Only Marriage Will Do (12 page)

Did she want to see that same anguish look back at her from her mirror every morning?

The clock in the inn yard chimed eleven and Juliet put down her brush and swiftly braided her hair into a long, thick plait down her back. She missed Glynis doing this service for her and prayed she fared well. With a sigh, she moved to the roomy four-poster, dragged the covers back, blew out the candle, and crawled between the sheets. The night was too warm for more than a thin covering, even with the window open.

In the dark she stared at the ceiling, miserable. Hot tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and trickled toward her ears. She must stop her advances toward Amiable. Sniffling, she turned over on her side and faced the wall. The best course would be to act as though none of the past three days had happened. If only she were that good of an actress.

* * * *

Amiable eased the door to their room open, unsure what he would find awaiting him. The candle had burned out or been snuffed, for the room lay in semidarkness, lit only by the faint moonlight that spilled through the lone window that faced the yard. In no mood for her games, he had just come from the taproom where he had nursed an ale for the better part of two hours to give Juliet enough time to dress for bed and fall asleep.

He had been furious when she refused to stop in Coventry, knowing that to push on for Coalville would result in either no accommodation or a single room. He would certainly have preferred the former. An uncomfortable night in the carriage could have been survived. The forced intimacy of sharing a room with Juliet might be the end of him.

He wasn’t made of iron, damn it. He’d never forgive himself if he instigated something they would regret for the rest of their lives. It had been a near thing last night.

With a slow, deep breath, he tried to will away the memory of her sweet body beneath him, of her breast instantly responsive to the touch of his tongue. Of the way his loins ached to possess her fully, even after removing to the other room. That ache had left him only with the dawn’s arrival.

He listened to the sounds of the room, waiting for Juliet’s voice to call him, ask some provocative question, make some seductive statement. A full minute after he’d closed the door she had still made no sound. He held his breath and listened more intently but heard only slow, rhythmic breathing. After all her machinations to get him alone with her in a room for the night, she had gone to sleep?

Amiable stared into the darkness in disbelief. It had to be another trick, another ploy from the woman who seemed hell-bent on bringing him to the altar. The gentle breathing continued. What the devil was her game? He crept toward the bed and whispered, “Juliet?”

No answer. She had fallen asleep. He shook his head. It made no sense. He turned away and removed his clothes, dropping them where he stood rather than light the candle and risk waking her. Naked, he felt for the pallet at the foot of the bed and stretched out on top of the blanket. He would don his shirt and crawl beneath the sheets after he had cooled down.

Lying on his back, he tucked one arm underneath his head and rested the other across his forehead. He tried to think ahead to the end of their journey, perhaps five days from now. Once he had delivered his charge to her brother’s estate, he would immediately mount his horse and trek back to London.

He’d prefer to return straight to Cheswyck, but he needed to close the house in London before removing to the country. His father would fare better with his company and he now had to learn the business of becoming a landowner. Something he had never in his life entertained.

To follow the drum had been his desire since childhood. Unfortunately, that pleasant form of duty now lay behind him and another called. His father had informed him upon his arrival home that he must marry and get an heir—the sooner the better. Not an onerous task, as the woman he loved had accepted him. He’d ridden to London posthaste to find out if Katarina had sailed for Virginia in March or April. Instead, he’d found she had indeed sailed but to Italy and with her husband.

Which returned his thoughts to the woman sleeping in the bed above him. Why not marry her? Disappointment had been sharp when he learned of Katarina’s marriage, but to be truthful his heart had not been deeply touched. He had not seen her in more than six months and her refusal in December had somehow closed that chapter in his life. Although he would have married her without hesitation had she still needed his protection, his feelings now extended only as far as friendship.

So if his heart was not engaged elsewhere, why not marry Juliet? He could not hope for a better alliance than with the daughter of a marquess. A woman beautiful enough to turn any man’s head, including his own. She also possessed charm, wit, and humor. And passion. In an instant, thoughts of her in his arms brought on an all too familiar state of arousal. An almost constant ache since he had met her.

