Chapter Fifteen

What was Gregory to do with this woman? He sat upon the picnic blanket with Miss Winslow and watched as Julia chased after Felicity, both of them laughing breathlessly. Felicity was out to capture a frog; Gregory wished now he hadn’t agreed to have their picnic near the creek. Why the child had such a love of mud and reptiles and other grubby creatures he didn’t know, but he could at least excuse her madness due to her youth. Whereas Julia? Well.

“You have to be quiet when you sneak up on them.” She had removed her shoes and stockings, the daring minx, in order to better teach Felicity the finer points of frog catching. “And bend down low, ready to snatch them in an instant.”

“How’d you get so good at frogs, Your Grace?” Felicity giggled again, happy as a frog-catching lark.

“My papa taught me at our country estate in Kent.” Julia brightened with the memory. “He loved the natural world. He also taught me to fish, but never to hunt game. He didn’t believe in it.”

“He sounds like an awfully nice man.” Felicity then scrunched up her face and tried valiantly to be silent as she crept up on an unsuspecting frog.

“I’m glad the duchess and Felicity have taken to one another,” Gregory muttered as Miss Winslow set out some sandwiches from the wicker picnic basket. “However, I don’t love this bloody reptile-catching business.”

“Amphibians,” Miss Winslow replied, neatening the sandwiches on the plate. “Frogs are amphibians, Your Grace.”

Even though Gregory was her employer, Miss Winslow had practically raised Felicity from the time she was four years old. Since his visits to Lynton Park were rare, the woman ran the household as well. She had become almost a governess to Gregory himself over the years, and he didn’t half mind it. Though now he was married, having two different women to keep him in line might be difficult.

“Either way. It’s a dirty business.” Gregory gazed after Julia again, who clapped her hands and cheered when Felicity nabbed a frog. They were both delighted. Lord, how disgusting.

Though when he fixated upon Julia, the word disgusting was the last word that sprang to mind.

Her golden hair had lost the tightness of its artificial curl, reverting to its more natural and loose state. Gregory preferred her that way, the goddess of nature. The sunlight glistened upon her skin in a way he’d never noticed before. Not only that, but the bloom in her cheeks was radiant. Julia loved the country air, he saw that now.

After they’d returned from the gallery, the tension between them seemed to have lifted but Felicity had bounded over, dragging them both into her plans for the morning. Miss Winslow had tried to keep a handle on the girl, but there was little in this world more willful than Miss Felicity Berridge. Besides, Julia had been happy to go on a picnic and explore the creek.

Gregory had groaned and complained about the further interruptions, but he was secretly almost relieved. The longer they put off consummation of this marriage, the more time he had to spend with Julia. To listen to her laughter, to see the beauty of her in motion.

Gregory ate a strawberry, his body still ravenous for her touch. There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted him badly, maybe even as badly as he wanted her. But there was a difference between them: Julia wanted him once, and then never again. Whereas Gregory was growing evermore certain that once he’d had her, he’d want her again. And again. And once more for good measure.

He teetered back and forth between wanting to make love to her now and dreading the moment that their bargain would be completed. He watched as Julia laughed and bounded after Felicity, her hair glistening in the sun, and he felt his body stir with desire. Though Gregory had never been with a virgin before, he was confident that he’d make the experience as blissful for his wife as possible. God, how he wanted to slide deep inside of her and claim her as his. He wanted her to shiver beneath and around him as he took her, melded into the softness of her body.

He’d never waited this long for any lover before, but he’d also never wanted anyone this badly. More than that, he’d never liked anyone this much.

When was the last time Gregory had bothered to get to know anybody? Not just a woman, but another human being? For most relationships, you didn’t need more than a surface understanding of the other person, but this was no ordinary relationship. Even between a man and a wife, he could swear this had the charge of something unusual.

Really, he ought to be grateful that Julia and he would only come together once, and never again. If they remained virtual strangers, Gregory would not have to wait for her to find out all his most wretched qualities and be repulsed by them. She’d learned far too many of his secrets already; he couldn’t seem to keep her at emotional arm’s length like every other woman he’d ever known. Then again, when he’d told her of Felicity, he’d seen the most extraordinary change come over her. She’d always looked at him with interest and amusement. This had been different.

