The Rake Enraptured (23 page)

"You think this is a cage? Our marriage is a cage?"

"No, this life is a cage if you-"

"Then live it just as you prefer," she said, ice cold, and went to where her robe lay over the chair at her dressing table. "If you are happier with your fre
edom, take it." She put the robe on in swift, jerky movements. "I give it back to you."

He felt as if ice water trickled down his spine. "What are you saying?"

"I release you from all constraint, from any rule. Live your life exactly as you please."

"You
don't mean that."

"I do. I mean it precisely," she hissed out of the darkness, then the door opened and slammed. She had left the room.

"Julia!" he bellowed, chased her, stumbled over some obstacle and went down, rose again and pulled the door open. The hallway was silent and black. "Julia!" She did not answer.

He went back into her room and fumbled a candle and tinderbox from her nightstand, wasted precious seconds lighting the thing, pulled on his trousers then went back into the hall. She was nowhere to
be seen.

He searched the house, room by room except for the servants' quarters, but she had hidden herself away and no person could find another in this great house unless they wanted to be found. He stood at the foot of the stair and fumed.

What did she mean? Nothing, surely. She was angry. She only spoke from anger, and said things she did not intend. Women often did that, Julia no less than any other.

It was only a misunderstanding.

Unless it was not. Unless she had stored those words up because she longed for some excuse to say them, to send him back to his old pursuits so she need not be bothered with him.

But that was foolishness. Not dutiful Julia. She would not send her own husband away.

She was only angry.

Tomorrow they would speak, and clear up th
e confusion.

But the next day she stayed hidden. Like some defiant child she avoided him. If he had realized that was her intention he would have stayed in her room until she returned for clothes, but it had not occurred to him she would stay angry, nor
be so childish in the midst of it.

By the time he had figured out her intention, she had dressed and left the house. Crichton told him of it with brisk impersonality, when he asked in some frustration if she knew where Mrs
Holbrook was.

"Mrs
Holbrook has gone for a walk, sir."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"Not to me, sir."

"Or when she'd return?"

"No, sir."

"Did her clothes indicate her destination?"

"No, sir."

"So I'm to walk the streets looking for her, then!"

She blinked at him expressionlessly, as if to say she had not even heard this ill-tempered outburst. He turned away, drove his fingers deep into his hair, then went to change into his riding gear.

"If Mrs
Holbrook returns," he said through his teeth to the butler as he pulled on his gloves, "please tell her I wish to speak to her directly, and I am currently riding about London looking for her."

"Yes, sir," said the man imperturbably, and handed him his hat. "Would you prefer she wait here, or come after you?"

"Wait here, of course. There's no point having her roaming about too. What a pair of ninnies we should look-" he caught the man's eye, and glared at him for his patient expression, then went out.

The winter day was bright and fresh, and he went first to the park, hoping to find her prome
nading. Hats were tipped to him, and ladies waved their hands or kerchiefs hopefully, but he only waved back, looking for and not finding that one slender figure.

"Met your wife,
Holbrook," came a call from the curb nearby, and he swiveled in his seat, pulling up his horse. She obeyed an unthinking signal from his heel, and sidled closer to the speaker.  It was Mr Harlow, arm-in-arm with his wife. "Very gracious to us. She's the height of dignity, but she was very pleasant when we said what good friends we are with you."

"When was this? Just now?"

"Oh no. Last night, at the Tabersham's rout. A dreadful squeeze," said Mrs Harlow, her delicately pretty face turned up to his. She came to stand by his knee. "I wanted particularly to meet her. I thought she must be something quite special, to have caught you."

"Undoubtedly," he said, trying to think how to extricate himself.

"She is so distinguished. Such a distinctive style," she said.

"Yes."

"We'd be delighted if you'd join us tonight for one of our little soirees. Bring her with you," added her husband.

Colin looked down at John Harlow as the man put his hands on his wife's shoulders, a certain gleam in his eye that conveyed another meaning to one who knew him so well.

"Thank you. I'm not sure what she had planned for us tonight-"

"I'll send over a footman with an invitation, just to be sure you have it. Tell her we'd be delighted to know her more . . . thoroughly."

