Only Marriage Will Do Read online

  At the touch of his lips, her resistance melted like sugar candy in the rain. She moaned as his lips strayed down her neck toward her swelling breasts. He need only touch her and her nipples peaked, hard with longing for his tongue.

  Oh yes, she felt wicked every time he glanced her way. She reveled in his hot gaze, his silky caress, his absolute possession of her body. How could something so blatantly sensual be anything but wicked? Yet so incredibly good.

  Juliet sat up and began to unpin her stomacher. Unfortunate that women’s clothing did not lend itself to swift disrobing. Still, since July she’d learned a trick or two about shedding her clothes. She’d released only a third of the garment when Amiable’s hand stayed hers. The hungry look on his face gave her goose flesh.

  “As magnificent as it would be to see you as unclothed as nature, I fear it is a trifle cool today, my dear, and I am a bit impatient.”

  “Then how…?”

  “Stand up, sweet.”

  She rose, though she’d no idea what he had in mind until he slid his hands underneath her skirt to her waist. Prickles of excitement followed. Her body had come to know his touch well, loved the feel of his hands on her. They now pushed her thighs apart and she moved her feet to give him greater access. She smiled down at him, but his head had disappeared under her petticoat. She frowned. Surely, he could see nothing in the darkness beneath—

  “Oh.” That wasn’t his hand. Juliet stared straight ahead, heart pounding. The warm wetness licking at her opening must be… “Amiable?”

  “Hmmm?” The muffled sound was followed by his tongue lapping deeper into her folds.

  “What are you doing?” She pulled at the fabric of her petticoat, trying to get to him. Trying to stop this madness. Instead he pulled her hips against his face and thrust his tongue inside her.

  She gasped and stopped stock-still. The normal ache he incited in her could not compare to the surge of passion that overwhelmed her. Panting and moaning, she pressed his head to her. “Don’t stop. Oh, God, don’t stop.”

  He groaned and flicked his tongue in and out. Like with the cream cake. Her knees buckled. He caught her, pressed her to him, and moved to the sensitive nub above her opening. He swirled the tip of his tongue around her flesh, licked then sucked the nub into his mouth.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she screamed as waves of pleasure engulfed her, carried her aloft and held her on the crest. Her body pulsed each time he drew on the nub until she lay limp, spent, exhausted.

  Amiable emerged from beneath her skirts, cradled her body, shifted it, and laid her down on the blanket. “Was that wicked enough for you, love?”

  She gazed at him, hazy with the aftermath of his loving. “It’s wicked to try to kill your wife with pleasure, sir,” she whispered.

  His laughter rang out. “You will take some killing yet, sweet. Turn on your side and let me untie your hoops.” Strange request, but she didn’t care. Eyes closed, she rolled onto her right side and he tugged at the tapes at her waist. She could doze off if he’d stop pulling at her. So sleepy.

  He rolled her onto her back. Darkness engulfed her until…Cold. A cool breeze touched her legs all the way to her hips. She roused and glanced down. He had pulled up her apricot striped petticoat and folded it across her stomach, exposing her lower body to the chilly air. Juliet sat up, trying to push her skirts down. Why had he done that?

  Shivering again she peered about, sure someone must be watching this wanton display of her private parts. Her gaze came to rest on her husband, who had unbuttoned his breeches and rearranged his clothing so his shaft sprang forth eager and undaunted by the coolness of the day.

  Amiable took one look at her face and laughed. He parted her thighs as he knelt between them and pulled her snug against his taut flesh. “Are you cold, my love? Let us see what we can do to warm you.”

  With that, he thrust forward into her and Juliet forgot about cold, about being tired, about being seen, about everything except Amiable over her, inside her, kissing her, creating a blaze between them that sizzled in the thin sunlight.

  In a few minutes, they lay side-by-side, warm and sated. Panting with his exertion, he pulled her into his arms. “There is something to be said for wickedness isn’t there, love?”

