The Wild One (32 page)

"It will do," he finally said. "You may
leave us."

Snelling had been grinning; now, his mouth
opened and closed like a landed fish in response to this abrupt and
autocratic dismissal in his own home. For a moment he sputtered
helplessly, before retrieving his too-wide smile and gushing
flattery and laying a hand across Gareth's shoulders in a false
gesture of friendship — a gesture that caused Gareth's pale eyes to
glitter with warning beneath their lazy sweep of lashes. "Of
course, my lord, of course! You've had a long journey, you're
tired, it is perfectly understandable that you both wish to rest.
Good day, then, Lord Gareth, and I shall see you at seven o'clock
tomorrow morning, in the barn just beyond the stables."

"You shall see me at nine o'clock," Gareth
countered easily, still coolly assessing the house, "for I do not
keep such early hours."

"Lord Gareth —" Snelling no longer looked
amused — "you work for me now. You shall do as I say."

"I shall do as I please" — Gareth smiled
benignly — "or you may find someone else to fight for you. Do you
understand me, sir?"

"I — " Snelling's face went a dark, ugly
red, and his mouth thinned as he bit back an irate retort. Then he
managed to recover his false smile, though Juliet noted he had his
fists clenched at his sides. "I understand perfectly," he said with
sudden, fawning brightness. "Nine o'clock. Till then."

He bowed to Juliet, then strode off, anger
radiating from him like stench from a skunk.

As soon as he was out of sight, Gareth threw
back his head and let out an amused guffaw. "What a buffoon!"

"If you keep irritating him so, you'll be
out of a job before you even start."

"If he keeps irritating
me
, he'll be
out of a fighter before I even throw the first punch."

"What?"

"Nothing." He grinned and took her arm.
"Just an expression, my sweet. Come, let us have a look round the
grounds, shall we?"

She eyed him narrowly, but he merely gave
her his innocent dimpled smile and, plucking Charlotte from her
arms and ruffling her blond curls, led her back down the steps.

Viewed from the grounds, the dower house
mirrored the manor house, with the same pink brick, graceful stone
quoining, and lovely views over fields of young wheat, barley and
rye. A small plot for gardening was to one side, and to the rear of
the house a border of brambles, bulrushes, and trees choked with
bright green ivy stood between the lawn and the Mill Stream, which
branched off from the River Thames and paralleled it all the way
into the town proper. Sunlight filtered through the trees, creating
a sleepy, peaceful effect, and birdsong filled the air.

It was too good to be true.

Juliet gazed at the moving shadows the trees
threw across the dower house's roof. "Gareth," she said slowly, "as
pretty as this place is, I have a bad feeling about all this."

He swung Charlotte up in his arms and
laughed. "There you go, worrying again!"

"No, really, I don't trust — or like — that
man."

"Well, neither do I, but so far he's done
nothing wrong except subtly needle me. He's offered me work,
Juliet.
Easy
work. What is the problem? If we're not happy
here, we shall simply leave." Grinning, he bent down and kissed her
full on the lips, laughing at her sudden flush. "Come, let's go
inside."

But as they stepped over the threshold,
disappointment greeted them. The place smelled of damp stone and
smoke from fires long since dead. The curtains needed washing, the
floors wanted sweeping, and the place had a general unkempt look
about it. Snelling had told them the dower house had been made
ready for them — but obviously it had not been.

"Ah, well," Gareth said at last, shrugging
and mustering a cavalier smile, "better than Mrs. Bottomley's, eh,
Juliet?"

"It's not so bad," she returned, trying,
like him, to pretend that the place was nicer than it really
was.

"A bit of cleaning, a spot of paint, some
new rugs on these floors, and we'll have a nice, happy home."

"Yes ... I'm certainly not afraid of a
little hard work."

"Neither am I — however I shamefully confess
the very idea is alien to me. I'll give it a go, though. You just
tell me what to do, Juliet, and I swear I'll do it."

They stood together, gazing at the few
pieces of furniture that had been left in the house, the rising
damp on the walls, the grimy windowpanes. At last, Juliet gave a
heavy sigh. She was not very good at keeping up pretenses.

"I am sorry, Gareth. You shouldn't have to
live like this."

"What are you talking about? This is a fine
little house."

