The Miracle
Brenda Joyce
It was Christmas Eve, and Lisa had never been as miserable or frightened in her entire short life.
She was hiding from her fiance, the Marquis of Con-naught. She had run away from him two months ago, on the night of their engagement party. But now she was desperate. She did not know how much longer she could continue to hide like this, alone and cold and hungry— and so terribly unhappy and afraid.
Lisa shivered. She was wrapped in a mohair throw, for she was only wearing a white poplin summer dress. When she had fled her engagement ball, she had fled without any clothes except for the evening gown she was wearing. That had been discarded immediately. And it was frigidly cold outside, the sky dark and threatening, and as freezing inside her parents' huge summer home. But she did not dare make a fire for fear of alerting a local resident or a passerby to her presence. For fear of alerting Julian St. Clare to her presence.
How she hated him.
Tears did not come to Lisa's eyes, however. On the night of her engagement party she had cried so hard and so thoroughly that she doubted she would ever cry again. Julian's betrayal had been a fatal blow to her young heart. How naive she had been then, to think that such a man had come courting her out of love and not more sanguine reasons. He had only been interested in her because she was an heiress. He did not want her, had never wanted her; he only wanted her money.
A loose shutter began banging wildly against the side of the house. Lisa was huddled on the floor in a corner of her bedroom. The shutters there were open, as were the blue and white drapes, so that the faded winter light could filter into the room. The house was low on supplies. Although there were gaslights, Lisa dared not use them, using only candles. The candles were all but gone. She was almost out of food, too, as there were but a few canned items left in the pantry. Yesterday she had begun using the last bar of soap.
Dear God, what was she going to do?
Lisa wiggled her toes, which were numb from the cold. She stared out the window. It had begun to flurry.
Even though the window was closed and made of dou-ble-paned glass, Lisa could hear the thundering of the surf on the shore not far from the back of the house.
It was Christmas Eve. Lisa imagined the cozy family parlor ofher
Or was she faint from hunger and lack of sleep?
Lisa slept fitfully at night, her dreams deeply disturbing. As if she were a child, she dreamed of being pursued by monsters and beasts. She was always running in terror, afraid for her life, for she knew if the beast caught her, he would coldly, cruelly destroy her. He was a shaggy, wild creature, horrific and not human at all. Until she saw his face.
The beast always had a face. He was blond and gray-eyed and coldly patrician. He was devastatingly handsome. His face was Julian St. Clare's.
Lisa listened to the banging shutter and the pounding surf. His face had fooled her. His face and his kisses. How stupid she had been. Lisa knew now from overhearing the gossips at her engagement party that his reputation was vast and well known—he was impoverished, reclusive, and he disliked women. He was only marrying Lisa because she was an heiress. And Julian had not denied it when Lisa flung the accusation in his face.
Lisa shivered again. This time the cold was far more than bone-chilling—it wrapped icy fingers around her heart. According to Sofie, St. Clare was more coldly furious with her each and every passing day. And more determined to find her. He had hired detectives to aid him in his quest.
Would he never grow weary of this game? Lisa prayed daily that he would give up, find himself another American heiress, and return to his ancestral home in
The banging of the shutter was louder now, more forceful and rhythmic.
Sofie knew where she was. If St. Clare left, Lisa was certain that Sofie would reveal that fact to her immediately so Lisa could go home.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Lisa's brief reverie of returning home and being swept into her father's arms was rudely interrupted. Something was not right. She strained to hear.
Bang. Bang.
Lisa sat up straighter. The shutter was still banging wildly in the wind, but something was banging downstairs, too. A new noise, a different noise. It was rhythmic, forceful.
Lisa was on her feet. Panic washed over her. Was someone knocking on the front door?
No! Of course not! But she dropped the throw and ran down the hall to the second-floor landing. Hanging onto the smooth teak banister, she peered down into the foyer. This time there was no mistaking the sound of someone banging on the front door. Every drop of blood drained from her face.
Bam. Bam.
And then the brass doorknob rattled.
Lisa was frozen. It crossed her stunned mind that St. Clare had found her.
Suddenly the glass window beside the front door shattered. Lisa started to scream, but her mouth was so dry with terror that she could not utter a single sound.
A heavy broken branch poked through, sweeping glass shards from the frame. And then St. Clare's head appeared in the opening.
Their gazes met.
His gray eyes glittered with anger. Lisa's teeth chattered and her knees buckled. "Open this door," the Marquis commanded above the howling wind.
Lisa whirled and began to run back down the hall. "Lisa!” he shouted.
She did not know what to do, where to go. As she raced towards her bedroom she realized she would be trapped if she returned there. She ran past it, panting, her heart pounding. Lisa skidded down the back stairs. She realized that he would find her if she attempted to hide in the house. As she flew across the back foyer, she could hear him running down the corridor upstairs.
She had to escape.
Lisa threw the bolt on the back door. As she flung it open, a gust of freezing wind and snow blasted her. Lisa did not notice as she raced outside.
She was stumbling down the stone steps which led to the back lawns and tennis courts and ultimately the beach when she heard him shouting her name. Lisa flung a glance over her shoulder as she ran across the snow-dusted lawn. St Clare was just barreling out of the house.
Lisa screamed as she slipped and fell. She pushed herself up from her knees, but got caught on the frothy lace hem of her skirts. Stumbling, she wrenched at her skirts and took another step forward. And then a hand clamped down hard on her shoulder.
Lisa's slipper-shod feet continued to move, but her body was hauled backwards. A pair of muscular arms wrapped around her. Lisa did not hesitate—she sank her teeth into one of those arms.
But all she got was a mouthful of his overcoat, while he did not appear to notice anything. A moment later St. Clare had thrown her over his shoulder and was hurrying back to the house.
He was tall and muscular and Lisa was petite, so her eyes were level with the small of his back. She did not give up. "No!" she shouted, beating his back with her fists, her cheek rubbing against his wool coat. If he noticed her wild resistance, he gave no sign. Lisa pummeled him harder as sobs choked their way out of her throat.
St. Clare strode into the back hall, kicking the door closed. To Lisa, the kick seemed brutal and violent. Her fists uncurled, stilled. Abject fear seized her again.
He did not pause. He strode purposefully through the house, kicking open both doors to a front parlor. Without breaking stride he entered the dark room and deposited Lisa on the sofa. Their gazes met.
Some of the cold fury dimmed in his eyes. His gaze swept her from head to toe and widened.
Lisa realized her teeth were chattering. She was shivering uncontrollably, not just from fear. From the freezing cold.
"Good God," he said grimly, his jaw flexing. He shrugged out of his overcoat and flung the coat on top of Lisa. Before Lisa could protest, he tucked it firmly about her. "You little fool," he said.
Lisa burrowed into his coat, which was wonderfully warm, trying not to notice the musky male scent that clung to it. She never removed her eyes from his. Her teeth chattered more loudly than before, and her shivering continued unabated.
His mouth tightened. St. Clare immediately turned on a gaslamp. The room was flooded with light. He went to the hearth, knelt, and began to make a fire. Within moments flames began to dance, but he wasn't through. Soon the hearth was blazing.
Lisa remained on the couch, staring at his broad back, filled with dread and too stunned to think coherently. She could not believe that she had been caught
Finished with the fire, he turned and strode to her.
Lisa could not help but flinch, pressing herself against the back of the sofa.
His gaze darkened. "You're blue," he said flatly. "Has it not crossed your mind that you might catch pneumonia and die wearing a summer dress like that in this weather?"
Lisa's reply was instantaneous. "Then you would have to find another heiress, wouldn't you?"
He started, eyes wide.
Lisa wished she had kept silent.
His expression hardened. "Yes, I would."
Lisa inhaled. "I hate you."
"You have made that very clear." Suddenly he reached for her.
Lisa cried out.
He lifted her into his arms. "I am not going to hurt you," he said coldly, moving back to the fire. "You may have a suicide wish, but I do not share it." A shadow Lisa did not comprehend clouded his expression.