"Delightful. Naturally I'll leave that to her to decide," he said, thinking it too impolite to say to the man he'd be damned if he shared his wife with anyone. Not when he was well aware of the Harlows' different views of marital fidelity. There was no need to be insulting.

"Naturally. You know
you're
always welcome," said Mrs Harlow with a meaningful smile. John Harlow looked complacently on.

"Thank you," he said, bowed from the saddle and kneed his horse back into the thoroughfare.

He searched for Julia in vain, as he had been certain he would, and arrived back at the house in a worse mood than he had left it. As he walked through the door his butler took his hat and gloves, and held out a salver with a single invitation, delivered later than all the others that lay on his desk.

"The Harlow's footman said you
were expecting this, sir."

"I was, thank you," he said, took it and carried it with him as he went into the library. Absently he thumbed it open and set it on the blotter before him, staring sightlessly at it.

What an unpleasant day. He would ring a peal over Julia's head when she returned. Unfailing pleasantness got him nowhere, leaving her alone earned him outbursts of temper, perhaps a little heavy-handedness might earn him more respect.

But no, that was a foolish thought. She was not one to be commanded
, not some sweetly biddable creature. He fingered the invitation.

Perhaps he had set himself too far from the life he had lived with such assurance. There, he knew how to go on. He had made a clean break, thinking it was the only way. Yet it seemed a fooli
sh thing to do, distrustful of his own strength of will. There he could feel himself again. He did not need to participate, or even be in the same room as the goings-on that were the main entertainment at the Harlows. He could be sober, or even drink a little, in the other drawing room at the card tables. He had been too dependent on Julia's company, her goodwill. That was not a healthy state. His separation from her weighed so heavily on him because he had not filled that time with other amusements.

Mostly
, the last thing he wished to be doing when she returned home was sitting morosely waiting for her like a neglected cur.

He would go out. He looked at all the other invitations arrayed in a neat pile on the corner of his desk where Julia had left them afte
r opening them. Balls, routs, dinners and soirees. No doubt she had responded to them all. He would probably be welcomed in even if she had sent apologies on his behalf. Or maybe she had sent nothing at all for him. He had not asked her.

He contemplated th
e Harlow's invitation, feeling a certain reckless desire to tempt fate. So be it.

CHAPTER THIRTY
-ONE

Julia was tired when she arrived back. She had walked too far today, up and down streets she barely knew, or did not know at all. Walked and walked and thought her mother had been right. Rakes were not men to marry.

He had ignored her for a week, then come to her in the night, and made her cry by giving her a piece of what he had so abruptly withdrawn. By taking it away, he taught her how much she w
anted it. Wanted him.

She felt trapped by pride and uncertainty.

He said he loved her beyond anything, yet he could go a whole week and barely speak to her. She wanted his love. She was afraid of how dependent she had become on it. When he took it away it made her crazy.

She must tell him so. She must be vulnerable to him, no matter how it fri
ghtened her to acknowledge he had such power over her. The alternative was this impasse where he was absent and she was unhappy. That was no sort of marriage. Or perhaps she had already driven him beyond that point, with her angry words. Perhaps he would take the permission she had so stupidly given and act on it. What man would not, who had once lived as he had and only stopped because she demanded it?

But surely not her Colin, who loved her so? He did love her. She was certain of it. She must not waste th
at. And if it was hard to love a man who appealed to so many, then let that be her burden to bear. She would not vent her fears on him again. Only be honest and say how it hurt to think he would soon leave. Be honest and let him comfort her and try not to let fear twist her thinking.

He loved her. She must cling to that certainty, and say she loved him too. No more cowardice. She wanted him back.

Forget London. They could leave it, and be happy elsewhere as they had been in the little house. She would embrace idle hedonism, as he had recommended.

Night was drawing in, and the house was dim and quiet. She had not ordered a dinner for tonight before she left. Had Colin? Perhaps they could eat together. And talk. She must talk to him. She must simply open her m
outh and say the words. I love you. Not so terrifying as all that. She was a brave woman. She could do it.

She walked into the library, where candles burned. But he was not there.

"Mr Holbrook has gone out, Ma'am," came the voice from behind her, and she jumped, then turned. It was the butler.

