Penniless Until the Earl's Proposal, page 16
‘What you suggest is an adulterous love. The sort I despise.’ She smiled scornfully. ‘You talk of love, of my love, of not being loyal and accuse me of treachery, but what of your love? Not once in all the time I have known you have you mentioned that.’
‘Have I not? Then permit me to show you. I’m going to love you, Juliet. I’m going to make you so happy that you’ll never want to leave me to go back to your husband.’
‘Never,’ she cried angrily. ‘I wish to leave now. Let me go.’
‘No.’
‘Do you intend to hold me here by force?’
‘Only if I have to.’
Panic and fear overcame Juliet, and she began to tremble. He noticed and smiled with smug satisfaction.
‘Why, you’re trembling. Come, Juliet,’ he drawled, his voice thick with passion, ‘you think I don’t love you, but I do.’ He placed his hands heavily on her shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. At his touch, she struggled to free herself from his grip, but his fingers tightened, refusing to relinquish their hold. ‘So,’ he hissed, ‘you want to fight me? Well, all the better. I like a woman with spirit—one to match my own.’
Juliet was suddenly overcome with fear, but it was a different kind of fear from any she had ever known. Never, in all the time she had known him, had Thomas been anything other than charming, and she had always believed that nothing could touch him, that nothing mattered. But as she faced him, his expression dark and ruthless, she knew that at last something had touched him enough to bring about this ill-mannered, drunken stranger. She was now in no doubt that it was Marcus who had brought about this change and, whatever had passed between them that first time they had met, it must have been something terrible. She knew with a sinking heart that she could have married anyone, and Thomas wouldn’t have cared one iota, but because it was Marcus, it was a different matter. Thomas would destroy her if he could to get back at him.
The full consequences of what she had done by coming here swept over her. Thomas saw her fear, but he only laughed, a deep mocking sound that curled his lips, and a look of madness filled and dilated his eyes, which told her that his mere triumph over her, her very resistance, excited him much more than all her passive docility. He wanted her whatever the odds.
A fierce, merciless struggle began between them. Now that she was faced with the terrible prospect of being raped and possibly killed, renewed strength surged through her, and she fought as if her life depended on it, like a wildcat turning on its tormentor. In a blind fury, her nails raked his face, his eyes, anywhere she could see his flesh, feeling an immense, unholy satisfaction when she drew blood. He laughed, a fierce, demonical sound that sent a chill through her.
‘That’s it. Fight, my beauty,’ he hissed, pushing her down onto a sofa. ‘Fight all you want. I shall soon have you crying and pleading for mercy. I shall enjoy teaching you to obey me, breaking that stubborn pride of yours.’
Savagely he tore at her clothes. She was finding it harder and harder to defend herself, reality slipping further and further away, and despair overpowered her as she reached the limits of her strength and her struggles became feeble.
And then, abruptly, something happened, and his weight left her. There was a dull thud, and she ceased struggling, trembling in what remained of her clothes. Through a mist, she looked up and discerned a terrifying, faceless figure looming over her. Instinct made her draw her defiled body into a ball, quivering like a terrified child. In the wild tangle of her hair, her eyes, enormous and full of fear, accentuated the transparent whiteness of her face.
She peered up at Marcus, who was in a towering rage, his face contorted out of all recognition as he glared down at her, beside himself with fury. Juliet did not ask herself by what miracle he happened to be there, to save her from what she had been about to suffer at Thomas’s hands—it was enough for her than he had come, regardless of the fury and anger he would be sure to vent on her.
* * *
Marcus glared down at her dishevelled form bitterly. The spectacle of the vile and contemptible Thomas Waring forcing his attentions on his wife and the pitiful state he had brutally reduced her to made him feel physically sick. In the flickering glow of the candles, she was still lovely, although now tragically so, and he knew the sight of her should sicken him, but it didn’t.
