Rogue's Mistress (20 page)

Then he remembered her tears, the
utter sweetness of her surrender. His heart pounded with a primitive beat. She
had seemed so confused and vulnerable in his arms, and it didn’t make sense
that a woman who displayed such a wide range of emotions could simply sate her
lusts on him, coldly and dispassionately. Perhaps his young wife was now at war
with her pride, trying to juxtapose her new, awakening feelings for him with
the hatred she had clung to tenaciously for so long. If he were wise, he’d take
full advantage of her vulnerability and insinuate himself as deeply in her
heart as he possibly could. If he were wise, he would bind her to him, both
physically and emotionally. With luck, he might even get her with child on the
honeymoon . . .

Before the test came. Before he
was impelled to tell her about Arnaud and Justine. He groaned. Oh, he was wicked,
beyond redemption. But right now, the thought of losing her was unendurable, as
much as he—

Loved her! Yes, loved her!
The
admission brought tears to his eyes and a tight, constricted feeling to his
chest. While he might have doubted his feelings for her before, he could no
longer. He was surely insane to feel this way, for, considering their tormented
past, she would never feel love for him. Still, he knew that he was a lost
soul—that he would do anything, be utterly ruthless, in winning Mercy’s heart and
keeping her by his side.

Just then, his young wife entered
the saloon, looking radiant in a lovely pale pink frock, her rich curls framing
her beautiful face. Excitement pierced his loins at the very sight of her, and
his heart pounded in delight. Every male head in the saloon turned toward the
ravishing young redhead as Julian leaped proudly to his feet and approached his
bride with a possessive gleam in his eyes.

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The atmosphere was polite but
strained between Mercy and Julian as they sat at a small table in the saloon;
she ate her breakfast while he read the
New Orleans Crescent
. The fact
that he kept staring at her over his newspaper did little to increase her
comfort. She couldn’t help but glance at him, too; Julian looked very handsome
and appealing in his ivory-colored suit and milled linen shirt.

Mercy’s thoughts were still
focused on their lovemaking. Studying the other couples in the saloon, who were
nonchalantly eating breakfast or sipping coffee, Mercy wondered how many of
them had gamboled wildly in bed before going off to the saloon to calmly drink
cafe au lait. How could they all appear so unruffled, so unchanged? She felt
neither.

She spotted Lavinia and her family
seated at a table near the port doors. Lavinia waved gaily; Mercy waved back.

“Your breakfast is good?” Julian
asked, laying aside his paper.

She glanced at him awkwardly. “
Oui
.”

He looked her over in a dark,
smoldering way, taking in the low, lacy bodice of her pink frock. “The cut of
that gown is rather daring,” he murmured. “You turned a lot of gentlemanly
heads when you walked in here.”

Mercy clenched her teeth in
exasperation. “Must you again criticize my clothing? It is the fashion, after
all.”

“I’m not criticizing, my dear,”
Julian said patiently. “Merely pointing out that you look entirely too tempting
for your own good—or mine.” Tightly he added, “I’m definitely taking you
shopping in St. Louis.”

His comment won a rebellious
glower from his wife. Julian sighed, flashing her a conciliatory smile. “Have
you thought of what you’d like to do today? The cabin is bound to be too
oppressive for us to spend much time there.”

Mercy felt herself blushing, and
wasn’t certain whether she was relieved or disappointed that the day would
afford them little opportunity to be alone. “I’d hoped to spend some time with
Lavinia,” she said stiffly. As he scowled, she laid her fingers lightly on his
and entreated him with her eyes. “Please, Julian. The Morgans are disembarking
at Memphis, and I haven’t seen Lavinia in so long.”

He nodded. “Very well.” He reached
out to playfully tug one of her curls. “Go visit with your friend. Perhaps
’twill make you feel better.”

“Thank you, Julian.” Wearing an expression
of intense gratitude, she rushed off to grab Lavinia.

***

“So what is marriage like?”
Lavinia asked.

The two former schoolmates were
hanging on the railing of the boiler deck, giggling and gossiping. The day was
bright and hot, and the steamer seemed to be groaning as it chugged upriver.

Mercy waved off her forthright
friend. “Don’t ask!”

“Come on, Mercy. How am I ever to
know what to expect if you won’t tell me?”

Mercy shrugged. “Marriage is . . .
different.”

In a fascinated whisper, Lavinia
asked, “Did it hurt when he bedded you?”

“Lavinia!” Mercy was scandalized.

“Well, I’ve heard such horror
stories . . . We all have.”

Mercy sighed. “It did hurt. But
not in the way you would think.”

Lavinia’s brown eyes grew huge at
this revelation. She started to pursue the subject, then clamped her mouth
shut. Instead, she said, “You never did tell me how you and M’sieur Devereux
got betrothed in the first place. All I can remember from school is how you
used to fight with your guardian like a she-cat, and the way you constantly
spoke of how much you hated him. This is quite a change, I must say.
Furthermore, what on earth happened to Philippe Broussard?”