  “Yes, there is.” Juliet snuggled against him. “Of course, now I don’t want to paint at all. Just lay here with you. Is that terribly lazy of me?”

  “No, sweetheart. Be lazy. We have all the time in the world.” He tightened his arms around her.

  So loved, so safe.

  “Juliet?”

  “Hmm?” She needed to sleep.

  “Berks came to me before dinner last night.”

  “Hmm?” She struggled to listen to his soothing voice. This sounded important. “He didn’t give notice, did he?”

  “No, sweet. He told me a man came to the house yesterday, while we were up here. A man who asked for you by name.”

  Her eyes snapped open, all vestiges of contentment fled. Tension shot throughout her body and she tasted copper. “Was it Philippe?” She clutched Amiable to her, fighting an irrational terror that someone would snatch her from his arms.

  “No, love. Hush. I questioned Berks. The man wasn’t a gentleman by his description. A big, florid man but well-spoken.”

  “Who else could it be, Amiable? Who would be looking for me?” It must be someone in Philippe’s pay.

  “Well, did you ever think perhaps the servants at your brother’s house would be worried because you’ve disappeared? That’s my guess.” Amiable rubbed her shoulder and gathered her closer. “Your brother’s steward would have a list of his properties and when you couldn’t be found in London, I’ll wager he’s sent inquiries to every estate looking for you. I would have done.”

  “Wouldn’t he have sent letters instead of a man to ask questions?”

  “Perhaps. Nothing has arrived by post to my knowledge, but I’ll ask Berks.” He sat up, bringing her up with him then enfolded her in his arms. “In any case, do not worry, love. We are married. I have the papers in safekeeping. No one, not St. Cyr, not your brother, not the king himself will ever take you away from me.” He lifted her chin until her eyes met his. “Trust me?”

  “Oh, yes.” She laid her head on his chest, exhausted. Questions popped into her mind, about Philippe, about the mysterious man. That boded ill. Perhaps now, with this new uncertainty lurking, the time had come for her to share her secret with her husband.

  “Amiable, I have something to tell you, too.” She struggled out of his arms and faced him.

  He leaned forward, eyebrows lifted, chin raised. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “We are…I am…” Her face heated once more. Lord, but she shouldn’t be embarrassed to speak of this. She dropped her hand to her abdomen. “I am in an interesting situation, Amiable.” She risked a quick glance into his face and found him grinning. Her own heart swelled with happiness. “Oh, you are pleased about it, aren’t you, my dear?”

  “I am thrilled, Juliet, although it took you long enough to tell me.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You knew I was increasing?” She continued to stare at him, amazement at his statement taking some of the glory out of her surprise. “But how did you know?”

  “Because I have slept in the bed with you and pleasured you every night and day since the first time. I kept waiting for you to tell me that your courses had begun, dreading it.” He stretched out his full length. “However, they never came. After two months, that can only mean one thing.”

  “Are you always so observant, Captain Dawson?” Juliet stood, shaking out her skirts and retrieving her hoops. She had counted on surprising him with her news.

  “Where you are concerned, my wife, yes.” He rose to his knees, grasped her around the waist, and pulled her into his arms. “You are my chief subject of study, love. I can think of nothing but you. I want to be with no one but you. I want to know everything about you.” He c
upped her face and brought her mouth down to his. “Never has education been so pleasurable.”

  He kissed her long and deep, sending tingles into her toes. “Now, let’s get you back to work, madam. I’d like that watercolor done and gracing the wall overtop the desk in the study so I can look at it and remember today long after snow has covered this hill.”

  * * * *

  For several days, the chilled winds of October had gusted too violently for Juliet to even think about painting on her third canvas. Resigned that she would not finish all four views before she had to leave the Keep, she still cherished hopes of finishing her current work. Even though she believed she would not have to leave her treasured sanctuary until almost December, the capricious weather in the north of England would not allow her to work steadily through the autumn months. She would be lucky to be able to finish the third view, the one facing the stand of trees where she and Amiable had dallied the day she told him she carried his child. This picture would always have very special memories.