‘You little fool,’ he uttered quietly, his concern for her coming to the fore. ‘This was a senseless thing to do. You should not have come here looking for him. Did you think I would not find out? What did you imagine would happen when that animal got his hands on you? You could ask for nothing better—believe me.’ His eyes took in her soft flesh showing through the tattered remnants of her bodice, and quickly he removed his cloak and gently draped it over her.
Straightening up, he looked at Waring, who had gotten up from the floor, where, in his rage, Marcus had thrown him. He stood glowering at Marcus, his fists tightly clenched by his sides, and the scratches of Juliet’s fingernails that she had left on his face trickled blood.
‘Damn your filthy hide, Waring,’ he spat, his voice like a naked blade. ‘Can’t you get it into your head that Juliet no longer has anything to do with you?’
‘Perhaps not, but she did come looking for me, like a bitch in heat.’
Pure madness flamed in Marcus’s eyes, and he sprang at his adversary, grasping the front of his shirt and pulling his face close to his own, full of revulsion. ‘And you should know all about that, being the dog that you are. Your methods of seduction leave a lot to be desired. I could kill you now, but I will save that pleasure for a later date.’
Waring’s lips twisted in an arrogant sneer, his eyes spitting venom as he knocked Marcus’s hands away. ‘Why, you are jealous—jealous because she preferred my bed to yours. But then, why shouldn’t she? And how do you know she hasn’t shared it with me before?’
Marcus eyed him with unconcealed scorn. ‘Judging by what has occurred here tonight, I doubt very much she would come back a second time.’
‘Ah, but you don’t know that for certain. How could you? Unless you have pre-empted your wedding vows and taken her yourself.’
For a moment Marcus stared at him in silence, a flicker of doubt entering his eyes as he hoped to God there was no truth in Waring’s words. ‘What a vicious, callous individual you are, Waring.’
Satisfied that his words had hit home, Thomas smiled smugly. ‘I see I have cast the seed of doubt, Cardell. At least I have given you a wedding night to remember. You must have paid quite a price to get her to marry you—debts and all. Perhaps after tonight you’ll consider she wasn’t worth it.’
Marcus looked at him coldly. ‘That doesn’t concern you, Waring. You belong to one of England’s most noble families, yet you are out of your class. You haven’t a noble bone in your body. You are a low, brutal animal not worthy of the blade with which I shall kill you.’
An ugly smile spread across Thomas’s features. ‘No, it is I who will kill you. I who have been wronged. Had Juliet waited and married me, I would not have had to buy her as you have done.’
Disregarding Waring’s insult, Marcus turned back to Juliet, who hadn’t moved, and pulling her towards him, wrapped his cloak about her trembling form before again facing Thomas Waring. ‘I’m taking my wife home. I would like to say I very much hope our paths do not cross again, but if they should—’
‘Oh, they will, Cardell. You can be sure of that. You and I have a score to settle. I demand satisfaction for this night’s work.’
Marcus’s features tightened. ‘You shall have it.’
‘It will give me immense pleasure to kill you. I shall not be cheated by you a third time.’
‘Don’t be too sure. Whatever you might think, having spent several years in the Peninsular myself, I am an expert with both pistol and blade, and I aim to make damned sure you assault no more defenceless women—whether they be high or low born.’
* * *
Riding behind the carriage carrying Juliet home, Marcus didn’t have the chance to speak to her until they reached the house. They went directly to her room, where Marcus seated himself before the fire. He leaned indolently back in his chair and crossed his long legs at the ankles.
Juliet watched him, waiting for him to speak to her, her very stance defiant, her exquisite features clouded with resentment. She had imagined Marcus would be icy, angry, anything but this cold self-possession. A look had entered his eyes she did not recognise and she felt awkward. She swallowed, shrinking under his scrutiny. Anger had sustained her so far, now fear and something else, something she could not identify, began to nudge. Struggling to steadfastly keep her thoughts on what was happening and aware that in her breast her heart was thumping far too fast for her to claim a mere tolerance of him, surreptitiously she took a step back to minimise contact.
