If it weren’t for wretched grief and wretched suffering brought on by the rigors of life, the wondrous joy of finding love would seem rather insignificant and meaningless. Would it not? As the French always say, “Mis en place.” Or as we English say, “Everything in its place.”
—
How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
Ten weeks later, late morning
RADCLIFF LOOSENED THE CRAVAT that had been choking him all morning and pulled back his stiff collar, stripping it entirely from his neck. He tossed it onto the writing desk and leaned back in his chair, staring at the large pile of financial ledgers he had yet to touch. They were piled beside Justine’s red, leather-bound book, How To Avoid A Scandal. He had already read it eighteen times and toted it around everywhere. Hell, he even slept with it, tucking it beneath his pillow, as if it could in any way replace what was truly missing from his life—Justine.
He huffed out a breath. Ten weeks. Ten weeks and not a word. Not a single goddamn word. What did her silence mean? That their marriage was over? That she had found happiness elsewhere?
Though he tried to convince himself day after day after day he could do without seeing her again, he could do without talking to her again, he could do without making love to her again, it was no use.
He couldn’t do.
And for the first time in all his three and thirty years, he had no taste for any physical pleasure. The thought of pleasuring himself or taking any other woman into his bed but Justine only brought the taste of bile to his lips.
Steps echoed in the distance and drew steadily closer. Jefferson walked into the room. He came to a halt and stoically held up a sizable, brown-clothed package along with a stack of letters piled in a pyramid fashion. “Today’s post, Your Grace.”
Radcliff tightened his jaw and violently shoved Justine’s etiquette book off the desk, sending it flying. He snatched up one of the thick ledgers beside him and flipped it open. Slamming it before him, he stared down at the numbers lining the columns and muttered, “Set it somewhere. Anywhere. I don’t have time for the post. I have to finish tallying these damn financials. One of the joys of being responsible.”
Though his financials didn’t need to be tallied for another week, he didn’t want to think about the post. Didn’t want to go through the same crushing disappointment he went through every single day when it arrived.
Jefferson cleared his throat. Twice. “Your Grace, this package is from the duchess.”
Radcliff’s stomach flipped as he glanced back up at Jefferson. “Is it? She sent word?”
His butler smiled. “That she has, Your Grace.”
His chest tightened as he eyed the parcel Jefferson held up, along with the rest of the post. Although a part of him wanted to believe his Justine was sending him a gift to tell him how much she missed him and how much she loved him, a much larger part of him feared that it was in fact quite the opposite. For all he knew it could be a human skull with his name on it.
Jefferson lifted a thick brow and strode toward him. “I never doubted she would send word. Not for a moment.”
Radcliff awkwardly cleared his throat and pushed back his chair. He slowly stood, trying to appear calm and indifferent. What he really wanted to do was make a dash for that parcel like a child about to play its first game of Snapdragon at Christmas.
Rounding the desk, he headed toward Jefferson, attempting to keep the thundering beat of his heart at a steady pace. He wanted to believe Justine could not breathe another moment without him.
Radcliff adjusted the sleeves of his coat as if he had all the time in the world and paused before Jefferson. He plucked the correspondence from atop the bundle without deigning it a single glance, shoved the letters into the pocket of his morning coat, and swept up the bundle.
He was pleasantly surprised by its hefty weight straining his arms. “Thank you, Jefferson.”
Jefferson nodded. Then lingered and eyed the parcel.
Radcliff protectively drew the package closer to his chest, then lowered his chin and stared the man down. “You do realize, Jefferson, that this is between me and the duchess? Not you, me and the duchess?”
Jefferson sighed and stalked out of the room.
Radcliff shook his head. He wasn’t the only one missing Justine. All the servants, especially Henri, didn’t know what the hell to do with themselves.
Blowing out an exhausted breath, he wandered over to the hearth, turning the hefty cloth package over in his hands, feeling the misshapen contents within shifting and clacking.
He seated himself on the floor before the hearth and set the package on the Axminster rug. Swiping his moist hands against the sides of his wool trousers, he leaned forward and dug his fingers beneath the loosest part of twine he could find. With a violent, sharp tug, he snapped apart a section of it from the side of the package, then attempted to unravel the twine holding the wool cloth in place.
“Christ, Justine.” He rumbled out a laugh and continued to unravel more and more of the twine from around the package. “You never did make anything easy for me.”
The never-ending twine finally found its end, and the cloth unfolded. Rocks of various sizes, texture and color tumbled out, scattering onto the rug before him.
Radcliff blinked. He leaned forward and sifted through the array of stones, trying to make sense of her gift as grit and dirt dusted his fingers. Hell. There was nothing but rocks and more rocks. About two dozen or so of them. With no letter of explanation.
He swallowed and gathered them all, piling them back onto the wool cloth. What the blazes was she telling him? That she wasn’t in any way pleased with him? That it was over? That he might as well tie all these damn rocks around his waist and throw himself into the Thames?
Damn her. He’d waited ten weeks to hear from her. Ten whole weeks. Merely to receive a pile of rocks?