"Oh. Has he? I'm sorry to have missed him."

"I believe he is sorry too. He sought you for some hours, earlier."

"Did he?"

"Riding about London."

"Oh. And now he's gone out."

"Yes."

"Do you know where he went?"

"I could not say for certain, Ma'am. I do know a late invitation came for him, and he opened it, then dressed and departed."

"So you think he may be there?"

"I cannot say for certain."

"Where is this invitation?"

"I believe it is on his desk."

She went towards t
he polished surface and saw there was indeed a piece of folded card lying there, separate from the stack she had carefully piled on the corner of his desk in quiet request for his company at any of them. She picked it up. It was not one she recognized, though the name-

After a moment she dredged it from memory. The Harlows were the couple she had met last night. They had rudely introduced themselves rather than wait for a more formal introduction, begging pardon and pleading great intimacy with her husband.
They had been very warm to her, more than she was used to, so she unbent and was pleasant enough, hoping to strike some middle ground between her desire not to offend Colin's friends, and her fear they were not good sort of people. The Harlows. She tall and dark-haired and pretty in a fine boned, delicate way. He much taller. There was an interesting air of mutual pride in each other, and collusion, between them. Some unusual connection. She felt they extended a subtle sort of understanding to her, a message she did not quite understand.

Now here was an invitation from them, and Colin - who had left the stack of other invitations exactly where she had put them - had read this one and gone out. They must indeed be particular friends. He had left no word for
her. Did he not want her there? But then she was his wife, and the invitation was for both of them. She should go, and stand by his side, and let him know she had not meant what she said last night.

"Barton."

"Yes, Mrs Holbrook?"

"Please order the carriage
for a half hour from now. I shall go out."

"Yes, Mrs
Holbrook."

CHAPTER THIRTY-
TWO

"Mrs Holbrook! I'm so delighted you could come. I'm afraid we had an early dinner, though I would be delighted to have the kitchen send up a repast."

"Thank you, but no, I already ate," Julia lied. They had already finished dinner? But it was only seven o'clock. Those were country hours, and a very brief dinner at that. She felt a little awkward to be arriving so late
in the scheduled entertainment, but Mrs Harlow seemed unperturbed.

"Very well. Do let me know if I can get you anything. We are very informal here, on our social evenings. Perhaps you will find us unconventional."

She seemed to be waiting for a response, so Julia said, "Conventionality can be overvalued," and hoped the statement was suitably ambiguous.

"Precisely," said Mrs Harlow with a satisfied air. "That is exactly what I think. Now of course there is no requirement that you participate in anything that makes you uncomfortable. This eve
ning is about whatever makes you happy. If you prefer to stay in these rooms we have cards and music and conversation, and sometimes there is even dancing. Not yet, tonight, but you never know how things will turn out."

"That sounds very . . . relaxed."

"Yes, relaxed is exactly the word. If you wish to be more . . . unconventional . . . you may visit any of the other rooms, or go upstairs if you prefer privacy. Please do not enter any room that has a closed door." Julia blinked, and nodded silently. "Ask me for an introduction to anyone if you like, but we do not follow any strict rules here. Feel free to approach anyone. The worst you'll hear is a 'no' and frankly that's not likely. Unless you prefer women of course. We do tend to be a little more selective." Then she laughed, as if at a shared joke.

Julia plastered a smile on her face, suddenly crystal clear on what sort of gathering this was. "Do you know where Mr
Holbrook is?" she asked, in as pleasant a tone as she could manage.

"This way, the last time
I saw him. Oh, and here's a special treat. The room has a watching point. Do you like to watch? Some of our guests love it above all things. Others adore being watched. Something for everyone. Let me just see . . . No, there's no one in here. You may go in. Such a handsome man, your husband. You are very lucky. I'll close the door for you. Enjoy!" She had ushered Julia into a closet-sized space hung about with long velvet curtains in a way that reminded Julia of a small box in the theater. The curtains were pulled back from the opposite wall, leaving a broad peephole with a chair set just in front of it. Alone in the unlit space now the door was pulled closed, she groped her way to the chair, sat and - with a sick feeling in her stomach - put her eye to the peephole.