‘I imagine you are now ready to explain your behaviour tonight, Juliet.’
The tone of his voice made Juliet’s heart contract. No hint of softness showed in the marble severity of his face—no hint of anger, either—which she suspected was stirring just beneath the surface, which was infinitely more disturbing. Anxiety abounded in her heart. After all, what did she know of this husband of hers? She forced herself to remain calm, not to appear ill at ease, not to show the unnerving effect being alone with him was having on her.
‘Well?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘I should like to know precisely what happened between you and Waring before he went off to Spain. As your husband, I have to ask you just how far his attentions have gone. And do not lie to me, Juliet. If there is nothing else, there has to be truth between us from the start.’
Understanding his meaning, Juliet felt the flush start somewhere deep down and rise upwards over her chest and face, and then anger, full-bodied and fortifying, propelled her forward to stand over hm. ‘Of all the loathsome, arrogant...’ she erupted furiously. ‘Despite what happened tonight, which I suspect was brought on by disappointment at my marriage to you, Thomas’s behaviour towards me had been impeccable.’
‘Thank you for that edifying piece of information,’ Marcus remarked coldly. ‘And am I to believe that you weren’t lovers?’
Juliet was stung by his unjust accusation and the contempt in his voice, and some of her fighting spirit rose to the fore, and her eyes met his, flashing defiance. ‘We were never that, but you can believe what you like,’ she fumed, stepping back. ‘I speak the truth.’
* * *
Marcus’s face became taut, his eyes boring into hers, plumbing their innermost depths, searching for some sign that would tell him she was lying, but there was none. This woman, his wife, was not only beautiful, she was proud, and her pride would make her oppose him if she thought him unjust. She was also courageous and stubborn, but she was no liar. He believed her, and as he continued to watch her, it was clear to him that after all Waring had meant to her, she was feeling utterly broken by what had happened to her at his hands tonight. She stood in the centre of her room, still clutching his cloak about her like a shield of armour, as if afraid to let it go.
He was suddenly overwhelmed with compassion. He wanted to go to her, to open his arms and gather her to him, to hold her and never let her go, but he couldn’t. Not yet. It was hard to swallow what she had done and he could not yet forgive her for going to Thomas Waring. The memory of this night would live with him for a long time, longer than the sight of her bruised and broken body. Her act of betrayal was hard for him to bear.
Getting to his feet, he strode towards the door, and she became alarmed.
‘Marcus? You’re not leaving?’
He turned and looked at her, his face immobile. ‘There is something I have to take care of.’
He watched as his words penetrated Juliet’s tortured mind and realisation of where he was going and what he intended dawned on her. Looking sick with horror, distraught, she flung herself across the room. Her eyes were full of desperate pleading. ‘No,’ she cried. ‘I know what you are going to do. Please don’t give Thomas the satisfaction of fighting a duel. I beg of you. I have to prevent this happening. It’s—it’s madness, don’t you see?’
‘Madness? You should have thought of that before leaving this house to go to him.’
‘If I have to, I will get down on my knees to entreat you not to do this.’
A ripple of something stirred in Marcus’s breast, and he marvelled at her courage. She might be stricken and feeling at her lowest ebb on finding that Thomas Waring had not been killed as she had been led to believe, but this wilful young woman had certainly not parted from her temper. Marcus felt a rush of blood through his veins and a hammering in his chest. Like a dangerous illness that desires a desperate remedy, he refused to back down. Before this day was out, he would force her heart to forget Thomas Waring.
‘You can’t fight a duel,’ she persisted. ‘One of you will be...’
‘What, Juliet? Killed? And which one of us would you prefer to live?’
‘Both of you.’
‘I intend it will be me.’