Lisa was tense, acutely aware of being cradled against his broad, hard chest. His masculine scent assailed her. Lisa squirmed. She despised him, and she was not going to marry him, but he was a devastatingly attractive man, and she could not forget the few times he had kissed her when he was courting her—before she had learned the truth about him. Lisa had had many beaux before St. Clare, even though she was just eighteen. Young men had always flocked about her, vying for her attention. But only one young man had dared to kiss her before St. Clare, a friend who had confessed at the time that he was miserably in love with her. His kiss had been chaste and totally unremarkable. Julian's kisses had seared not just her body, but her soul. And they hadn't been chaste at all.
Lisa realized that he had halted in front of the fire with her in his arms. He was staring at her almost fixedly.
Lisa prayed her thoughts did not show.
His temples throbbed visibly as he tore his gaze away and laid her on the rug in front of the hearth.
Terribly relieved to be out of his arms, Lisa resolved to forget the past and the dreams she had once had for them, no matter how difficult it might be. She would never allow him to kiss her again, and she certainly wasn't going to marry him, no matter what he and her father had planned.
But she was acutely aware of him standing beside her just as she was acutely aware of the tension simmering between them.
Lisa was determined to ignore him, and in spite of the roaring fire, she had never been colder in her life. She refused to think that he was being kind. Clearly he was not a kind man. He was only concerned about her because he wanted her fortune.
"You may ignore me if it pleases you," he said from beside her, staring at her again, "I had planned to return to the city tonight, but will wait until the morning. I will send my driver into town to bring us a hot supper and anything we might need. And some suitable clothing for you."
Lisa sat up, facing him. A momentary feeling of lightheadedness afflicted her, but she ignored it. "You may certainly return to
His eyes darkened. "Lisa, you are returning with me."
"Then you will have to act forcibly, sir."
"You are a stubborn bit of baggage," he said coolly. "And I suggest that you cease trying to antagonize me in this childish manner."
"Oh, so now I am a mere child?" Lisa felt hurt, bitterly so. "You did not treat me like a child, St. Clare, when you were courting me—and kissing me!"
His fists found his hips. His stare found her mouth.
Lisa wished she had not brought up the subject. "Just go away and leave me alone," she said, staring at the floor,
"I cannot do that, Lisa."
Her head flung up. "I am not marrying you," Lisa said vehemently. "Were you the last man on this earth, I would not marry you!"
He folded his arms and looked down at her. "Ahh, so now we get to the gist of the matter."
"Yes. The gist. The gist is that you are a cold, uncaring man. You are a fraud, St. Clare." Unfortunately, Lisa's tone was tremulous. She hoped all the hurt she was feeling was not showing in her eyes. She had never been a good actress.
His expression was impossible to read. "Let us finish this once and for all. I am sorry. I apologize to you for not being forthright from the start. Perhaps if I had been honest and explained to you the reasons I sought your hand in matrimony, we would not be at this impasse now."
Lisa was incredulous. She got to her feet abruptly, leaving his coat on the floor. But instantly she was assailed with a wave of dizziness and she could not respond as she wished to do.
St. Clare gripped her arms. "You are ill."
Lisa allowed him to steady her. "No, I am fine. I am just hungry," she said, as her vision cleared. Then, realizing that his warm palms gripped her bare wrists, she shrugged free of him. "Stop touching me," she snapped.
Shadows crossed his eyes, but he dropped his hands. "You are ill," he repeated, staring closely at her.
"I am fine. I am tired, that is all. And I do not accept your apology, St. Clare."
He eyed her. "I see. You intend to fight me to the bitter end?"
"Yes. Nor do you see. I doubt you see anything at all except your own selfish wishes. You are a cold, ugly man. Your face might be beautiful, but you have no heart—and you toyed with mine, which is unforgivable!" To Lisa's dismay, hot tears suddenly filled her gaze.
He was silent. "You are so very young," he finally said. "I also apologize for hurting you, Lisa. That was not my intention."
"What was your intention?" she cried. "Other than to marry an unsuspecting heiress."
His jaw flexed. "I am tired of your accusations. It is very common for an heiress to seek a title, just as it is common for a nobleman like myself to seek an heiress. You are acting like this is a crime akin to murder. We are not the first to find such an accommodation, Lisa."
"No!" Lisa shook her head. Her long, dark hair, which had long since come loose of its coil, fell like black silk across her shoulders.
"This marriage can be a success if we reach an understanding, you and I."
"No," Lisa said fiercely. "No. When I marry, I am marrying for love."
Something flickered in his eyes. "I am afraid that is not possible."
Lisa did not like his tone. "I shall beg my father to break this off. Surely now that he knows how resistant I am, he will not force me to wed you. My father loves me."
"It is too late," Julian said quietly. "Of course it's not too late!"
He hesitated, staring. "Lisa, we were married by proxy last week."
Lisa could not move. Surely she had misheard? His mouth was a thin, tight line. "We are already man and wife."
Two
Lisa had maintained a stoic silence ever since Julian had informed her of the fact of their marriage. He did not want to feel guilty, and he certainly did not want to feel sympathetic toward her, but it was very hard for him to maintain his distance whenever he looked into her expressive amber eyes. She could not hide her feelings of hurt and bitterness and despair. She was only eighteen—so very young.
He almost cursed himself for what he had done, but he had not had any choice. He was only a man, he could not change God's will, and he had been desperate.
Julian could not eat. He sat at the dining table with his bride at a long, oval table that could accommodate a dozen diners with ease. Lisa had chosen to sit opposite him at the table's far end, a foolishly defiant gesture, and she refused to look at him or speak with him. But then, she appeared to be starving, and she had not stopped eating since his manservant had laid out the repast.
He watched her help herself to another serving of roasted chicken and boiled potatoes. He could not believe how thin she had become in these past two months. He kept remembering how, when he had lifted her in his arms, she had been as light as a feather. Dark circles were etched beneath her eyes. He could not ignore his responsibility in this affair, or the guilt which filled him as he faced it.
He knew he should have chosen a different bride.
Lisa was too young, too vulnerable, and if he dared be honest, far too pretty as well.
She did not suit him, and she would hate his home, Castleclare, when he took her there.
He shut off his thoughts. They were becoming distinctly painful. He knew he shouldn't think about faults, especially not his own, for then his thoughts would take him backwards in time, to a place he dared not go. Not ever again.
Lisa suddenly sighed.
Julian knew he was staring at her, and now that she was finally finished eating, she lifted her head and their gazes collided. He felt unbearably tense. He suddenly knew he could not take her with him to Castleclare. His every instinct warned him against it. She was trouble.
Suddenly she was slapping her napkin down and rising to her feet, a clear breach of etiquette. Coolly she said, "I am retiring to my room." Her gaze flickered with hostility.
He chose to stand politely. "Good night, madam," he said, inclining his head.
Giving him half a glare, for the effect was ruined by the hurt in her eyes, she shoved back her chair as noisily as possible and marched from the room.
Julian sighed and collapsed in his seat. He was well aware that she was trying her damnedest to provoke him. He was, perhaps, relieved that she had gone.
O'Hara appeared magically in the room. Short and round and old enough to be Julian's father, he was Julian's single manservant, acting as butler, valet, footman, and coachman as need be. He had insisted on accompanying Julian to
"That poor lass be starvin', m'lord," O'Hara said accusingly.
Julian leveled him with a cool stare. "I am well aware of Her Ladyship's condition."
Without asking, O'Hara filled Julian's wineglass. "Ain't right, m'lord. Her bein' so unhappy an'—"
"O'Hara," Julian said calmly, "you are going too far."
O'Hara ignored the unveiled warning. "Mebbe y' should court the lass just a tiny bit."
Julian stood up abruptly, scowled, and left the dining room, taking his red wine with him. In the library he stared out the window, for no one had thought to draw the brocade draperies. It had begun to snow heavily and the sky was opaque, the front lawns already covered with several inches of snow. He hardly cared. His bride was upstairs, hurt and unhappy, all because of him. Why did he keep thinking about her?
Ever since he met her, he'd had no peace, none at all.
Julian set the wineglass down. Unwelcome images invaded his mind—images of Lisa curled up in her four-poster, her mouth full and red and inviting, her small nose tilted upward, eyes closed as she slept, her black lashes fanning on her pale cheeks. Her dark hair would be rippling across her shoulders, her naked shoulders . . .
Julian swallowed and turned away from the window. His groin was suddenly, shockingly, full.
He had no right to such thoughts.