At first she was relieved. There was no naked flesh in the room. Her eyes went to the three people draped on a settee, two women and a man in a contorted and passionate clinch. Colin?

But no, it was not him. Two other men sat nearby, talking quietly to another but watching the three, a woman walked about restlessly, and Colin sat facing away, towards her, next to another man who slouched in a chair, a wine glass in one hand.

She searched Colin's figure, but he was tidily arrayed as always, and he
ignored the three - who had started to peel off their clothing - as if they were not there.

It was surreal, like some odd painting of people randomly combined by an artist to convey some significance of his own.

"I never thought it of you, Colin," said the woman, moving to stand in front of him. He looked up at her, moody and . . . a little bored? Surely she was not correct. But his mouth was pulled down at the corners, and there was that wrinkle between his eyes he got when he was out of patience with something. "Well? Won't you talk to me?"

"I find I'm not in the mood, Megan."

"If you don't want to talk, perhaps there's something else you'd like." She walked towards him, more of a strut than a walk. A sultry sway. Julia realized she was hitching up the front of her dress as she went. Julia's mouth fell open.

Colin looked away.

"No, thank you," he said, as if refusing a cream bun.

The woman halted and turned abruptly, letting go of her skirt with an abrupt gesture. She looked toward Julia, who saw she was a
beauty. A great beauty, to be honest, with rosy lips and big blue eyes, very fair hair and a lusciously deep bosom. Her expression was unpleasant though, frustrated and pettish.

She half turned back to Colin, cocking a sulky shoulder.

"No to Susan, no to Francesca, no to Erin, no to me. What is this? Have you lost your bountiful appetite, Colin darling?"

He looked at her, eyes and lips thinning. "Who can say? Perhaps this is not the evening for me."

"Has your new wife gelded you?"

"Leav
e him be, Megan," said the man beside Colin, lifting his head from his contemplation of the glass in his hand. "If you're so hungry, I'll satisfy you."

"Thank you very much," she said sarcastically.

"What of
your
appetite then? Quenched?" said the stranger, and grinned at her.

She clenched and unclenched her fists, then swept forward and planted herself on Colin's knee. He put up automatic hands to steady her, a loose clasp at her waist. She leaned forward.

"Would you like to see me beg?" she asked tenderly. "Please, Colin." She put her hand on the front of his breeches and rubbed at him. "Please take that big-"

Julia stood and fumbled for the door. She had had enough. She found the knob, turned it and propelled herself through it at speed, rage almost choki
ng her. There was another door, there in the wall, half open. She went in swift as an eagle stooping.

Colin had captured the hand that had groped at him and held it away from his body, but the woman had lowered her face to his and was kissing him passionat
ely. He was grimacing and pulling his head away. The moment Julia entered he looked up and met her gaze.

His eyes widened and a look of purest horror came into them.

Julia stalked forward, put her hands on the woman's shoulders and spun her away from Colin onto the floor. She sprawled full length.

"He said no, you fool," cried Julia. "Weren't you listening?"

The woman gaped up at her.

"Go away. He does not want you."

The woman drew back her lips in scorn and opened her mouth, but the man sitting next to Colin laughed. "Yes, run away, Megan. Quick. She's fierce as a tiger, this one. She'll skin you alive. Run if you don't want half your face scratched off."

The woman hesitated, wrinkled up her face as if she might spit, gathered her skirts and stood. She was
taller than Julia. Julia stood her ground and stared her down.

The woman looked at Colin.
"Gelded!" she said, and swept out.

Julia stared at Colin. He was breathing hard and his eyes were despairing. "Julia," he said.

"So this is where you belong," she said softly.

"I swear, it isn't."

"Here in this place, with all these people. This is what you do."

"Julia. Sweetheart-"

"I couldn't quite picture it before."

"I wish you had not seen that. It wasn't what you think it was."

"I am perfectly clear what it was. Let me be just as clear with you." She stepped forward until her skirts touched his knees, and set one hand on his broad collarbone, pressing him back into the chair. He looked up at her, his eyes very dark. "You are mine. I do not share. If you want to come to these places, it is with me. If you must do these things, it is with me. You do not go alone. I do not like this but if this is what you need then so be it."

