.”

She bit her lip and stepped into the room. If her insides had not been on fire, she would have marveled at the gossamer fabric that hung like an extended tent from ceiling to wall—not to mention the enormous, pink-pillowed bed. As it was, she barely noticed the furnishings.

She winced as Rayne closed the door.

“Eloping, are we?” His voice was terribly gentle.

Julia shrugged out of her coat. “Rule two—best not to ask questions.”

“I’m not sure I need you to answer any questions. Apparently, Farring’s letter explains everything.”

She closed her eyes. Think, Julia. Think. What could Farring have possibly written?

Someone rapped against the door, and Julia nearly jumped from her skin.

Saved. For now.

But she had to find the letter first—and make sure Rayne was not able to leave before they had discussed this like reasonable adults.

Rayne opened the door. “Fräulein Anna,” he greeted a woman in brightly colored clothes, “you’re looking well.”

She set down a tray with two steaming mugs of chocolate and a single plate of cheese. Then she held out her hand and grinned.

Rayne grasped her fingers. “Lovely ring. Congratulate Shillingham for me, will you?”

“You can do so yourself when we dine. Is everything to her ladyship’s liking?”

Rayne snorted. “If it’s not, I am sure she’ll make it so.”

“Very well, then.” She curtsied and turned for the door.

“Excuse me,” Julia called. “Might you…” She paused, desperately trying to think of an excuse to make Anna stay. “Might you tell me about your clothes?”

“Swiss, ma’am. The most beautiful place in the world.”

“Are you from the Alps, Fräulein Anna?”

Anna exchanged a glance with Rayne. “London, more like. Seven Dials.” She repeated her curtsy. “Will that be—”

“Mrs. Shillingham mentioned a bath. Would that be for Lord Rayne?”

“Yes.” Fräulein Anna frowned. “Unless he doesn’t wish—”

“Oh, he wishes,” Rayne interrupted.

“If you had a bath drawn so quickly”—the words practically tumbled from Julia’s mouth—“might I assume Periwinkle Gate boasts a water closet?”

“Why, certainly. You share one with Lord Rayne right through that door. We’ve six altogether.”

“Six! Imagine that, Rayne.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m imagining all sorts of things.”

“Well,” Julia said brightly. “I’m certain Lord Rayne wishes to get on with his bath. While he bathes, I’d be delighted to see more of the house.” She caught Anna’s hand in hers and headed for the door. “You wouldn’t mind showing me, would you?”

“This conversation will continue,” Rayne said through the closing door.

“Why wouldn’t it?” Julia called back. “Just as soon as you’ve time to settle.”

…

Rayne rested his head against the edge of the bath. Still-steaming water curled the hair at the base of his neck, but the calming heat did little to expel his anger.

More persistent than dirt, that sentiment. More pervasive. More permanent.

His garbled fury served as a harsh reminder—he hadn’t truly changed. He wasn’t even certain what, exactly, had fanned his rage’s ever-burning flame.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if the staff had known he was coming—not even if they expected him to arrive with a woman. Word often traveled faster than visitors themselves—not unusual in the least. And the residents of Periwinkle Gate were particularly protective of one another…for good reason.

But they hadn’t simply expected him. They’d expected Julia, too. They’d expected them both on the way to their wedding.

And to add insult to what could have been a jest on Farring’s part, Julia had started behaving as she did—guilty—proving no innocent explanation existed.

The explanation, he was sure, involved a plot devised by one reckless minx and a former friend who possessed tortoiseshell glasses, often smelled of pipe smoke, and was prone to flashing a deceptively wholesome grin…a grin that could make the most harebrained of schemes seem perfectly reasonable.

Farring.

Rayne was only left to wonder which party had acted first. Had Julia gone to Farring for help, or had Farring convinced her to embark on this crazed scheme? Either way, they had worked together to force him into embracing a life that, when he’d set out from Southford, he’d had every intention of discarding for good.

Over the last few days, he’d held to Julia—often literally—as if she were the only thing he could trust.

But he couldn’t trust her at all, could he?

She hadn’t come on this journey because she wanted to elope. She’d been lying all along. Worse still, he’d been about to take the greatest risk of his life and ask her to marry him, to crack open his heart, to tell her his fears and hopes, to confess that every sliver of his monstrous, shattered heart was etched with her name.

An experience he’d call love—if he’d any idea how to define something he’d never known.

He rubbed a bar of soap across his chest, spreading suds across his matted hair. The soap smelled of lavender, just like Julia.

He closed his fingers around the soap so tightly the bar flew from his hand. The small square dinged against copper, splashed between his knees, and then disappeared beneath the water. The water rippled to stillness just before the soap reemerged.

Thud. Thud. Thud. He tapped the back of his head against the tub. The bath wasn’t helping. He held his hands up. Wrinkled. Just like he expected. He’d lingered too long, waiting…hoping his anger would subside.

Lord only knew what trouble Julia had gotten into by now.

She’d do anything—say anything—to get what she wanted. Take her nonexistent betrothed, for instance. He’d repeatedly maligned poor Edmund Alistair Clarke, and the man didn’t even exist.

Scenes from the past few days flashed through his mind as if he were flipping the pages of an artist’s sketchbook. Julia, after the wedding in the billiards room, her face sweetly upturned. Julia, wide-eyed and panting against that dammed stairwell—asking him if he meant her harm. Julia, curled against his body on a pile of earth-scented hay. Julia, answering I’d like to think so when he’d asked her if he had a reason to stay.