As Lavinia waited in breathless
anticipation for Mercy’s reply, the latter frowned. Suddenly, the circumstances
of her betrothal to Julian seemed intensely personal and private; to reveal
them seemed, in some strange way, a travesty, even a betrayal of her wedding
vows. She reeled at the sudden feeling of wifely loyalty toward Julian.

“Well, Mercy?”

Glancing at her friend, Mercy
quickly decided she could relate the basics without slipping into lurid detail.
“Julian has always told me what to do. When it came to marriage, he was no
different.”

Lavinia emitted a delighted gasp.
“So he simply told you you were to marry him?”

“
Oui
.”

Lavinia sighed dreamily. “Oh, my!
How utterly masterful and romantic! And what about Philippe?”

Mercy straightened the cuff of her
frock and frowned. “Julian decided Philippe was unsuitable.”

Lavinia hooted with laughter.
“Unsuitable? How fascinating. And I must agree. M’sieur Devereux is definitely
the better match, my dear. Why, he’s so dark, so handsome—so virile!”

“Vinnie!”

“Not to mention wealthy,” Lavinia
went on, uncontrite. “As for Philippe—he always seemed such a washed-out pansy
to me.”

Mercy could only glower at her
friend.

“Tell me,” Lavinia continued in a
low, intense whisper, “is M’sieur Devereux truly marvelous in bed?”

“Lavinia Morgan! You are beyond
redemption!”

“Did I hear I someone mention
redemption?” came a high-pitched male voice.

With matching guilty expressions,
the girls whirled to watch Dempsey Morgan approach, wearing a subtly striped
brown suit and a bowler hat, and carrying a pair of binoculars. The two girls
exchanged forbearing glances, then Mercy flashed Lavinia's brother a frozen
smile. “Good morning, M’sieur Morgan.”

He grinned idiotically. “Good
morning, Madame Devereux. You and Lavinia must be catching up on old times.”

The girls shared a conspiratorial
look, then giggled.

A confused frown flitted across Dempsey’s
pale face, then he shrugged. “Quite a fine morning, I must say, if a bit warm.”
He raised his binoculars and squinted through them. “I’ve been examining the
flora and fauna along the shoreline. A truly fascinating array of our Creator’s
majesty.”

As the girls listened indulgently,
Dempsey launched into a lengthy sermon on the array of wildlife and greenery
along the Mississippi. He pointed out alligators, various types of deer, as
well as several species of birds. He recited the biological name of practically
every tree, plant, and flower on the bank side.

“Dempsey, will you cease being
such a phenomenal bore?” Lavinia protested at last.

Dempsey’s delicate features paled.
“Then what would you ladies like to discuss?” he asked, and frowned in renewed
perplexity when both girls again collapsed into giggles.

Just then, Julian strode up with a
cigar in his mouth. He glanced in scowling disapproval from the laughing girls
to Dempsey. “
Bonjour
, Mam’selle Morgan, M’sieur Morgan,” he said
tightly. “If you’ll both excuse us, I must have a word with my wife.”

Again Mercy was pulled away by her
glowering husband. This time, she was livid. As soon as they were out of
earshot of the others, she hissed, “Julian, must you be so rude? Dragging me
off and sputtering like a steam engine about to explode.”

He didn’t answer, tossing his
smoke over the railing. She couldn’t read his expression beneath the brim of
his Panama hat, but the swift, economical movements of his body and the way his
fingers dug into her wrist as he tugged her along told her he was furious.

When they were at last inside
their cabin, he slammed the door and thrust off his hat. “Madame,” he said,
advancing on her, “your days as a flirt are over.”

Mercy was outraged. “A flirt? What
on earth are you ranting about?”

“I saw M’sieur Morgan ogling that
low-cut bodice.”

She balled her hands on her hips.
“Ogling! For your information, Dempsey Morgan was giving us a fascinating
lecture on the flora and fauna of the region. He’s an accomplished naturalist.”

“He’s an accomplished voyeur,”
Julian snapped back. “Furthermore, I find it incomprehensible that you had
flora and fauna on your mind when you giggled at him, preening like a
light-headed belle.”

Mercy threw up her hands as the
dam of resentment that had been building in her for weeks finally burst.
“Julian, you’re such a prig!”

He appeared stunned. “A
prig
?”

“Yes!” She waved a hand angrily.
“You’re supposed to be my husband now, not my guardian. Instead, you keep
treating me like a naughty little girl. You’re acting like a stiff-necked
puritan—”

“A
what
?”

“And, furthermore, Lavinia and I
were having a grand time until you came along!”

He suddenly looked so stricken
that she almost took back her words.