He groaned softly, twisting to get comfortable on the hard floor. Without a doubt he wanted to bed her. So why did he not want to marry her? Did he balk because she had pursued him and not the other way around? Though a bit disconcerting, her tenacity was part and parcel of her personality. Single-minded and stubborn enough to go after what she wanted. As faults went, it seemed a minor one he could live with.

Or did he balk because she had all but compromised him, forced him as a gentleman to offer for her? This idea might have carried weight, except no one likely realized she had been compromised. They had met no one of their acquaintance along the way, and although the proprieties had been stretched, he doubted Juliet’s reputation would come to grief. The exception might be sharing the room tonight, though he doubted they had caused any untoward talk. No, even with last night’s indiscretion, he could walk away and not feel Juliet had been ruined beyond redemption.

So why did he not want to marry her? Could the question actually be did he
want
to marry Juliet?

Images of her laughing at him as he lay in the mud, crying on his shoulder, taking comfort in his arms, lying beneath him on the sofa, and ensnared in a soul-burning kiss wheeled through his mind. These led to flashes of her pouring tea in the morning room at Cheswyck, dining with him and his father at the long formal table, dancing with him in the great ballroom, cradling a child against her breast in the nursery. Would he willingly walk away from the promise of such a life in five days’ time?

As though a great cog snapped into place, a swelling sense of well-being arose at the thought of life with Juliet by his side as his wife. A sense of rightness washed over him, a contentment he had never before experienced.

He sat bolt upright.

The day had been strained, especially since their arrival. She must think him angry at her. He must tell her instead he was glad she wanted him because he wanted her, too. For all time.

Quietly, Amiable rose from the pallet and headed around the bed, then stopped as his ultimate state of dishabille registered. Would she be shocked? Perhaps. Still, he dismissed the idea of digging his banyan out of his luggage. In the darkness, she would not be able to see him well at all. Not the best way to offer a proposal of marriage, perhaps, but once she accepted him, if she agreed, he would be ready and very willing to anticipate the wedding night. An unruly part of his body leaped in joyous agreement. He would have to keep his thoughts in check, at least until she said yes.

Her quiet, regular breathing still sounded from the bed as he eased onto it. Enough moonlight spilled into the room to reveal her turned away from him. He skimmed his hand down her side, over the soft contours of her body, the sensation swelling his shaft halfway to fullness. He leaned over her until his mouth neared her ear.

“Juliet.” He returned his hand to her shoulder and pressed her onto her back. “Juliet. Wake up, my love.” She stirred, her head moving restlessly on the pillow, her arms clutching the sheet to pull it higher. He stroked a long finger down her cheek and across her lips. Lips he longed to kiss right now.

“Juliet.” He raised his voice a little louder, with a little more urgency. Her eyes fluttered open, then closed, then opened wide in the poor light.

“Amiable?” She struggled to sit up. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“No, love. There’s nothing wrong. I just…I just…” He sputtered to a halt.

What the hell should he say? He was three kinds of a fool for not planning this better. Best to muddle through, though, and try not to make a complete ass of himself. He took a deep breath.

“I wanted to tell you I’m not angry with you. About the room, about last night, about this whole journey. I am very glad to be your protector.”

She smiled a little and pulled the sheet higher. “I am glad you’re not angry, Amiable. I am sorry about having to share the room. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. Is it terribly uncomfortable?”

Blast it, why hadn’t he lit a candle? He needed to see her face better. “No, it’s not bad. I’ve slept on worse with the army.” What now? Oh, why hadn’t he waited for morning? This was no way to go about something so momentous.

“Did you have something else to tell me, Amiable?” Her head leaned to the side, just like a bird. The image tugged at his heartstrings.

“My dear. This is perhaps not the time nor the place but I need to ask you, sweetheart.” He took her hand between both of his. “Juliet, will you marry me?”

“Oh.” She sat up straighter in the bed, pulling her knees up until she pressed into a compact ball. She tried to withdraw her hand from his, but he hung on to it, suddenly wary at her reaction.