He plunged beneath the water’s surface, holding his breath. He shook his head back and forth, spreading his locks as he swished. Underwater, everything muted, as if the whole world had suddenly slowed. Here, he was weightless.

Submerged in warmth.

Then, a low reverberation clanged in his ears—some object knocking hard against the tub. He emerged from the water with a gasp, hair clinging to his cheeks. Instinctively, he stood, feeling for a towel as water rained down over his eyes, his chest, his arms, and his thighs. He wiped away the wet.

Julia. Of course.

She backed up against the wall, her mooned gaze definitely not fixed to his face.

Her curls were as damp as his own. And she was wrapped in the bedgown from earlier, only this time, absent a shift. The wrap barely covered her torso…which he didn’t immediately notice because she held his clothes—all of them, not just the ones he’d taken off, but everything he’d packed in his valise—tightly against her chest.

“What in heavens—?”

“I’m taking your clothes to be washed.” Her words rushed out.

“Leaving me nothing to wear?”

Her gaze met his. “Do you object?”

“Bring them here.”

“Very well.” She advanced quickly, deliberately sunk his clothes into the water, and retreated back against the wall. “Whoops,” she added, feeling along the tiles as she edged toward the door. “I suppose we’ll have to stay the night, now.”

“Why?” He stared down at the clothing slowly disappearing into the water around his legs. “Why must you plague me?”

“You had your chance to leave,” she quipped.

“Right now, I wish I had handed you over to the rector.”

She leaned forward, giving him a gaping view of her breasts. “You don’t mean that.”

“Right now, I said. Right now, I’m thinking a lot of things, and none of them pleasant.” He took a deep breath. “In fact, you’d be wise to take yourself back to your room. You’d be wiser still to book a passage by mail back to Southford.”

She stopped moving. “You don’t want me to leave.”

“I do.”

“Well”—her gaze dropped again—“that part of you doesn’t want me to go.”

He swished through his water-logged clothes and stepped out of the tub. “That part has a mind all its own.”

“A mind all its own? Really?”

His manhood jerked. Devil take the thing. He wished she’d avert her gaze. “Go, Julia. I don’t—I can’t—trust myself when I’m angry.”

“I trust you.” She lifted her eyes to his. “You won’t hurt me.”

“I’m not sure that’s true anymore.” He combed his fingers through his dripping locks. “I’m not sure anything’s true anymore.”

“Why?” She threw up her arms. “Because Farring tricked us both? He wouldn’t have had to if you could just admit what you feel.”

“Do you want to know what I feel? I am furious. You and Farring. Good God. I crossed an ocean to purge you. Yet you remain.”

She cocked her head. “Meaning…you haven’t purged me yet?”

He folded his arms. “You’re spoiled enough to think you can have anything you want. But you can’t force me to act. I am not yours to manage.”

“I wasn’t trying to—” Her face blotched red. “Damnation!”

He snorted.

“Is my language amusing?”

“Actually, yes. Rather like hearing a mouse curse a cat.”

“Let’s try another word, shall we?” She narrowed her eyes. “Cock. As in yours. At attention.”

His amusement disappeared.

“Mousy enough for you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Almost musical, as a matter of fact.”

“Cur. Beef-witted, jingle-brained ass.”

His member jerked again.

“And how could I leave off the first gem you taught me—fuck.”

He stepped out of the tub and crossed the slippery floor, placing one deliberate step at a time. “Say that again, and we’ll proceed as you request.” He stopped just before they touched. “I dare you.”

She pressed her back against the tile. “No.”

“I thought not.” He placed one hand on the wall to the right of her face. “Would you like to hear my favorite words?” He placed the other to her left.

She stopped breathing.

He leaned in close and described, in the filthiest French he could imagine, everything he’d been dreaming of doing to her body—including several acts he’d never actually attempted, though he was certainly willing to try.

Her skin dimpled, raising the hair on her arms. “I didn’t understand.”

“Oh, I think you did.”

“Don’t look so smug. You haven’t won. You can’t win. Not against me. This”—she practically touched her nose to his—“is simply a draw. Point non plus—we’ve run out of options.”

“We have options. I assure you.”

“None of which”—she hesitated—“you are brave enough to take.”

“Be careful, minx.” His sigh rippled through his muscles. “It’s not wise to touch a hot handle. One of us is going to do something we will both regret.”

“Coward.”

“Coward?” He gritted his teeth. “The last time, you told me to stop.”

“Not because I didn’t want you!” Her daze darted back and forth between his eyes. “I was scared. You pinned me against a wall, for heaven’s sake.”

“I’d pin you again—and more.” Everything in him screamed for him to do just that. “Do you understand? For once, kitten, you’re up against something you cannot control.”

“I know.”

He squinted. “Forgive my doubt.”

“For the love of Hades, Rayne—don’t you understand anything?” She drew her brows together. “I don’t know what comes next. I’ve only ever kissed, and, even then, only with you.” Her breath came in heavy, deep spurts. “Remember that this time, would you?”

Only him? And, this time?

The words spread through his being, slowly leaching his rage. Before he had time to fully grasp their impact, she sucked in her bottom lip and grabbed his face.

Then, in a long, slow, deliberate whisper against his ear, she said, “Fuck.”