But it had been so goddamn long.
Lisa woke with a cry of fright.
Morning sunlight was streaming into her bedroom and a fire blazed in the hearth, warming it. But she was not alone.
Julian St. Clare, the monster of her dreams, stood beside her bed, staring down at her, his face impossibly handsome—and impossible to read.
Complete comprehension struck Lisa immediately.
She recalled all of the events leading up to that moment in the space of a single heartbeat. With that realization came dread and despair. Sitting up, brushing loose strands of hair from her face, she realized she was wearing nothing but a thin, sleeveless summer nightgown.
Lisa yanked the covers up to her chin, her face flaming. Julian had seen her breasts. Her heart raced alarmingly. "What are you doing in my room?!"
A flush also colored his cheeks. "I knocked several times but you failed to awaken. I came in to tend to the fire," he said stiffly.
"Well, now you can get out."
Julian's eyes flashed. "I suggest that you moderate your tone, madam."
Lisa hugged the covers to her breasts, wondering how long he had been staring at her while she slept in such a state of immodesty. "My rudeness only matches yours," she managed, more meekly. "No gentleman would invade a lady's bedroom, sir, for any reason."
He sighed, clearly annoyed. "It is freezing cold, Lisa, and you have suffered greatly in the past two months. Do you wish to ruin your health?"
"What do you care?" Lisa shrugged. And received an angry look which somehow pleased her immensely.
He began to leave, then halted, facing her again. "We are snowed in."
"What?!"
"It snowed all night. The driveway is impassable, and the roads can be no better. We are snowed in."
Lisa stared at him in growing horror.
"I will see you in the dining salon," Julian said. "O'Hara has prepared breakfast." His smile was cool. "I am afraid we will have to remain here for several days, Lisa, you and I, together."
When he was gone, Lisa sagged against her pillows. "No," she whispered miserably. "Oh, no!"
* * *
There was only one way for Lisa to survive the next few days until Julian took her home and that was to remain inside her bedroom, avoiding his presence and company completely. Except, however, for meals.
Lisa had no intention of starving herself now that there was food in the house, not after these past two very lean months. She arrived at the breakfast table at a
And that, even though he was wearing very old riding boots, breeches which fit him like a glove, and an equally old houndstooth riding jacket, he exuded an intensely masculine appeal. Lisa was careful to pretend to be oblivious of him as she took her seat at the other end of the table. Of course, it was impossible—she felt him looking at her with frightening intensity.
Surely he was wrong, she thought in sudden despair. They could not be married by proxy. It was an intolerable thought.
O'Hara came bustling into the room carrying a platter of sausages and eggs and freshly toasted muffins. "Good morning, m'lord, m'lady," he said jovially with his thick lilting Irish brogue. He beamed. "Merry Christmas!"
Lisa froze. She had forgotten what day this was.
Julian also remained immobile at the other end of the table. Their gazes clashed instantly.
Lisa quickly looked away, murmuring "Merry Christmas" to the servant but not to Julian, a man who might be her husband, feeling awful about being so petty. Christmas was a special day, a day of love and joy and celebration. Yet this day was a day of sorrow and despair.
Lisa yearned to be at home with her family. How she needed her father and stepsister now.
And although Lisa had been famished, she suddenly lost her appetite. She lurched to her feet. "Excuse me. I. . She could not continue. Vaguely aware of Julian's riveted gaze—and the fact that he was also standing— she turned and rushed from the room.
"Wait, Lisa," Julian said, hurrying after her.
She whirled in the corridor. "Please, just leave me alone," she begged.
He froze. "Lisa, it is time for us to talk."
"No," she cried and shook her head fiercely. Her thick braid swung like a rope against her back.
He gripped her elbow. "Come with me." His tone was soft but firm; it was a command.
Hating him intensely, Lisa realized she had no choice and allowed him to lead her into the library. He released her but did not bother to shut the doors. He turned his back to her and stared out at the snow as it was blown into an odd assortment of puffy shapes on the lawn.
Lisa hugged herself. This was the worst Christmas she could imagine. Her heart felt broken all over again. How alone she felt.
Slowly Julian faced her. "You deserve some explanation."
Lisa said nothing. There was nothing to say.
"It was not my choice to remarry, Lisa. In truth, had I a choice, I would never have married again."
Lisa swallowed, feeling quite ill. "You are definitely making me feel better, St. Clare."
"Please. Take off the gauntlets for a moment, Lisa."
She blinked and finally, reluctantly, nodded. Even though she despised him for his deception and treachery, she wanted to know what he was thinking, wanted to hear what he would say.
He coughed to clear his throat. "Circumstance forced me to wed."
"An heiress like myself?"
"Yes." His gaze found hers. He appeared regretful.
"This hardly exonerates you, St. Clare," Lisa snapped. "Another woman might be happy with this kind of arrangement, but not I."
"My brother is ill."
Lisa stiffened, all ears now.
Julian's jaw was tight. He avoided her eyes. "Robert is my younger brother, my only brother. Our parents died years ago. He is the only family I have, and his welfare is my complete responsibility."
Lisa did not move. But Julian's anguish was a vivid thing, shimmering in his eyes, consuming him. She wished she were unaware of it.
"He has been diagnosed with consumption," Julian said.
Lisa stared. Consumption was fatal. His brother would, sooner or later, succumb to the disease and die. "I am sorry."
His head swiveled, his stare pierced her. His expression was stoic, except for his burning gray eyes. "Are you?"
"Of course."
He coughed again before speaking. The tip of his nose had grown pink. "He is at a spa in
"I see," Lisa said, beginning to understand.
Julian abruptly turned his back to her. "I cannot pay the bills. But the Irish climate does not suit him. Robert, of course, prefers
"So you came to
He did not face her. Lisa thought he shuddered very slightly. "Yes. I had no choice. My brother's health is at issue."
His health, his life. Lisa did not want to feel Julian's pain, but it was so palpable that she did. She took a deep breath, wanting to flee the room, wanting to flee him. "I am sorry, St. Clare, about your brother. But your explanation changes nothing."
Slowly he faced her. "I see."
She took a step backwards, away from him. "I still don't want to be your wife."
"It's too late, Lisa," Julian told her. "It has been done. We are married." For a single moment, before he lowered his gaze, Lisa saw the burning intensity in his gray eyes.
Her heart was hammering madly. What had that look meant? It was not the first time she had glimpsed it. And should she really care to decipher his innermost feelings? She wanted nothing to do with him.
Lisa clenched her fists. "Take my money and return to
He stared at her dispassionately. Yet behind his stoic expression, she felt a fresh wave of anger building.
Lisa did not wait for him to respond. She ran from the room.
Lisa found solace in her bedroom. She flung herself facedown on the bed. She was acutely aware of the man downstairs, a stranger she despised, a stranger who was her husband—a man who was hurting because his brother was dying. Lisa told herself that it was not her affair, that she must not feel sympathy for him. She did not care. She must not care.
And surely he would agree with her final suggestion? Surely he would leave her in
But St. Clare was full of surprises. What if he felt it his duty to import her to
What could she do? Defy both her father and
Which meant she must accept her fate.
And if her fate was to go with Julian to
St. Clare's image swam before her mind. When he had first come calling, she had been overwhelmed with his masculine beauty, his formal bearing, and his utterly aristocratic demeanor. Lisa was no longer deluded. He was only pleasing on the surface; he was a cold, heartless man.
He was not the knight in shining armor she had dreamed of and yearned for ever since she was a young girl.
Lisa felt like weeping. If only he were as ugly on the surface as he was on the inside.
A light rap sounded on her door. Lisa jerked, knowing who it was. She sat up, flinging her braid over her shoulder, but said not a word. Maybe he would think that she had fallen asleep.
"Lisa, it is I. Julian. There is more which we must discuss."
Her heart beat at a gallop. "There is nothing more to discuss," Lisa cried at the closed door. "Go away, St. Clare."
He opened the door and stepped inside. Lisa regretted not locking it, too late. He eyed her. Lisa realized her skirts were billowing about her legs in utter disarray. And that she probably looked quite indecent, lounging about the bed. She slipped to the floor.
His jaw flexing, he said, "We must finish this once and for all. You cannot hope to avoid me."