“Fuck.” Radcliff yanked up the bundle and jumped to his feet. Using every ounce of bitterness and frustration he’d harbored within him all these weeks, he flung it across the room toward his desk, toward the desk she had sat on so many times. The cloth burst open in midair. Rocks clattered and tumbled toward the hearth as the wool wrapping floated down and settled on the wood floor.
He drew in several harsh breaths, trying to calm himself, and strode toward the hearth. There had better be word or he was taking the next ship out to Cape Town and hunting her down for an explanation.
Yanking out the correspondences tucked in his coat, he riffled through them one by one, looking for a letter from Justine.
Invitation.
Invitation.
Invitation.
The season was over and yet the invitations never ceased. He shook his head and discarded each invitation into the burning coals of the fire, not caring about replying to any of them. He burned each and every one and was about to toss in the very last one, when he recognized Justine’s neat, elegant writing.
He flipped it over and cracked apart the large yellow wax seal bearing the earl’s crest. Turning it, he frantically unfolded the parchment and drew in a breath.
My beloved Radcliff,
—
He let out the breath he was holding. An intimate opening. Good. Exactly what he’d been hoping for. He wet his lips and read on.
Forgive my silence. It has taken me some time to decide what it is I should say. I suppose I should commence by being as civil as possible.
—
His fingers pinched the edges of the parchment, crinkling it, as the muscles in his forearms tightened. He forced himself to read on.
I wanted to send you a gift from my travels, something that wouldn’t wilt or die. Hence the rocks. Ever since I was a girl, I’ve collected them from various places to which I traveled. Every stone reminded me where I had been and what I had done. Seeing you are not here with me, I am sending them along in the hopes that you can envision the various places I have already been. That said, I am done being civil. I am sorely disappointed in you. I feel betrayed, and with each passing day, I am beginning to believe that you do not love me, that you never loved me, or you would have had no need to prove anything to my parents. If I am in any way wrong about your feelings, I hope you will seek to amend the way I feel as quickly as possible. I do not want a letter. I do not want words or empty promises, for you are right. Words mean nothing. And they most certainly mean nothing when there is so much distance between us. I have learned that showing each other how we feel is far more important to me than the words we share. I will be residing in The Kloof over the next four months visiting with an old family friend. It is a small Hottentot village located near the Asbestos Mountains. By wagon and oxen, it should take you three weeks from Cape Town to reach me. If you love me, Radcliff, make this long journey and never leave my side again. Whether we stay here in Africa or return to London matters not to me. All that matters is that we are together. If, however, you do not love me, I ask that you remain in London and grant me a divorce. For I cannot live like this. Nor do I wish to bear the name of a man who does not love me. I never expected you to be the perfect man. I only ever expected you to be a good man. And that, my dearest Radcliff, I already know you are. I ardently await your arrival. Yours forever and always,
Justine
Even after all this time, even after all these weeks apart, she still wanted him. She still needed him. As much as he still wanted and needed and loved her.
“Justine,” he whispered.
He raised the letter to his lips and kissed her name, then gently refolded the parchment, tucking it into the inner pocket of his waistcoat.
He drew in a deep, satisfying breath and let it out. Feeling as if he could conquer all of Africa with the swing of an arm, he spun toward the open door and boomed, “Jefferson! Pack all of the goddamn trunks! You and I are leaving for Cape Town on the next ship out!”
The Kloof, South Africa
Six weeks later
THE SUN STILL SEEMED to pierce straight through Justine’s bonnet and the many layers of her cotton traveling gown, which clung to her sweat-moistened skin. Now and then, a hot breeze danced past her, cooling her skin and providing her the momentary relief she needed from a long day spent in the heat.
She knelt and plucked up a small cleaved asbestos rock from the coarse, dry ground. With a sigh, she stood, fingering the rough edges of the rock and walked back toward the direction of the hut she and her parents had been residing in these past nine weeks with Aloysius. She paused outside the opening of the hut and turned toward the wicker basket set off to the side. She tossed the rock she held into it, causing it to clack against all the other asbestos rocks piled within it.
“Fifty-seven,” she murmured.
Fifty-seven days since she had sent Bradford the ultimatum. Fifty-seven. She only hoped the post out of Africa was as reliable as the post was in London. But then, she’d sooner blame the post for his absence than face the reality that Bradford simply did not love her.
She sighed and eyed the blue cloudless sky, which was already tinged with hues of orange and pink as the sun began to make its descent. She stepped toward the opening of the hut. Her father sat cross-legged on the straw mat in the far corner, busily sketching his latest observations of lizards, like a little boy lost in his own world. Her mother sat next to him, her head propped against his shoulder, quietly watching him.
Justine tried not to let her thoughts linger on what it would have been like sitting in that same hut with Bradford, her head propped against his shoulder. She forced the image away, knowing she’d only start blubbering.
Her mother suddenly lifted her head. “Justine!” A huge smile flitted across her lips as she rearranged her skirts around her legs and sat up. “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting all this time for your return.”
Justine shrugged. “I’ve been about. Why?”
“I suggest you run off to the river at once, before it gets too dark. You really need to tidy yourself up. Aloysius is preparing a special feast and has invited all the men from the village.”