She’d looked at him as if she might respect him.

If she does, she’s a bloody fool. He’d taken in Felicity, but only out of spite for the type of parents who’d raised him. Gregory hated seeing a child tossed aside as not being good enough. He knew that pain himself only too well. Still, raising a child out of spite for people who were long dead wasn’t the act of a good man. Goodness had been incidental.

Perhaps Julia thought he was someone else, and the idea that he’d disappoint her further only fueled his anger.

“Your Grace! Look!” Felicity capered over and knelt beside him on the picnic blanket. “I’ve named him Sir Percival. Isn’t that a grand name for a frog?”

The child hoisted a slimy amphibian into his face, and Gregory pulled away.

“Felicity, put it back.” He couldn’t hide the shortness in his voice. Damn it.

“Come along. Let’s put Sir Percival back together.” Miss Winslow coaxed the young girl to follow her to the creek. Felicity appeared a bit downcast, making Gregory feel like even more of a bastard. His mood was blacker than pitch at this point, so Julia sitting beside him with her bare feet and ankles on display, tantalizing bits of flesh that he couldn’t touch here in public, only served to make him fouler.

“You didn’t need to snap at her like that.” His wife sounded disapproving, which made him clench his jaw.

“The girl could stand to learn some decorum. I don’t know what I pay the bloody governess for, if not for that.”

“Then perhaps you ought to spend more time with her.” Julia slipped her stockings and shoes back on, then ate a sandwich. “It’s clear she adores you.”

“Hmmph. Women always have done,” he grumbled.

“I’ve seen how you are with her.” Julia’s tone softened, which only set Gregory’s defenses up further. If this woman thought him the kind of rake who yearned to be reformed, she didn’t know what she’d married. “Why don’t you spend more time here at Lynton Park? I can tell Felicity would adore it.”

“And would you adore it, too?” He spoke with casual ease, but Gregory’s heart picked up the pace. What if Julia were hinting that she wanted him to remain, even after they’d made love?

“Oh no.” His wife rolled her eyes. “I believe we’d drive each other mad soon enough. We might trade places, though. I should take myself off to southern Europe on a honeymoon and leave you here.”

“Has that been your plan all along? Intolerable chit,” he teased. Gregory wrestled with quiet disappointment, making certain not to show how he felt. She wanted this business concluded and him gone; like a fool, he was trying to find desire that wasn’t there.

When Julia laughed at his words, she stirred something within his soul. No, not his soul. His body, naturally. That’s all this woman was to him, a delightful bedroom escapade. Nothing more. She could be nothing more, because Gregory had been rejected once by those he loved. Never again.

“Who are you calling a chit, my lord?” But Julia sounded pleased as she selected a strawberry and nibbled at it. Gregory fisted the blanket beneath him; God, what a ravishing mouth she had. He leaned nearer to her, breathing in the clean lavender and linen scent of her. He whispered in her ear.

“If you wish to discuss this further, we might take our argument indoors.”

If he could only enjoy her once, he intended to enjoy her thoroughly.

“A private tussle, you mean?”

She sounded delighted by the idea, which fed the fire in his blood. If it weren’t for the innocent child gamboling about, he’d have kissed the wench. Perhaps he might instruct Miss Winslow to see Felicity somewhere else. Into town, maybe. Or to France. China must be particularly nice this time of year.

“I must ask you something.” Julia gazed up at him with those blue eyes of hers, catching Gregory in their depths like a wolf in a snare. He had to be careful not to become too trapped by her.

“What, my dear?”

Julia sat up farther, robbing them of the splendid intimacy of the moment.

“Why don’t you show this aspect of yourself to society?” She seemed puzzled.

“I’ve told you before, Felicity must remain secreted away until she turns eighteen. That was part of my understanding with Rockford.”

“Not that. The man you are up here is so different from the one I met at the Weatherford ball. Surely if the ton knew the real you, you’d never have been caught up in so many duels.”

“They do see me for exactly what I am.” A pounding in his temples began, and all his headaches these days had to do with the spirited woman he’d made his bride. A woman like Julia was brilliant, more so than most men he’d known, but she was also frustratingly naive. “I told you when we first met that I mocked doting husbands and ruined wives. I’ve fought so many duels, it’s a bloody miracle I’m still breathing. Rescuing one child doesn’t alter what I am.”