‘Please, I am begging you, Marcus.’ She breathed as if she couldn’t inhale enough air. ‘How do you expect me to live with you as your wife, to respect you as a wife should, if you take Thomas’s life? Don’t you understand? Don’t—don’t make me hate you.’
Marcus looked at the proud beauty and saw the despair that was tearing her apart. When he saw the tears and the fear steal into her luminous eyes, he was beset by a twinge of conscience, which he quickly thrust away. He caught the note of anguish in her voice, which tore at his heart. She was right and he was deeply sorry for the hurt this duel with Waring would cause her, but it was too late to change anything now. It would be a long time, if ever, he thought, feeling a pang of regret, that she would be able to love him as she had loved Thomas Waring, but it would be a long time before he would be able to forget that she had gone to that man on their wedding night. And yet he knew he must if they were to have any sort of life together as man and wife.
‘I know you will hate me a good deal more before I am finished, but you appear to forget that it is Waring who has instigated this, not me.’
Lifting his brows, he gazed at her with enigmatic eyes and an impassive expression for several endless, uneasy moments. Her hair lay on her shoulders like a gleaming golden mass. Having thrown off his cape, his gaze dwelt on her torn gown—her beautiful wedding gown. His cool gaze warmed as it rested on her. She was very lovely, this obstinate, spirited young woman he had married. So lovely, in fact, he could almost forgive her for her defence of Thomas Waring.
‘Do you know, Juliet, you are one of the very few women who verbally attacks me. The majority of your contemporaries usually find me quite charming. I might even say that some have a great affection for me.’
‘Perhaps that is because they have not had the pleasure of being married to you.’
Marcus look at her with disdain. ‘The ferocity with which you defend Waring is touching, Juliet.’
‘I know how much I must have hurt you, Marcus, but what can I say other than I am sorry. Everything happened so fast. I wasn’t thinking. Do not forget that Thomas and I were formally engaged. I foolishly felt that I had to speak to him. We are to leave London tomorrow and he is to return to Spain very soon. I may never see him again.’
‘I sincerely hope not.’
‘I know you want to settle a score with Thomas, and after seeing the true nature of the man I would have married, I cannot blame you, but do not underestimate him. However confident you might feel about your own prowess, Thomas is a superb marksman and an expert with a sword.’
Marcus looked down at her, a cold glitter in his eyes. ‘Don’t try and stop me, Juliet. I have to do this. Waring has issued a challenge that cannot be ignored. You are my wife and it is my duty to defend your honour. What you have done, going to another man’s house on our wedding night, is beyond the bounds of respectable behaviour.’
He was being uncompromising, he knew, but he was still shaken by what had almost happened to her. Stiffening her spine and with her head held high, as impressive as a tropical storm and a fierce challenging pride on her face, she took a step back imperturbably. She looked as if she were about to do battle, ready to do battle, ready for anything Marcus would aim at her. He impaled her on his gaze, leaving her in no doubt that he intended to seek satisfaction in a duel.
‘Promise me you will not kill him. Whatever he has done, he does not deserve that.’
‘No? Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you went looking for him.’
‘How did you know that I had gone? I—I thought you had left the house.’
‘Having no wish to concern my mother, I changed my mind. If she knew there was discord between us already, then she would be reluctant to part with Adele. I cannot risk that. I heard the carriage leave the house. When I found you weren’t in your room, I knew you were in that carriage, and where else would you be going if not to Waring? The fact that you have betrayed me, have incurred my displeasure, does not seem to matter,’ he said with heavy irony.
‘Of course it does, and you have every right to be angry, but I did love him once—only I realise now that I did not know him, what he was capable of. I—I was so afraid.’
‘Of course you were, when you discovered to what depraved depths he would sink to get his own way. If anything has been achieved by tonight’s events, it is that all romantic thoughts of that man will at last be banished from your mind.’
‘Yes, you are right. I had no idea he would behave as he did. It was as if some kind of monster had been unleashed.’