“Again?” Justine drawled.
Her father snorted, lifting his gaze from his sketching. “He enjoys watching all of the men fawn over you. You know that.”
Justine rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t nearly this popular in London,” she muttered, untying the small bow from the lace ribbon holding her bonnet in place. “I suppose I should go to the river. There is more dust than skin on me.”
She stripped the bonnet from her head and tossed it into the hut. She removed all of the pins holding up her hair, causing it to cascade down her back, and tossed them into the hut, as well. “I promise to return before nightfall.”
Her mother was quiet for a moment, then called out, “I love you, Justine.”
Justine half nodded, but otherwise did not acknowledge her. It was so difficult to hear such words. They reminded her so much of Radcliff.
Turning, she hurried toward the river just beyond the hill, wanting to escape her parents as well as her own thoughts. Eventually, the rush of water in the distance met her ears. As she neared the river, Justine unhooked the entire front of her beige cotton gown, exposing her chemise beneath. Stripping her boots, stockings, garters and her gown until she stood only in a thin chemise, she draped them on a boulder.
She was so thankful to be without a corset. Even her mother had insisted it was too hot and rather pointless to wear one.
Looping her long, loose hair behind her ears to keep it from getting in her eyes, she carefully made her way around the rocks as they pinched the soles of her feet. She then dashed straight into the cold, rushing water, her chemise billowing around her legs. She sucked in a breath and waded farther in, balancing herself against the strong current.
She lowered herself into the water, drenching her hair, the refreshing sensation of the day’s sweat sweeping off in a single dip. Justine stood and gazed out across the valley beyond. She stood there listening to the water rushing around her and the chatter of birds.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, gazing out into the valley whilst standing in the river, but the sun was beginning to fade into the horizon, darkening parts of the sky. She turned to make her way back to her clothes on the river bank, then froze, her heart skipping as it came to a halt.
For there, with one brown leather boot propped against a boulder and a billowy, white-sleeved arm set on the knee of form-fitting beige trousers, was none other than Radcliff himself.
Her husband.
His dark gaze met hers across the short distance remaining between them. He grinned as the wind tousled and feathered his dark hair around his scarred face. He scanned her breasts, which she knew were very visible through her sheer, wet chemise, and waggled his brows. “I have to say, Africa has the most impressive wild animals I’ve ever seen.”
She burst into laughter and stumbled through the rushing water toward him, unwilling to believe it. “Radcliff! You came. You actually came!”
“I would have arrived sooner but the oxen leading our damn wagons refused to move any faster. And then when I did arrive, you were bloody nowhere to be found. So your parents insisted I come to the river and wait for you here.” He jumped over the rock before him and landed with a huge splash in the water. He waded toward her, meeting her halfway, the water rushing up against his muscled thighs.
She paused directly before him. Tears overwhelmed her, blurring her vision. Though she wanted to throw herself into his arms and drag him down into the water, she was afraid this was merely a glorious dream. One that would disappear the moment she tried to touch it.
Radcliff grinned, crinkling the scar on the side of his face as he spread his arms wide open. “Are you just going to stand there, Duchess? Or are you going to give your husband the greeting he damn well deserves?”
Justine let out a choked sob, grabbed him and pressed against the solid heat of his hard chest. “I thought you wouldn’t come. I thought—”
“Shh. None of that.” He grabbed hold of her face with both of his large, warm hands. His dark eyes searched hers for a long moment. His gaze was so fiery, yet so heartrending, everything inside of Justine melted and screamed at the same time.
“I love you,” he said hoarsely above the rushing of the water.
She took in a sharp breath of utter astonishment, searching his face. “Bradford—”
He quickly lowered his dark head and brought his mouth down onto hers. Her pulse thundered as she melted into the moment she’d been dreaming of for so many, many long weeks.
His hot tongue playfully nudged her mouth farther open, sensually sliding against her own, circling, pushing, ever so slowly and ever so tenderly kissing her.
Although Radcliff was clearly trying to slow this moment between them, she wasn’t up for a slow and prim reunion. Not after all the months she’d been without him.
This was Africa. And the ton was nowhere in sight.
Tearing away from their kiss, Justine fisted his shirt and yanked the tucked ends savagely up and out of his trousers.
He sucked in a breath as she swept it up past his smooth, broad shoulders, off his arms and over his head, leaving his chest bare.
She whipped his shirt aside, letting it land atop the water. It quickly floated, down the river and eventually out of sight. “I hope you brought more than one shirt, Bradford.”
“As if I have a need for shirts anymore.” He dug his hands into the water, fisted her chemise, pulled the wet, clinging material up over her head and tossed it. It, too, quickly floated down the river and out of sight.
He grinned, his hands skimming across the expanse of her exposed, wet breasts. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of burning your etiquette book. I am done being a lady. With your permission, dearest, I want to go back to being a whore. Your whore, mind you. But a whore all the same.”
Justine laughed and yanked him closer against her naked body. “How about you go back to being a man instead? My man?”
“Hell, Duchess, that’s even better.”