He had expected to be kissing her by now, a betrothed man. “Will you marry me, Juliet?” He repeated it, in hopes her reaction could be explained as mere astonishment.

Her breathing sped up.

Something was wrong. Damn it, he couldn’t see her face. If he could see her, he would know what was wrong. Hell. Neither could he go light a candle because of his nakedness. He could grab a sheet and wrap himself up—

“Amiable, don’t do this.”

The soft plea stopped him cold. His heart seized with fear. “Don’t do what, my dear?”

“Don’t ask me to marry you.”

He sat, completely befuddled. “Why ever not, Juliet? I thought you wanted me to propose.” Had he read her wrong? Was she just a brazen wanton? A strumpet with a title? His world turned upside-down in the blink of an eye.

“I…No. No, I won’t marry you, Amiable. I don’t think it would be fair to either of us. We don’t know each other very well. We don’t know if we would suit. Since there has been no real impropriety, nothing the public at least could point to, there is no need for you to be noble.” Her tone was cool, rational.

It hit him like a dash of cold water in his face. He dropped her hand and slid silently off the bed. “It will be as you wish, my lady. I will not trespass on your time with such an offer again.” He clipped the words so short he almost bit his tongue. He stooped and groped for his clothes. “I am sorry to have awakened you, for we must leave early in the morning. I’ll arrange for a maid to assist you with your clothing. Until then, my lady.”

Dressed in hastily donned breeches and shirt, he seized his boots and stalked from the room. Better an uncomfortable night in the carriage than in a room with a cold-hearted licentious bitch. It didn’t really matter where he went. Sleep wouldn’t enter into it anyway.

The last five days of their journey were unspeakable torture for Juliet. She barely spoke ten words to Amiable during that time, so she couldn’t say for sure how well he had coped. She certainly hoped his misery equaled hers.

From the moment he had awakened her that night in Coalville and asked her to marry him, she had withdrawn from almost all contact with him. The agony of hearing him ask her to marry him had been exquisite. Refusing him had been torture. Like having the hope of heaven dangled before her yet knowing she must not reach for it.

Worse, she feared if he asked again, in a moment of weakness, she would say yes and be tied for life to a man she loved desperately but who had married her solely for honor’s sake. Better to deal with the pain during these five days in the isolation of the carriage and be done with it.

She had ridden alone the whole time, for Amiable rode his horse, even the two days it poured rain. They had taken only dinner together, accomplished for the most part in a stony silence. She had become Lady Juliet again, he Captain Dawson.

In truth, they acted as though someone was dying. Each day their tentative hold on each other became weaker. After he left Guinevere’s Keep, the death would be complete. She’d spent the past five days brooding over how an acquaintance that had started with so much promise had come to such a dismal end.

They swept into the yard of the Gentil Knyght in Penrith just as the sun lowered in the west. The reddening sky cast a pink glow over her as she descended from the carriage, helped by Roberts, of course.

Amiable had long since relinquished that duty. Instead, he had dismounted and gone into the inn to secure their rooms.

She followed a moment later and stood quietly as he gave orders for dinner in an hour in the parlor of her room. Why did he still agree to dine with her? Some misplaced sense of duty, perhaps. She wished he would dispense with it and leave her to pick at her supper in peace.

In any case, this would be their last meal together. Tomorrow evening they would arrive at the Keep. She didn’t doubt that ten minutes after their arrival Captain Dawson would take his leave, ride back down the tree-lined drive to the small inn at Wigton, and from there the following day journey home. The image made her stomach churn.

Somehow, she doubted she would have much appetite tonight.

The bedchamber and parlor were furnished in rich woods and expensive linens, obviously the best room the inn could offer. The handsome mahogany bed, with hangings and coverlet of deep green satin, rose so high off the floor a small step stood beside it. A bathtub had been set near the fire. Juliet gave a prayer of thanks to be able to soak the weariness out of her aching bones after the meal. The parlor, also tastefully furnished, boasted a sofa, table and chairs, and a chaise set near the fireplace. Even in the midst of July fires had been lit against the northern chill. She moved toward the blaze to warm her hands. If only the flames could warm her heart as well.