To hide her roiling emotions, she cried, "I can do my best to avoid you, St. Clare. And I intend to avoid you as much as possible from now until death do us part!"
He stared at her, first at her defiant face, then at her mouth, and finally his gaze slid down her bodice and skirts to her toes. "You are a contradiction, Lisa, for you are far tougher than you appear—and you appear a delicate beauty, fragile and ephemeral. I would never have dreamed you capable of running away and hiding from me for two full months. Your determination and courage are astounding."
"I do not think you are complimenting me," Lisa said.
"I am not complimenting you." His gaze was piercing. "You are far stronger than you appear, yet I sense you are not really as tough as you try to seem. I think that defiance runs against your true nature."
"So now you are an expert on my true nature?" Lisa scoffed, but she was alarmed. This man was also astute.
Lisa moved to a plush red chair and sank down, clasping her hands tightly in order to hide their trembling. She did not want St. Clare to guess how unnerved she really was. What did he want now? And why did he have to seek her out in the intimate confines of her bedroom?
He turned and slowly closed her door, worrying Lisa even more. Then he faced her, leaning one broad shoulder against it. His stare was unyielding.
And Lisa wanted him out of her room. She leapt to her feet. "What is it that you want?"
His gaze narrowed. "Why are you distraught, Lisa? You have no reason to fear me. I will never hurt you. I am a civilized man."
She lifted her chin. "I am not afraid of you."
"You are quaking."
"Hardly," Lisa lied. "I am . . . cold."
His mouth seemed to ease into a smile. Briefly it transformed his face, making him far more stunning than should be possible. "I only wish to discuss the future with you."
Lisa's eyes flashed. "We have no future!"
"You are being childish again. We are married and that is not going to change. However, I think you will be happy to learn that I am leaving for
Lisa stood up. She wanted him gone, she did, but that meant that he would be leaving in a few days. She was too stunned to speak.
"Sorry to see me go?" he mocked.
"I am glad to see you go!" she cried, but her words felt like a contradiction, like a lie. Then she jerked, stricken with another inkling. "Wait—you are taking me with you?"
He shook his head. "No. I did not say that we were leaving. I am leaving. I have matters to attend to that cannot wait. I will send for you in the spring."
It took Lisa a full moment to grasp what he was saying, and even then, she did not comprehend his words completely. He was going to do as she had suggested. He was going to leave her in
Clearly he had told her the truth earlier, that, given a choice, he would never have remarried; clearly he did not care for her at all.
It should not hurt. Her heart was already broken. Then why did she feel so bruised and battered now?
He returned her shocked gaze. "This is what you want, isn't it, Lisa? For me to take your money and leave you behind?"
Lisa's bosom began to heave. "Yes," she managed, without any conviction.
"I will send for you in the spring," he said firmly.
Lisa shook her head. "B-but I won 't come."
His stare remained on her face. "Do not think to defy me another time, Lisa. Do not force me to return to
Lisa was trying to imagine the next six months, being married to him, yet residing worlds apart. Why wasn't she thrilled? "I will not obey your summons like some well-trained and docile lackey, St. Clare, when it comes next spring. Do not bother sending for me."
He stared at her tightly folded arms. "Then I shall come to fetch you."
"Why?" Lisa cried. "Y-you don't want me —so why?" And even she heard the hurt in her tone.
He had tamed toward the door, but now he froze. Her words seemed to hang in the air . . . you don't want me.
"I shall send for you in the spring because, madam, you are my wife, for better or for worse."
"Oh, God," Lisa whispered. "I am doomed."
He hesitated, suddenly appearing uncertain and far younger than his thirty years. "Lisa, perhaps in six months time you will grow up and realize that your lot could be much worse."
She waved a hand at him, unable to speak, hot tears burning her eyes, wanting him to go. When she found her voice, her tone was both bitter and hoarse. "I want to be alone."
He finally nodded and walked to the door. But he did not pass through it after he opened it and Lisa could not resist having the last word. "Julian."
He started at the sound of his given name.
Her smile flashed, tearful and bitter, in her pale face. "Merry Christmas, St. Clare."
He blanched, staring. And left without another word.
Three
Castleclare,
Castleclare was perched on the northernmost side of the island, facing
Julian stared grimly ahead as his carriage rolled down the dirt road towards the castle. He intended to wring his brother's neck if he found him at Castleclare, and as he had looked everywhere else, he expected to locate him there.
The old, rusted iron portcullis was open, as always. Julian's coach rumbled through. O'Hara braked far too abruptly, the two bays squealed, and Julian was thrown off his seat. Sighing, he flung open the door, its hinges protesting noisily. His coach was as old as his manservant. He wouldn't mind purchasing a new conveyance, but he was loath to let the old family retainer go, no matter how annoyed he might occasionally be.
"M'lord, beg yorr pardon," O'Hara wheezed, panting and out of breath.
Julian gave him an impatient look and did not wait for him to dislodge himself from the upper driving seat. Stepping from the coach, he strode across the dirt and gravel drive and pushed open the heavy and scarred front door. He paused inside the cavernous central hall.
It was a part of the original, thirteenth century keep. As such, it was entirely composed of stone, thus cold, and being windowless, dark. Pennants hung from the rafters. Swords, maces, and a crossbow hung on the walls, all weapons from another, earlier era. Julian glanced around. The centuries-old trestle table, heavily scarred, was coated with dust. The oversized hearth, set against the far wall, was devoid of a welcoming fire. The stone floors were bare and frigid. Julian could feel the cold seeping up through the worn soles of his riding boots. Last week he had discovered the beginnings of another hole on his left sole.
"Robert," he barked.
There was no answer, nothing except the echo of his own voice, but he had not expected one. His home was far too large. He passed through the hall, seeing not a soul. He had cut his staff down long ago to the all-purpose O'Hara, two equally generic maids, and a cook. Because his staff could hardly keep up with his
immense home, he ignored the dust motes hanging in the air and the cobwebs in the corners. He could not help thinking about the bride he had not wanted to begin with. She would hardly find his home pleasant after the pomp and splendor of
Julian traversed another dark, unlit corridor, leaving behind the keep. The wing the family inhabited had been built in the sixteenth century. The floors were parquet, the windows wide. Numerous works of art lined the walls, including a Botticelli, a Velasquez, and a Courbet. Julian had never been able to part with the art his family had accumulated and admired for centuries.
At the door to his brother's chamber he paused, just long enough to hear a feminine giggle. Julian's eyes widened and he shoved open the door.
Robert sat on his four-poster bed, which showed signs of recent activity. He was dressed only in a pair of fine gray wool trousers. His arm was around a local girl Julian vaguely recognized. Julian's stare hardened.
The girl was also half-clad. She squealed, pulling her dress up to cover her abundant breasts. Robert took one look at Julian and turned a ghastly shade of white. He jumped up from the bed while the girl fled. "Julian! You're home!"
"How clever of you, Robert," Julian ground out. He stared. "You are supposed to be at the spa."
Robert ran a hand through his thick chestnut hair. "Julian, can you blame me for wanting to have fun? Before it's too late for me to enjoy myself?"
Julian felt a stabbing all the way to his soul. "No, I do not blame you, but your hedonistic tendencies must be modified, Robert." His gaze had already found the empty bottle of port on the bedside table. "Dammit, the doctors told you to drink less, and not to exert yourself."
Robert smiled slightly. "A little bedsport, brother, is hardly an exertion." Suddenly Robert's expression changed. Julian tensed as he began to cough, uncontrollably, for several moments. Very grim, Julian waited until the fit had passed before speaking. Walking to the bedside table, he poured his brother a glass of water and handed it to him.
"How often have I told you to stay away from the local girls?" he asked quietly.
"She's a widow," Robert said mildly. "I'm hardly as noble or as clever as you, but I'm not stupid."
Julian studied his brother. They were very different men, and not just because Robert was seven years younger and gravely ill, and not because Robert was fair and auburn-haired. Robert had always been a charming, reckless rake. He had left a trail of broken hearts from
Robert smiled, his gray eyes guileless. "I have had a very good week, Julian. I think the doctors are wrong. I think this climate is less damaging then they say."
"I want you to return to the spa," Julian said flatly. "No ifs, ands, or buts about it."