“Forgive me, Gregory, but that is a load of codswallop and you know it.”

“So now you’re to tell me all about myself, hmm? You’ve known me a matter of weeks, madam. I assure you, the past thirty-two years I’ve gotten to know myself rather well, and I am no woman’s ideal of chivalry or courtesy.”

Julia didn’t grow incensed. Rather, she appraised him with those clear eyes, her mouth set in a line that said she would not budge.

“What happened to you?” she whispered.

“Nothing. I am myself, and that’s all.” The world was turning much too bright around Gregory, and he wished to scream to the heavens like a beast. Why was she so determined to rouse fury and passion within him? Why was she so bloody good at it? As if to mimic his roiling emotions, dark gray clouds began to roll in from the west. Already, the wind was picking up, lifting the corners of the picnic blanket to flutter about. “We’d best go inside. Miss Winslow! Get rid of that frog and take Felicity in at once.”

“What in the devil has got into you?” Julia snapped. No coyness or misdirection with this one. No, Julia charged straight at the problem.

“I’d rather not be drenched in a downpour. Isn’t it rather obvious?”

“Oh, you’re impossible.” Julia’s cheeks colored with frustration. “You’re a bloody impossible fool!”

“You bloody impossible little fool.”

Gregory’s father loomed over him, looking down upon his son with contempt. Gregory was only eight, and to his mind the Duke of Ashworth was the most fearsome giant in the world.

“Please, Papa,” Gregory whispered. “I just thought they looked hungry.”

A group of Irish travelers had camped down near the river, not one mile from Lynton Park. Gregory had come to see if there were children to play with, and when he learned that his new friends hadn’t enough to eat, he’d snuck down to the kitchens to get them some bread and cheese. Gregory had returned to the camp with the food, unaware that his father was watching and following him.

The traveler children looked terrified, their cheeks bulging with the stolen bread.

“I want you gone,” the duke said icily to the children. “You and the rest of your filthy kindred must leave my lands, or I’ll have you shot.”

“No!” Gregory began crying, which only served to deepen his father’s disdain. “Papa, it wasn’t their fault. It was mine! I, I just wanted to be friends.”

“You are the Marquess of Kerrick.” His father curled his lip. “A future duke. You do not have ‘friends’ among such people.” The duke shook his head slowly. “Yet again, Gregory, you are an utter disappointment to me.”

It was as if he’d gone back in time, thrust right into the middle of that horrid moment. He’d disappointed his friends and his family and had ended up with neither. Even when he tried to do good, he got innocent people hurt. Gregory was the most useless bastard on the planet.

“Gregory?” Julia’s voice gentled. She had noticed the sudden change in him. “Please talk to me.”

Talk was the last thing he wanted from her now. He didn’t want to talk or to think. He didn’t want to continue to hate himself in front of the one person he was beginning to adore. Gregory didn’t speak the truth. Instead, he lashed out with a lie.

“Very well, if you must know. I’m tired of waiting for our bargain to be completed.” He practically growled the words as he turned to her, and Julia shrank back in surprise. “If you’re not interested in your duties as a wife, then say so and I’ll be on my way. But your indecision has interfered with my plans, so either return to the house and find your way into my bed, Your Grace, or bid me farewell.”

Julia never spoke, only watched calmly as Gregory finished and rose, tromping off to collect his ward. Felicity was still hopping near the creek, gleefully squealing whenever Miss Winslow attempted to get her under control.

“Felicity!” he shouted. That got the child’s attention. “Put your shoes on and return to the house at once—”

“Your Grace?” Miss Winslow kept one hand to her bonnet, trying to stop the wind from snatching it away, and pointed at something behind him. “The duchess is leaving.”

Gregory whirled around in shock and saw that the governess was right. Julia had taken her horse and was currently riding it in the exact opposite direction of the house. She cantered farther ahead, into the heart of the storm as the clouds burst open and rain began to pound the countryside. Dear God, she’d be soaked and catch her death, or else thrown from her horse in the storm and break her neck.

“Damn everything to hell,” Gregory snapped. He raced for his own horse, saddled up, and rode hard after his errant wife.