  She had withdrawn to the rear parlor, their favorite sitting room in the evenings, for she had been tired and anxious all day. Tired she understood, for she and Amiable had indulged in their marital pleasures late into the night. Little wonder she rose later and later these days. Oh, but it was such a good tired.

  The child had also caused physical changes in her body. Her breasts were larger and more sensitive, her waist thicker, and her temper more irritable, particularly in the mornings. She tired more easily, too, hence their habit of enjoying tea in the early part of the afternoon, followed by one or the other reading aloud in front of the fire. What a perfect idyll her life had become.

  The fear that had haunted her after Amiable told her of the stranger asking for her had abated. No other inquiries had materialized. She still puzzled over it. Other than her aunt, who else but Philippe would be looking for her? Her conscience had pricked her over this past month. She didn’t wish for Aunt Phoebe or the servants to be worried about her disappearance, but until that day on the hill, such things had not crossed her mind.

  She’d left London with the single thought of concealing herself from Philippe. After they arrived in the north, she’d been too happy in her life to think about anyone else. Amiable had written to his father informing him of what had transpired, but she had elected not to write Aunt Phoebe. She reveled in freedom from her family and friends, although she knew the first possible moment Duncan could be expected back in England she would write to him. His wrath at her marrying Amiable would likely be severe enough without the added worry about her disappearance. One more precious month of her idyllic life left. She would savor it to the fullest.

  She lazed in front of the fire, thinking of nothing in particular. Amiable had gone to fetch them tea. He said he liked waiting on her himself rather than have the servants intrude on their quiet afternoons. Juliet smiled into the crackling flames, warmth and happiness sinking into her very bones.

  A door opened behind her.

  “Lord and Lady Dalbury,” Berks announced, and the door closed.

  Chapter 17

  Certain Berks had decided to play some strange joke on her, Juliet shot up off the chaise lounge and whirled. But by God, no. Duncan stood right there in the sitting room.

  “Duncan. Oh, Duncan.” Juliet launched herself across the room and threw herself into his arms. “How are you come here? You are to be in Italy until next month at least. And Kat.”

  She turned from her brother and beamed at her sister-in-law. “Oh, but it is so good to see you.” Hugging Kat close, she repeated her question, “How are you back so soon?” She looked at Duncan. Some of her high spirits and happiness evaporated. He wore his stern brother face. Lord.

  “That is a long story, Juliet, and one that will keep.” He dismissed it with a wave of his hand and pointed his finger at her. “The more important question is why are you all the way up here in Cumbria? Whatever possessed you to leave and tell no one where you were going or why?”

  A twinge of conscience pricked her and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Of course, he would be angry. Perhaps she could mitigate his anger. She raised her chin and faced her brother down. “I had very good reasons for what I did, Duncan, and I am not sorry one bit I did it.” She grasped his hands and squeezed them, so excited to share her news with him. “It has been so lovely here. Idyllic, really, and oh, Duncan, just think, you are to be an uncle.”

  Instead of the delight she expected, his face darkened with hectic splotches, his mouth pursed tightly. He quivered and clenched his hands.

  She shrank back from this stranger.

  “Is St. Cyr the father?” The question exploded into the quiet room.

  Juliet cringed. Of all the ridiculous things. She shook her head. “Of course not, Duncan. I did not believe for one minute that marriage was valid, even though he showed me the papers. I knew you had revoked the proxy after the Count broke the engagement. He would never have convinced me we were married, don’t you know?”

  Duncan stared at her, shaking his head. “Then who, Juliet?” His body tensed. “With whom did you run away?” The anguish in his voice smote her heart. She’d never willingly cause him grief. “We have been worried to distraction ever since we returned to London and found you gone. Janie said you went away willingly with a man she did not recognize, a man you called Lord Manning.”

  Oh dear. Just what she had not wanted to happen. She had so hoped a letter could reach him before he became so worried.