Robert was dismayed. "Julian, I know you have an open mind. We must speak of this at length. I do not want to spend my final days in the goddamned spa!"
Julian's chest heaved. "You are hardly at Death's door!" he snapped furiously. "Do not talk that way!"
Robert's expression was mulish. "I want to enjoy the last years of my life."
Julian stared. Aching.
Robert smiled and walked over to his brother and slipped his arm around him. "I am feeling so much better ever since I came home. My spirits are as important as my health."
Julian felt himself relenting. "They say you only stayed at the spa for a month. The moment I sailed for
Robert shrugged guiltily. "I took advantage of your absence." He hesitated. "Have you come home alone?"
An emotion Julian had no wish to identify swept through him. His entire body stiffened. "Yes. But have no fear. I have done my familial duty. I merely left my rich little bride in
"You are married!" Robert was elated. His eyes danced. "Julian, that is wonderful—tell me about her!"
"There is nothing to tell." Julian looked away as Lisa's lovely image filled his mind.
But Robert was not about to be put off. He flung his arm around Julian, still grinning. "Is she pretty?"
"Yes."
Robert waited, and when no elaboration was forthcoming, he shook Julian lightly. "Well? Is she fair or dark? Plump or slender? What is her name?"
Julian felt his temples throbbing. "Her name is Lisa. She is Benjamin Ralston's only daughter, and she has the kind of fortune we need to provide your medical treatment and keep up this estate."
Robert stared at him searchingly. "Why don't you send for her now?"
Julian shrugged free of his grasp and paced to the window—only to realize his mistake. From Robert's room there was a perfect view of the shimmering lake. Immediately he turned away. "I have no wish to send for her."
Robert stared; their gazes locked. The silence was tense and laden with unspoken denial. "You need her here, Julian. Don't deny it."
"That's absurd."
"It's been ten years!" Robert cried.
Suddenly Julian was enraged. "Don't tell me how long it has been!" he shouted, his face a dark, furious red.
Robert's eyes widened and he stepped back, as if fearing Julian would strike him.
Julian wanted to hit him. He realized that his fists were clenched, painfully so.
"Julian," Robert said, braced for a blow.
Julian became aware of the rage that threatened to consume him, body and soul. He began to shake. He was terrified of his feelings. But he was a man of iron will, and that will had been honed and stengthened for ten long years. He forced the rage down, forced the fury back to the place where it had been born. When he had gained control, he was drenched with sweat and gasping for breath.
All the while, Robert watched him, tears in his eyes. "Let go," the younger man finally whispered. "Let go. They're dead."
Julian refused to look at him. He left the room.
Robert felt a tear trickle down his cheek. "Goddamn it," he said to himself. "I want my brother back."
It was a prayer.
Lisa felt that she was traveling to her doom. She stood motionless at the steamer's railing, staring blindly as
Lisa gripped the railing with both gloved hands, her pale blue parasol forgotten at her feet. Oh, God. In a few moments she would finally come face-to-face with St. Clare again.
Lisa closed her eyes, feeling quite dizzy and very ill. In the past six months, she had tried very hard to pretend to herself and the world at large that she was still Lisa Ralston, and not St. Clare's wife. But it had quickly proved impossible. At every social occasion, she was introduced as Lady St. Clare, the Marchioness of Con-naught, Julian St. Clare's wife. At every tea and soiree the ladies flocked to her, oohing and aahing over her successful marriage to the blue-blooded and oh-so-noble Marquis. "How could you let him leave without you?!" she was asked again and again. The ladies thought Lisa so terribly lucky. Not only had she married a title, but her husband was also astoundingly handsome.
She had not wanted to obey his summons when it had come, just as he had promised. But her father was adamant. He had betrayed her with the proxy marriage, and now he had betrayed her yet again, insisting that she join her husband.
How she despised St. Clare.
Yet he haunted her thoughts constantly. Not an hour went by that Lisa did not recall one of their hostile exchanges and his too-handsome face. At night, he frequented her dreams. Too often, then, Lisa was swept back to an earlier time, when he was courting her and she was falling in love, blithely unaware of his motives. She would awaken strangely elated until reality claimed her, leaving her ill and shaken by her comprehension of the truth.
Glumly, Lisa stared over the railing of the steamer. She finally noticed the rowboats floating by the river banks, where parasoled ladies flirted with gentlemen in their derbies and shirtsleeves. The steamer was just passing the
Lisa stared at the thick, dark walls. Today, the Tower reminded her of a prison. And that was where she was going—to a prison of her own, a prison with no escape. Her spirits had never been lower.
Yet she was trembling, too, her heart racing uncontrollably. In a few more minutes her ship would find its berth. St. Clare would be waiting. Not for the first time, Lisa thought about leaving the ship and fleeing into
The ship was guided to its dock by belching tugboats. Lisa scanned the waiting throngs as the anchors were lowered, the vessel secured, and the gangplanks thrown down. She gripped her parasol so tightly that her gloved hands ached. She did not remark a tall, golden-haired man standing a head above the rest of the cheering crowd.
The passengers began to disembark. Lisa had traveled with her maid, a plump and pretty blond girl Lisa's own age. Betsy loved to chatter, but she was silent now, her blue eyes as large as saucers as she stared at the city of
There was pandemonium all around them on the wharf. Passengers were embraced and greeted by relatives and friends. Ladies wept. Children jumped up and down. Gentlemen grinned from ear to ear, and Lisa espied a couple passionately entwined. She recognized the gentleman as a fellow passenger, and suddenly she was envious.
If only . . .
She shoved aside her thoughts. "Lisa?"
The man's voice was unfamiliar, but unmistakably Irish. Lisa turned to see a tall, handsome gentleman. "Lady St. Clare?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over her so thoroughly that she became aware of being hot and disheveled and probably quite untidy as well.
"I am Lisa Ralston St. Clare."
Suddenly he smiled. "And I am your brother-in-law." He gripped her gloved hands tightly, giving Lisa the distinct impression that he wanted to embrace her. "Robert St. Clare, in fact. It is wonderful to finally make your acquaintance."
Lisa managed a wan reply. So this then was the brother with consumption. She had expected a pale invalid, not this charming and flamboyant rake.
Robert did not give her a chance to gather up her thoughts, other than to wonder where St. Clare was. "Good God, how beautiful you are. Julian never said a word!"
Lisa turned red. Her heart banged painfully against her breast. Of course St. Clare hardly thought her beautiful; in fact, he probably described her as a hag.
"I am sorry." Robert tucked her arm in his, "Forgive me. But you know Julian." He laughed uneasily.
Lisa could not hold her tongue. "No. I do not know your brother, not at all." Her tone was acerbic.
Robert stared at her searchingly.
Lisa flushed again and glanced away, reminding herself that she was a lady and she must not allow her ill will towards her husband make her act in any other manner.
"Perhaps, in time, you will understand Julian better," Robert said at last.
Lisa glanced around carefully. "He is not here." She refused to be disappointed. He had not even come to greet her after her week-long journey and their six-month separation.
"No," Robert protested, "Julian went to make certain that all of our arrangements at the hotel were satisfactory. He should be here at any moment."
Lisa did not comment upon the fact that Robert could have checked upon the arrangements, allowing Julian to greet her. How eager he was to see her again.
But Julian suddenly pushed through the crowd, materializing before her very eyes.
Lisa froze at the sight of him.
His strides faltered as well.
Lisa was momentarily stricken. She had forgotten how stunning he was, how patrician and how elegant—how incredibly masculine. Her heart skipped a beat as their gazes caught and held.
He too appeared stunned by her presence, yet he was the first to look away.
It was then that Lisa noticed the woman he was with. Tall, willowy, and blond, she was as patrician as he. In fact, she might have even been his sister. She was only a few years older than Lisa. Did Julian have a sister?
St. Clare moved forward, taking one of her hands and bowing over it, avoiding her eyes. "I hope your journey was not too tiring," he said, his tone formal. And then he glanced up.
Lisa could not look away. For one moment she felt that she was drowning in a sea of gray. The very same magnetism which had captivated her so thoroughly when they first met pulled at her now—the same magnetism and the same soul. Something stirred deep inside her. But Lisa had been determined to avoid this pull ever since his deception. She would avoid it now by reminding herself of the short history they had shared.