She shook her head. "It's not the house.
It's Snelling. Swanthorpe.
You.
You're trying so hard to
make this work, to care for Charlotte and me, but all I can think
of is Blackheath Castle and what you had there; all I can think of
is what you were born to, what you're accustomed to." She shook her
head. "And here you are, reduced to living in the dower house of an
estate that once belonged to your family ... I cannot imagine how
humiliating it must be."

He was leaning down, examining the
soot-stained fireplace, holding Charlotte protectively as he did
so. "Not as humiliating as crawling back to Lucien with my tail
between my legs — which, I am afraid, is the only alternative." He
straightened up and looked directly at her, and in his eyes she saw
a fierce determination to succeed, a vow to show the world that he
was not the useless creature that everyone thought him to be. "I
will do whatever I must to avoid
that
."

Her heart went out to him, standing there
holding the baby. She pulled Charlotte from his arms and set her,
still swaddled in her blanket, down in the nearest chair. Then,
stepping close to her husband, she put her hand in his, looked up
into his face, and said quietly, "I believe in you, Gareth."

He gave a pained smile and bent his head so
that his forehead just rested against hers. "Believing in me could
be dangerous."

"Believing in you is all that Charlotte and
I have."

"And you and Charlotte are all that
I
have."

She smiled.

He grinned.

"I guess we're in this together, then," she
said.

"Yes. And do you know something, Juliet?
There is no one else I would rather have at my side."

They moved closer, their clothes just
touching, their body heat mingling.

"You'll prove Lucien wrong, I know you will,
Gareth. You'll prove
all
of them wrong."

"I do not know if I'm worthy of such blind
faith."

"
I
think you are."

"Do you?" His brow was touching hers, and he
was beaming now, obviously pleased and flattered.

"I do." She looked up at him through her
lashes, enjoying this light, challenging banter even as a blush
crept over her cheeks. "If I thought otherwise, I would have left
you and gone back to America."

"Juliet!" He drew back, pretending to look
genuinely horrified. "What if I fail you both?"

"Whether you fail or succeed doesn't matter.
It's the effort that counts — and as long as you make it, I shall
always stand by you." On impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and
kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Gareth. Thank you for — well, for
being a hero all over again."

The delight and gratitude on his face made
her ashamed to think that there had ever been a time — albeit brief
— when she had
not
believed in him. And then he took her
hand and lifted it to his lips, gazing at her from over the top of
her knuckles. "And thank
you
, Juliet. I must admit that I am
not accustomed to having anyone place such confidence in me."

And therein lies the root of your
problem.

His gaze was darkening now with something
deep and gentle, and Juliet knew, as women throughout time have
always known, that he was in love with her. The knowledge both
thrilled and scared her. Thrilled her because her body had come
alive at the brush of his lips across the back of her hand. Scared
her because she knew that he, if anyone, could make her forget
Charles, was already making her forget Charles ... and for
Charles's sake, as well as his daughter's, she did not want to
forget Charles.

Passion and guilt warred.

And now his lips were grazing the crest of
one knuckle while his eyes watched her from beneath their veil of
lowered lashes. She felt each hot little puff of breath against her
skin. Felt his mouth moving over the next knuckle and down into the
hollow between her fingers. Faint tremors pulsed through her, but
she did not pull away.

Could not pull away, for she was transfixed
by the invitation in those lazy blue eyes.

Still watching her, he nuzzled aside the
lace sleeve of her chemise where it fell across the back of her
hand and brushed his lips over her inner wrist ... the base of her
thumb ... the warm cup of her palm, where he planted a deep and
penetrating kiss with the hard point of his tongue.

Juliet blushed. "Gareth!"

But he merely smiled, holding her gaze with
his own as he made little circles in her palm with his tongue.
Juliet's body caught fire. Squirming, she clamped her legs together
against the gush of desire that suddenly flared between them.

"G-gareth, I think we'd better —"

"Go upstairs?" he prompted in an inviting
drawl. "What a fine idea. I think I would like to ravish you."

"Oh!"

"Unless" — he reached out, brushing his
fingers over the suddenly frantic pulse at her throat, and found
the chain that held the miniature — "you find yourself unwilling to
betray the man you still love?"