She chewed her bottom lip in the
tense silence. “Look, Julian,” she said at last, “I’ll admit that I played some
games with you before we were wed—”

“Indeed you did,” he put in
meaningfully.

“But it’s over now.” Grudgingly,
she said, “You won, didn’t you?”

He startled her by throwing back
his head and laughing. “Mercy, I’m stunned. You, conceding defeat?”

She crossed her arms over her
bosom to cover her embarrassment. “I’m not conceding defeat, only pointing out
that just because I’m enjoying myself in the company of others doesn’t mean I’m
a flirt.”

“I acknowledge your point, then,”
he returned stiffly, staring at her in an intent way that she found unnerving.

Suddenly, Mercy realized that she
was covered with sweat. The stateroom was cloyingly hot, and the fervor of
their argument hadn’t helped. Her hair was damp, and her frock was clammy. She
tugged impatiently at a tight sleeve. “Damn, it’s hot in here.”

Julian’s eyes burned with an
emotion she recognized all too well. “Perhaps I could suggest a way to cool
madame off?”

She stared up at him, entranced by
the look in his eye, despite herself. “Don’t tell me you’re proposing a dip in
the river?”

“
Non
. ” He smiled, reaching
out to stroke her chin. Unwittingly, she shivered.

“Did you really find the Morgans so
much more fascinating than your husband?” he asked gently, though she could
hear the hurt in his voice.

“Well . . .” Feeling guilty, she
avoided his eye.

He grasped her chin, forcing her
to meet his challenging gaze. “Mercy—are you sorry you married me?”

The direct question set her
floundering. “No,” she answered, stunning herself with her own honesty. “Not
really.”

“Why do you think I married you?”

She sighed miserably. “I’m not
sure.”

His titillating fingertips slid
down her neck, torturing her exquisitely. “Not even now?”

She quivered at his touch and
didn’t reply.

“Do you still wish you’d married
Philippe Broussard instead?” He caught her face in his hands. “Tell the truth,
now.”

She swallowed hard. “N-no.”

A perplexed expression flashed
across his features. “Then why did you become betrothed to him in the first
place?”

Again, she avoided his eye. “Must
we—”

“Yes, we must. Why, Mercy?”

She let out the painful breath she
had been holding, and dared to meet his probing gaze. “To escape you.”

He looked pleasantly surprised.
“To escape me? As your guardian, or as—”

“Both,” she admitted in a
strangled whisper.

He frowned at her, hard and
assessingly. “You exploited Philippe’s feelings, then?”

“I would have made him a good
wife!” she flung at him.

He chuckled.

“Anyway, you’re a fine one to
criticize me,” she continued, moving away from his debilitating touch and
thrusting a lock of damp hair from her brow. “When you acted without scruples,
demanding that I marry you—”

“Then we’re well-matched, aren’t
we,
chère
?” Julian cut in with irony. “Both of us ruthless.”

They glared at each other for a
charged moment, then he sighed. “Mercy, must we continue as enemies?”

Once again, she was staggered by
his directness, his honesty. “I—don’t really feel like your enemy,” she
managed.

An expression of intense pleasure
gleamed in his eyes, then he scowled. “Still, you’re crossing me at every
turn.”

“You forced me to—”

“Marry me,” he supplied. “But the
rest I did not force. Why must you constantly defy me? Am I so terrible?”

Mercy wrung her hands. “It’s not
that you’re terrible, it’s just that you’re . . .” She gestured helplessly.
“Impossible.”

He smiled. “A subtle distinction,
I must say. Still, we’re married now, on our honeymoon. Why can’t we make the
best of it? Why don’t we put aside our animosity and just try to enjoy
ourselves?”

Looking up into his mesmerizing
eyes, Mercy realized she was losing ground fast. Suddenly, everything he said
seemed to have a hidden sexual meaning. “That sounds reasonable,” she murmured,
much too readily.

He gripped her shoulders, and his
eyes glinted with wry humor. “Promise you’ll try to be more of an agreeable
wife?” he teased.

“Promise you’ll be less of an
overblown boor?”

“An overblown—”

“
Promise
,” she cut in
relentlessly.

He ground his jaw. “You first.”

“Promise. Now you.”

“Promise,” he repeated, catching
her close. She shuddered as he nuzzled her hot cheek with his warm lips. “So,
my proud little wife, you became betrothed to Philippe to escape me as your
guardian.” He leaned over, his mouth hovering a hair’s breadth from hers. The
direct, smoldering look in his eyes made her quiver as he whispered, “What else
did you want to escape,
chère
?”

“This,” she murmured without
pride, pressing her lips hungrily to his.

The kiss was hot, consuming,
explosive, setting them both on fire. Yet after a moment, Julian gently pushed
her away. “I promised to cool you off, wife,” he said wickedly.

He stunned her by gripping the
delicate fabric of her bodice with his strong fingers and ripping downward forcefully.