Lisa extracted her hand from his. His palm was hard and warm, even through her white cotton gloves. "The voyage was fine."
"Good." His glance wandered to hers again. And raked over the bodice of her short, fitted jacket and the length of her narrow skirt, both the palest blue muslin and the latest fashion, to the very tips of her white patent shoes. He turned abruptly, leaving Lisa shaken, and the blond woman stepped forward.
"May I introduce my neighbor, Lady Edith Tarrington," Julian said. "Edith is also staying at the Carleton. When she learned that I was meeting you at the wharf, she expressed her desire to join me. Edith, my . . . bride, Lady St. Clare."
Edith Tarrington smiled at Lisa. "I am so pleased to meet you," she said. "The whole county has been in quite a state since Julian returned home and declared that he had wed. We have all been eagerly awaiting your arrival, Lady St. Clare."
Lisa managed a faint smile. She did not know what to think. Who was this neighbor of Julian's? She was far too beautiful for Lisa to be at ease. Then Lisa realized that Julian was regarding her intently again.
His gaze quickly lowered. "A hansom is waiting. We will spend the night in
At first Lisa failed to reply. She glanced from Julian to Edith Tarrington and back again. Surely Julian would not introduce her to a woman who was significant to him. Surely not. "That is fine."
They stared at one another, almost helplessly.
Robert coughed, grinned, and slapped Julian's shoulder. "To the Carleton then, my friends. Your beautiful bride is surely tired and eager for the finer comforts of life!" His smile faded slightly. "Of course, you will join us, Edith, if you have no other plans?"
Her expression cooled. "How kind of you, Robert. In fact, I am free this evening, and I will gladly join your group."
Lisa felt dismayed, but she told herself that she was being foolish.
Then Edith touched Julian's arm. It was a brief gesture, yet it bespoke years of familiarity. "If it is all right with you, Julian." Her tone was low, intimate.
But Julian was looking at Lisa. "Of course," he said. Then he stepped aside, gesturing for Lisa to precede him. "After you, ladies," he said formally
And as Lisa walked forward with Edith Tarrington towards the line of waiting carriages, she felt his eyes on her back, burning with the intensity she had somehow forgotten.
Four
Supper was at eight. St. Clare had reserved a private room for the four of them that was just off the
Lisa was in a state of nervous tension as she exited her rooms. The last person she wished to see was Edith Tarrington, but the other woman was just departing her suite across the hall as Lisa shut her door. The two women paused, looking uncertainly at one another. Lisa forced a smile. "How lovely you look, Lady Tarrington." It was hardly a fabrication. Edith was one of those rare women who looked superb in pale pink, and her evening gown revealed far more of her willowy figure than it concealed.
Edith smiled slightly. "Thank you. Your gown is stunning. I am sure Julian will be impressed."
Lisa had found it almost impossible to decide what to wear. She was loath to dress for the husband she did not want, but she had chosen a silvery chiffon gown that she knew was superb, far more low-cut and provocative than she was used to wearing. Yet she muttered, "Julian will not notice this dress, I assure you of that," before she could think better of it.
Edith started.
Lisa wished she had reined in her unruly tongue. She felt her cheeks burning, yet could not come up with a comment to distract Edith Tarrington. Fortunately, Edith resumed her usual genteel expression, and gestured for Lisa to precede her. Lisa was glad to do so.
A moment later she came to the head of the stairs, which looked down on the
Edith steadied her with a gloved hand under her elbow. "Careful—" she began, then instantly followed Lisa's gaze to the two gentlemen standing on the landing below.
Julian and his brother were a magnificent sight in their tuxedos, apparently waiting to escort the ladies through the atrium to the private dining room. Robert had been speaking, while Julian had seemed restless. Now they were both motionless, staring up at the women.
Lisa had seen Julian in evening clothes before, of course, but the impact was still shattering and physical. Her heart skidded to a stop. Her mouth became unbearably dry. In his black tailcoat and trousers and snowy white shirt, Julian St. Clare was utterly devastating.
Lisa wished, she desperately wished, that he were an ugly, old man. She could not continue to fool herself. She despised him, oh yes, she did, but whenever she looked at him her heart stopped and her body tightened. She remembered every single one of his soul-shattering kisses. Oh, God. How had she come to this impasse? To be married to a man she despised—one so terribly beautiful—a man who did not care for her at all?
Then Lisa thought about the beautiful blonde beside her, and she peeked at her. Edith appeared as mesmerized by Julian as Lisa was, and Lisa's heart sank. Were her suspicions correct?
Yet Julian was staring at Lisa—she was certain of it. And when their gazes connected, there was no more doubt.
She had become utterly motionless, poised on the stairs with one hand on the smooth wooden banister. She could not seem to direct her slippered feet to move. His eyes had drained her of the ability to function.
Julian finally looked at Edith with a small smile. His jaw was flexed and he had jammed his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo.
Then Robert came forward. "Ladies, you are a sight for sore eyes. How lovely you are!" He smiled at Lisa, ignoring Edith.
Lisa came down the last three steps. "Thank you."
Julian faced her, extending his arm somewhat stiffly. His glance included Edith. "My brother is correct. You are both lovely. Shall we? Our room is ready."
Lisa's heart sank even further, dismay welling deep inside her. She had wanted some small sign from him that he found her attractive. Clearly he was unimpressed. Or equally impressed with Edith. She forced a smile, giving him her arm. She reminded herself that she did not care. If she should care now about what he thought of her she was forever doomed.
But she noticed that Robert shot his brother a dark look. And in that moment Lisa knew that they would be friends.
Julian escorted her through the hotel lobby. Lisa was aware of the guests, the men in their tailcoats, the ladies in their brilliantly hued evening gowns, turning to stare at them as they passed. What a couple they must make, Lisa thought, suddenly saddened. So clearly at odds with one another. So clearly miserable together.
Julian held out a chair for her, putting Lisa on his right. As she sat, one of his hands accidentally brushed her shoulder blade. She stiffened, shocked by the feeling of his palm on her bare back.
She glanced up at him. His eyes were wide and riveted upon her as well, as if he were as surprised and shaken as she.
Abruptly he turned away.
Robert seated Edith across from Lisa. The men sat down between the ladies, facing one another. Robert leaned toward Lisa. When he spoke, his tone was low, so no one could overhear him. "You make a striking couple. Everyone in the lobby is whispering about the two of you. They want to know who you are."
Lisa could only stare at him; then she realized that Julian was frowning at them both—and that Robert's hand was covering hers.
Julian fingered his glass of wine, unable to ignore Robert as he leaned close to Lisa, regaling her with story after story about his university days. He had been amusing her all evening. Lisa was smiling, as she had been most of the night. Smiling at Robert.
But then, his brother was a charming rakehell with a reputation half as big as
Julian was relieved, of course, that his brother was being his normal amiable self. Robert, of course, had no interest in Lisa other than a familial one. His gallantry allowed Julian to be a silent observer—it also allowed him to brood.
He had forgotten just how pretty Lisa was.
No, not pretty, breathtaking. So tiny, so dark, and so lovely.
So entirely different from Melanie.
Julian slammed his gaze to the table, lifted his glass, and drained it. He reminded himself that he had no right to any feelings other than formal ones, that she was his wife in name only, and he intended to keep it that way.
"Julian?" Edith's voice was soft with concern. Her gloved fingertips rested briefly on his arm. She had also spent most of the evening silently watching Robert flirt with Lisa. Although most of the county thought that Edith hankered after Julian and was heartbroken over his marriage to another woman, Julian did not believe it—he never had. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly.
Julian surprised them both by answering Melanie's younger sister honestly. "Given the circumstances, I am faring as well as possible." He turned his gaze directly toward her. "And you?"
Edith held his eyes, her own shadowed with unhappiness. "I suppose my answer is precisely the same." She turned her head and glanced at Lisa and Robert again.
Julian thought that his suspicions about Edith were correct. Having known what it was to love and lose, he pitied her. And Robert, the fool, did not even guess.
His glance strayed yet again across the table to his bride. To his lovely bride, whom he did not want. Not in any way.