The words were said without rancor,
jealousy, or anger. It was simply an honest question, with none of
the emotion she knew he must feel, attached.

And Juliet felt terrible. In that moment she
realized he had not been sleeping in the coach when she'd examined
the miniature with such detached and puzzled longing. He had seen
her take it out, caress it with her thumb, and talk softly to the
man whose image it held. Shame and mortification blazed through
her.

"You saw," she said, red-faced with
guilt.

"I saw. But I do not condemn. I told you I
would give you all the time you need, Juliet. I shall never, ever
push you."

"I know you won't, but Gareth, although I
like you, am very, very fond of you, I ... I may never be able to
love any man the way I loved Charles, and that is unfair to
you."

"Juliet." He smiled with gentle tolerance,
his hand caressing the side of her face. "My dearest Juliet. I knew
when I asked you to marry me that you still loved him. I knew where
your heart lay, where your thoughts lingered. I have always known,
and I do not suffer any delusions that you may ever come to think
of me in the same way that you did Charles. I accept that. Do you
not see?"

"Oh, Gareth..." She shook her head, guilt
twisting her heart. "What about you? What about how
you
feel
about me?"

"My dear," he said gently, "I should think
that that is painfully obvious."

She gulped and looked away, unable to face
the blatant love in his eyes. How guilty she felt at her inability
to admit as much to him. And yet, how she wanted him, ached for
him, lusted after him, like a budding rose straining toward a
spring sun. How could she feel so torn?

And as she stood there in that small,
spartan room with this man who had so selflessly married her
despite the fact that she might never love him as strongly as she
had his brother, her choices were suddenly clear: she could retreat
back into her prison of sadness, or make a thrilling leap out into
the liberation she had tasted earlier — a liberation that could
open the doors to a loving, shining future for both herself and
Charlotte.

She seized what courage still fired her and
made her decision.

"Make me feel, then, Gareth." She pressed
close to him, her eyes almost pleading. "Open my heart again, so we
can have something of a life together."

He lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing
his lips against each knuckle, studying the myriad of pain and hope
and confusion that moved across her face.

"Are you certain that is what you want,
Juliet?"

"How can I know if it's what I want unless I
muster the courage to find out? I hurt so badly inside, Gareth. I
hurt because on the one hand I still feel loyal to Charles — but on
the other, I find myself having ... wifely thoughts about
you
. Not him,
you
." Her eyes pleaded for
understanding and forgiveness. "Can you make me forget him, Gareth?
Can you?
"

"I honestly don't know." And then he smiled,
slowly. "But I can promise you this; I shall enjoy trying."

She nodded and shut her eyes, trembling with
sudden anticipation. Measuring each long, loud breath that went
into, and back out of, her lungs. And now, his tongue was probing
each pad of flesh at the base of her fingers, his breath whispering
over the back of her hand, and Juliet, her heart pounding
furiously, was as stiff as a sapling after an ice storm.

"Juliet?"

"Yes?"

"I am trying," he murmured playfully.

She opened her eyes. He was silently
laughing at her, his eyes twinkling. And in that moment, Juliet's
trepidation faded because it was awfully hard to take yourself
seriously when someone you trusted, someone you knew cared about
you, probably even loved you, was teasing you so.

"Oh, Gareth!" she said with a little
laugh.

"Oh, Gareth
!" he mimicked, grinning.
And then, gazing down at her, he raised her hand to his face and
painted his cheek with her fingers. "Touch me, Juliet."

Shyly, she pulled free of his grasp and let
her hand move over his face. His cheek was slightly rough beneath
her fingers, his skin warm against her own. Everything inside her
began to heat up, and she suddenly found it hard to breathe. She
ran her hand down the side of his neck and then out over his
shoulder, feeling the shape of his body beneath his clothes: the
bulges of his upper arm and then the solid breadth of his chest,
the bumps that were each rib, the flat, taut belly beneath the
loose, white shirt. She shut her eyes, trembling, knowing that she
had to be the initiator if only to prove to herself that she was
not afraid of letting go of the past, if only to prove to herself
that she was indeed capable of loving another man. Her hand dipped,
lower. He tensed and caught his breath. And now her fingers were
hesitating at the waistband of his breeches as she fought both
flight and desire. And then, bashfully, Juliet touched him through
the cloth.