  “Please, Juliet.” He seemed to be hanging by a hair. “For the love of God, tell me who this man is so I can make him marry you.”

  The anger in his voice brought her up short. What would he do to Amiable?

  “Duncan, we are already married.” She smiled and showed him her ring in hopes that reassurance would lessen the punishment he would heap on her husband.

  “What?” Duncan’s face paled. “You are married? But to whom, Juliet? Who have you married?”

  “She married me, my lord.” Amiable, attired elegantly in navy blue and buff, had entered bearing a tea tray.

  Oh, thank God. She sped to his side and took his arm. His light hair glinted in the waning afternoon light and his blue eyes locked on Duncan’s. Her brother took a step toward them, anger suffusing his face.

  Before either man could act, Katarina’s eyes widened, her mouth dropped open, and she took a step toward them. “Amiable! Amiable Dawson. What the devil are you doing here?”

  Duncan’s head swiveled to stare at his wife. “Dawson? This is the army captain you were running away to marry? And now he claims to be married to my sister?”

  Juliet sucked in breath, horrified at the black rage enveloping Duncan’s face. She’d never dreamed Katarina and Amiable’s former relationship would infuriate her brother so. Riveted to the floor, she stared helplessly as Duncan strode toward Amiable. She clutched her husband’s arm, but he shook it off and advanced toward her brother. Like two rams about to lock horns.

  Katarina, however, waded in-between the two incensed men, stopping both with looks of cold contempt.

  “Duncan, Amiable. Hold where you are or by God you will both feel my anger this day.” She glared at her husband, although she tempered the look with something akin to tenderness.

  What an interesting development.

  Kat then swung her piercing gaze to Amiable.

  Juliet’s heart leapt into her throat. Katarina’s face still displayed both anger and affection but for her husband this time. Did the warmth shine more evident? The claws of jealousy sank into her heart.

  “But Katarina…” Duncan tried to edge his way around his wife.

  “No buts, my dear. I will not have either Juliet or myself put under this strain. In our interesting conditions it must be detrimental to us.” She flashed a sympathetic smile at Juliet. “I am increasing as well, my dear, so I understand how trying this all is. We will put our heads together soon. For now, I thi
nk,” her eyes narrowed as she faced her husband, “go sit by the fire with your sister, Duncan, while I speak with Amiable.”

  Kat turned a brilliant smile toward him. Juliet had to bite back a scream of Leave my husband alone. A foolish thought when they were both married and increasing. A miracle considering the state of her brother’s marriage before he sailed for Italy. Apparently, their strained relationship had resolved itself. However, old ties had a way of reuniting themselves. Her heart raced and her stomach clenched.

  “Juliet, please sit down with your brother and explain what has taken place since you left London. Try to make it clear to him why he should not kill your husband.” She led Juliet to her chair before the fire and sat her down. “Amiable, my dear, come with me.” Her smile broadened as she took his arm and steered him to a sofa across the room.

  For the first time Juliet regretted not learning to ply a sword. She shook off her foreboding and motioned Duncan toward Amiable’s chair across from her.

  He scowled as he sat, but Juliet disregarded it, distracted by the murmur of voices behind her. What confidences were they sharing? What reminisces? When she married Amiable, it had escaped her that he would be brought into close contact with Katarina. The situation simply did not bear thinking about. She forced her attention back to her brother, bent on explanations before he could chastise her.

  “I have seen the papers from St. Cyr.”

  She stopped cold. Her mouth dried so quickly her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She had to peel it loose before she managed to ask, “You did?”

  His scowl darkened, worse than anything she’d ever seen. “He came to the house three days before we left to come here. He’s been in hiding since the day you saw him. His father returned to England in search of him so he left London for Bath.”

  There had never been any pursuit of her. Juliet shook her head, recalling her fear in the early days of their journey and her recent fear they’d been discovered. Thank God, Philippe wasn’t pursuing her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, relaxing for the first time since Duncan had appeared.