Then Julian's grip tightened on his wineglass. Whom was he fooling? The French burgundy he was drinking, and had been drinking steadily all night, had caused a gentle unfurling of warmth in his gut. But it had also caused another reaction, one he was determined to ignore: an incipient fullness in his loins. He had ignored it for some time now, and intended to do so forever if need be.
Then Julian realized that Lisa was not listening to Robert, who was talking about the opera. She was staring at him, her expression frozen. Julian realized that Edith's fingertips still rested upon his arm.
He flushed, realizing what Lisa must be thinking.
Edith must have realized at the same time, because she paled, dropping her hands to her lap.
Lisa turned to Robert abruptly, her face stricken with hurt although her lips formed a stiff smile. Robert said, "Of course, the very next day I woke up on the sofa and couldn't remember where I was. It was downright embarrassing."
Lisa laughed, but this time the sound was shrill and hollow. Her eyes turned to Julian.
Julian could not look away. Her gaze was filled with silent accusation and profound hurt.
He wanted to tell her again that he was sorry. Not for the misunderstanding about Edith, which was ridiculous, but for marrying her against her will, for spoiling all of her girlish dreams. He wasn't an expressive man. He wondered if he could find the right words. Suddenly he knew he had to reassure her. He shoved his chair back abruptly, surprising everyone, even though they had long since finished dessert. "Lisa, would you care to join me for a breath of air?"
The color drained from Lisa's face.
Lisa was surprised by Julian's invitation, surprised and anxious. He did not hold her arm as they wandered into the hotel's gaslit garden which fronted on
Lisa stepped away from him, her heart pounding. What did he want?
She had tried not to look at him all evening, to concentrate on Robert, whom she already liked, but it had been impossible. Not when he was seated directly across the table from her, not when his presence was so virile and commanding. And not when Edith and he seemed to share a deep and sincere friendship. But surely they were not lovers. Surely not.
Lisa flushed, because if Julian were in love with Edith Tarrington it would explain so much. It would certainly explain his disinterest in Lisa herself. The possibility had distressed her all night, yet she knew she shouldn't care. Why was she torn this way? She didn't want St. Clare. Yet she was jealous of another woman.
And what did he want now? Lisa could not imagine why he had asked her outside. Certainly not to talk, and certainly not for any other intimacy.
Her thoughts quickly became fixated. He was her husband, and if he was not involved with Edith, he might very well intend to kiss her now, or even later, in her rooms.
Lisa's pulse raced.
And what might happen later? They were man and wife, but they had never consummated their marriage. Did he think to come to her room tonight—to come to her bed? Surely he must do so eventually.
Lisa felt faint at the thought. She had no real desire to let him into her bed—not under these circumstances, dear God. But she was not immune to his virility. A part of her yearned for his caress, his kiss. Oh, damn her secretly passionate, unladylike soul!
"Lisa?"
She was so lost in her thoughts that she jumped at the sound of Julian's deep voice. She looked up at him, wide-eyed and breathless. "Y-yes?"
He folded his arms across his chest. "I wish ... I hope you enjoyed supper tonight."
She nodded, unable to look away. "Everything was fine."
He continued to stare at her face. Or was he staring at her mouth? Lisa began to tremble. She could not think of a thing to say. His relentless stare was causing her heart to ricochet inside her chest.
Lisa wrung her hands, certain he was thinking about kissing her. She tried to get a grip on reality by reminding herself that he had married her for her money, regardless of her will. But the night was warm, the moon benevolent, enticing. The scent of freesia and orange blossoms mingled with that of lilies. Lisa was a captive of her husband's charisma, and she could not look away. She wet her lips desperately. "Wh-what is it th-that you wish to say, Julian?"
His jaw was tense. His eyes seemed smoky, warmer than before. He cleared his throat. "There are several matters we must discuss."
Lisa was paralyzed by the increasingly husky sound of his voice.
Julian shoved his hands into his pockets. "I asked you to join me outside because I wished to apologize yet again."
Lisa started. "Apologize?"
"We have gotten off to an exceedingly bad start, you and I. We must rectify this."
"Y-yes," Lisa whispered, hope burgeoning in her breast. Perhaps they might start anew. Perhaps they might even fall in love.
He inhaled. "I have already explained to you about Robert's health and his medical bills." He hesitated. "What is done is done, Lisa. We are married, and surely we can be civilized about this."
Lisa was stiff. She did not like his use of the word "civilized." Nor did she like being reminded of his motives in marrying her in the first place. She waited, hoping he would tell her he cared for her in spite of his need for her money, that he found her pretty, that he wanted to make their marriage a real one ... a happy one.
Julian swallowed. "Many couples find themselves in a situation similar to the one we are in. Surely you realize that."
Lisa managed a nod, her heart banging like a drum.
"I am not the beast you think me to be—not completely, anyway. For instance, I am prepared to accept the fact that you will not like Castleclare. This evening it occurred to me that if you wish, I will not mind if you reside half the year in
Lisa managed, "I ... I see." But she was dismayed. How could they build their future if she was away half of the time?
"No, I don't think that you do see." Julian was flushing now, high up on his cheekbones. "What I really want to say is that we must make this marriage a civil one, an amicable one. I shall try to understand you. Thus, if you wish to spend half the year in
Lisa did not know what to think. What did he mean by an amicable marriage? "I ... I also wish for this marriage to be amicable, Julian," she said tremulously. "I wish for us to be friends." She could not smile. Her entire future seemed to be hanging in the balance of their conversation.
He stared at her. "I do not think you understand. What I am trying to say is that I will not make any bestial demands upon you."
Lisa could not move. "You are right—I do not quite understand," she whispered finally, but she was lying. Her temples began to throb as the realization of what he was trying to tell her began to sink in.
"God," he cried, raking his short blond hair with one hand. "You are so naive, so innocent. You cannot hide a single one of your feelings!" He faced her squarely, his legs braced wide apart, as if prepared to do battle. "I am not trying to hurt you again."
"You are not hurting me," Lisa lied, praying she would not cry. Something warm and wet trickled down one cheek.
"You don't understand, do you?" He was suddenly bitter. "You are young and you have a full life ahead of you. My life is over. I do not want you to suffer on my account. In fact, if you wish, you can return to
Tears filled Lisa's eyes. She heard herself say, "I want to try to make this marriage a successful one. Even you suggested that in
"If you mean what I think you mean then the answer is no. It is impossible."
Lisa was desperate. "Nothing is impossible. Surely we can become friends."
He spoke thickly. "We cannot become friends. Not in your sense of the word."
"But one day I will have your children!" Lisa cried.
He turned white. "You don't understand!"
"No, I don't. I don't understand you at all."
His chest heaved. "Lisa, I think I failed to make myself clear in
Lisa had already sensed that this was coming, already dreaded it She shook her head helplessly.
"This will be a marriage in name only"
"No," Lisa cried, aghast.
"There is no other alternative," Julian said flatly. But his gaze was agonized. "Lisa, you must try to understand."
"No! I do not understand!" Lisa sobbed and fled the garden.
Julian almost called her back. Instead, he sank down on the edge of the marble fountain, covering his face with his hands. He had the distinct feeling that he had just destroyed the last of her innocence without even laying a hand upon her.
Five
Castleclare,
"These are your rooms, my lady," O'Hara said happily.
Lisa stared. From the moment they had arrived on
But perhaps the most shocking element of all was the silence. Except for the occasional bark of a sheepdog, a baby's cry, and the song of treetop birds, the world of
Castleclare belonged to the era of knights in shining armor and their damsels in distress. When St. Clare's coach had finally topped the highest hill, Lisa first glimpsed the castle. Her heart skipped a beat. This was St. Clare's home?
Beige stone walls guarded the castle, a half dozen square watchtowers rising from them at intermittent intervals. The entrance to the castle consisted of a real barbican—even if it was half in ruin—and an ancient portcullis remained dubiously aloft. Behind those walls a single round tower soared above all the steeply pitched thatch and slate interior rooftops.
Lisa only had to blink to see mailed knights riding through the barbican and archers in their jerkins. With another blink she could see the lady of the castle standing on the imposing front steps of the keep, waiting for her warrior husband to return.
"My lady?" O'Hara intoned.