He frowned, lifted his hands and set them about her ribs, cradling her torso, urging her ge
ntly closer. "Julia?"

She put her hand on his cheek. "Do not come here alone. Swear it to me."

"I swear it."

"Do not lie to me. Do not deceive me. If you must go, I go too."

He gathered her up, brought her into his lap. She came but she did not break eye contact, fiercely determined. "Yes. But you don't understand. I do not need this."

"I told you not to lie." She struck his shoulder for emphasis, not hard enough to hurt. "Don't lie!"

"I'm not."

"Then why come? Why do something so stupid?"

"Because I was lonely without you. I wanted to need you less."

She set her forehead on his. "Stupid."

"Yes."

There was a pause, as she breathed his breath. The three on the settee murmured, giggled and s
ighed. The man beside Julia and Colin stared at his wineglass.

"Do you need me less?" she asked.

He cupped her face in his palms. "I need you more than air and sunlight. I cannot stop."

"Don't stop. Kiss me."

He kissed her, soft, undemanding, a gentle affirmation.

It was not what she wanted. She sealed her mouth to his, demanding more.

He stiffened. "Julia?"

"Mine."

"Yes."

"Kiss me."

"Sweetheart, what is it you want?"

She pulled back and looked at him, feeling outside of herself, outside of rules and boun
daries, wanting to stake a claim that was unmistakable for anyone who might imagine their marriage was a dry and empty thing. Her hands went to his cravat. She started to untie it.

Instantly his hands were on hers, stilling her. In his face was a question.
In hers was a challenge.

"You want to take me?" he asked, his voice husky. "Here and now?"

She thrust her chin forward. "Yes."

"Darling, no."

"I say yes. Mrs Harlow said I may have exactly as I please, and that is you, here, now."

He gave a soft, wonderin
g laugh. She heard triumph in it. "Sweetheart, one moment."

He lifted her in his arms, a jumble of skirts and petticoats, and stood.

"Matthew, another time," he said to the man beside him.

"Certainly. Good night," said he, and tipped his head affably to them.

Colin carried her out of the house. Two or three people lifted their heads in vague interest as they passed rooms empty and occupied. Julia and Colin ignored them.

"This is not what I m
eant," she told him.

"I know."

"I would have taken you inside."

"I know. Wait."

She did not know whether to be relieved or disgruntled. She waited. He went to the stables and ordered their carriage from the groom standing there. Their own groom emerged at the sound of his master's voice. At the sight of them he paused, blinked once in surprise, then professional calm dropped over his features. He touched his cap and turned to bring the horses out. They were swiftly hitched up to the small, smart brougham carriage.

Colin immediately stepped forward and settled them into the leather upholstered seat, with her still on his lap. "Around the park, until I say otherwise," he told the groom, who closed the door. Colin lowered the blinds. "Now," he said, clasping h
er firmly. He lifted her and adjusted her legs and skirts so she could straddle him.

"Why not inside?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Why not?" she asked him curiously, then was distracted by his fingers, busy under her skirts. They both sighed as he found th
e slit in her undergarments and put his hand inside it.

"Because I'll be damned if I do that to you."

"Language," she said dreamily.

"Sod it. I've had a wretched day and I'm about to make it much, much better. Don't interfere with me, wife."

"Very well." She shifted so she could unbutton the fall front of his breeches.

"Good girl. That- God, yes."

"Like this?" She manoeuvred him with her hand.

"Who taught you that? Who were you watching in there? How long were you there before-"

"Relax. I only saw you. I thought of this myself."

"Ah. Inventive."

"I thought you'd like it. Just here?"

"No. No more. I have to be inside you this second."

She shifted and sank down on him obligingly, head tilting back on a neck grown weak. He looped his arms around her waist, put his face into her neck and held her very tight. "Now sit still," he growled at her, his voice muffled.

She leaned into him, put her arms around his shoulders and her fingertips in his hair, and breathed in the scent of him. They swayed together with the mo
vement of the carriage.

"Why not inside?"

"Because you're beautifully pure, and I don't want to dirty you with that."

"It's not dirty if it's with you."