Lisa did not hear the beaming old man. Eyes wide, she glanced around the huge bedchamber which was now hers. A fire blazed in a huge hearth below an exquisite green marble mantel—one in need of polishing. A beautiful antique gold clock graced it, two standing Grecian statuettes guarding the timepiece. The clock needed a good cleaning. A faded Aubusson rug covered the parquet floor. Lisa noticed several holes. The walls were covered in yellow silk, worn and stained in places, and even torn. The moldings on the ceiling were the most intricate Lisa had ever seen, and above her head, in a trompe l'oeil window, cherubs floated in a blue sky blowing gold trumpets. Tired gold damask draperies adorned the oversized windows. Through them, Lisa had a stunning view of the rolling countryside of
She stared at her canopied bed. It appeared to be a bed of state. It was huge, thé coverings mostly gold and purple, the velvet curtains tied back with tasseled cords. Lisa could not imagine sleeping in such a bed. She wondered who had slept there before her, which statesmen, which royalty.
The rest of the room's furniture was as tired and as old, but every faded chair and scratched table reeked of history. Lisa was used to wealth—her father's house was one of the finest in
Yet she liked the room. Very much, in fact.
She liked Castleclare.
For the first time in two days, for the first time since Julian had shocked her with his announcement that he intended no real marriage between them, Lisa felt a rush of excitement. She would spend hours and hours exploring the island and the castle. She could hardly wait to begin.
"M'lady, I am sending up one of your maids with a spot of tea and muffins. Will you be needin' anythin' else? A hot bath, mayhap?"
Lisa started. She had forgotten the butler was there. Then her quick smile faded, because the very bane of her existence stood in the open doorway behind O'Hara.
Her gaze on Julian, Lisa heard herself say, "That will be fine. Thank you, Mr. O'Hara."
He bowed, beaming, patting his worn jacket as he exited.
Lisa's eyes narrowed. O'Hara needed a new suit. His clothing was a disgrace.
Lisa realized now that she was alone in her room with St. Clare. She did not like the intimacy. Not at all. Her gaze lifted to his.
Julian stared at her. "I realize that this hardly meets with your satisfaction," he said impassively. "But you have carte blanche. Please feel free to redecorate this and any other room that you think needs such care—with the exception of my private apartments, of course. Relay your instructions to myself or O'Hara, and they will be carried out."
Lisa lifted her chin, her eyes flashing. "I don't want to redecorate this room."
"Sulking will not improve things," Julian said, his eyes far too probing for comfort.
Lisa did not like looking into his turbulent gray eyes, but could not glance away. The silence grew between them. Stunned, she realized that, in spite of what Julian wished, there was a bond between them—a bond of tension and heat. Ducking her head and angry with herself for wanting him as a man, she said, "I like this room just the way it is."
He started.
"Now, if you will excuse me?" Lisa knew she was being unforgivably rude, but she marched to the door and held it, making it clear that she wished him to leave. His proximity unnerved her. That and her own treacherous thoughts.
Julian looked at her one last time, a sweeping glance that began at her eyes and finished at her toes, then he bowed and strode away. For some reason, Lisa thought that he seemed angry. That pleased her to no end.
Lisa was lost, but she did not mind. She was deep within the castle in yet another, newer wing, a long gallery lined with dozens of portraits of St. Clares. How handsome the men tended to be, handsome and commanding, she mused, and how pretty and elegant the women. But not a single ancestor could compete with Julian's patrician looks.
She wondered where his portrait was, and if it was even in the gallery. She strolled down the length of narrow room until she found it. She faltered. If the gilded label on the frame had not read "Julian St. Clare, thirteenth Earl of Connaught," she would not have recognized him.
He was smiling.
Her heart hammering wildly, Lisa moved closer to the portrait, her eyes wide. It had probably been painted ten or eleven years ago. Clearly Julian had been a much younger man. But God, he had been so different! His smile was genuine. It reached his eyes, it came from his soul. It was the smile of a happy man.
Lisa wondered what had happened in the past ten years to turn him into such a cold, aloof man. She could not help being disturbed. She would have liked to know the man in the portrait. She sensed that she never would— that he was gone forever. Inexplicably, she was sad.
Lisa decided to leave the gallery, too disturbed to remain. But as she turned her eye caught a glimpse of the portrait besides Julian's, that of an extraordinarily pretty blond woman.
Suddenly filled with dread, Lisa came closer, already certain of what she would find, certain of who that woman was.
"Lady Melanie St. Clare, the thirteenth Marchioness of Connaught," Lisa read aloud.
She stared grimly at the young woman. Lisa could not help noticing how utterly different Julian's first wife was from herself. Not only was she blond, she had a fragility about her, an ethereal quality that made her beauty astounding. Upon closer inspection Lisa saw that her eyes were a robin's egg blue, her complexion perfectly porcelain. And the way that the portraits were placed, it appeared that she and St. Clare were smiling at one another—for all eternity.
Oddly enough, Lisa's heart sank.
What had happened to her? Lisa only knew that she had died. Had Julian loved her? That thought was distinctly upsetting. Worse, Lisa remarked now that Melanie St. Clare bore a distinct resemblance to Edith, although Edith was a much stronger version of the dead woman. She did not like the fact of their resembling one another, not at all. Lisa turned and left the gallery, her stride swift. She had little doubt that Julian had loved his first wife completely.
Was Edith related to her? A cousin or a sister, perhaps? Did Julian see his first wife in the other woman every time he looked at her? Did he yearn for Edith now because of her resemblance to Melanie?
In the corridor outside, Lisa paused, trying to shake both her thoughts and her distress. To make matters worse, she was uncertain about which way to go. Finally she bore left, passing numerous closed doors as she did so. The castle was completely silent except for the harsh echo of her own footsteps.
The corridors were dark. She began to grow uneasy when she did not find the stairwell. She started to feel that she was not alone, which was ridiculous. She began to start at her own shadow. It occurred to her that a castle like this might very well be haunted. Lisa had never faced a ghost before, but she now knew that she believed in their existence.
She finally knocked on a door, not expecting a response. When she dared to open it, she found a dark, dusty bedroom, the furniture covered in tattered sheets. How many apartments, she wondered, did Castleclare contain?
A movement made her screech. Lisa gasped in relief when she spotted a mouse scurrying across the floor.
Waiting for her pounding heart to still, Lisa realized that she would like to renovate Castleclare. Not redo it, but open and air all the rooms, refinish the furniture, clean the rugs and drapes. Restore the castle to all of its original magnificence and ancient glory
Lisa hurried on. Relieved, she finally spied a staircase, quickly following it down. She was certain now that she was on the castle's second floor, the floor where her own apartment was.
She could not help wondering, not for the first time, if Julian's rooms were on this floor as well.
Lisa tried another door. It opened with a noisy protest and she barged in on Robert.
He was reclining in bed, fully dressed, but his shirt was open halfway down his chest. He wore his socks but no shoes. He was reading.
He started when he saw her, exactly as Lisa did. She blushed. "I am so sorry!" she cried. "I am lost."
"Please, don't be sorry," Robert smiled, closing the book and standing. "I am glad to see you. Come in."
It wasn't proper, not at all, and Lisa hesitated.
Robert's eyes widened. "I thought we were friends."
"We are," Lisa said firmly. Still blushing, she entered the room, wondering if she dared ask Robert about Julian's first wife. She hovered close to the door.
"Were you exploring your new home?" Robert asked, sauntering over to her.
"Yes. This castle is vast. How many rooms does it contain?"
"I forget whether it's fifty-six or fifty-seven," Robert said lightly. "A hundred years ago the St. Clares were very wealthy and powerful. We had numerous estates, here in western
"Oh," Lisa said. "That is terrible."
"I believe my brother could turn our fortunes around if he wished to." Robert smiled. "He is a clever man. Many years ago he made some successful investments.
But these past ten years, he has lost all interest in the estate."
Lisa wondered if Julian's loss of interest had to do with the obvious change in his character. She hesitated, wetting her lips. "I found the portrait gallery."
"Ah, yes. Did you have a nice visit with all the St. Clare ghosts?"
"It was very interesting." Lisa fidgeted, dying to ask him what was really on her mind while dreading his answer. Then she blurted, "I found Julian's portrait."
Robert had ceased smiling. His gray gaze was curious. "Yes. That was done a dozen years ago. Julian was eighteen and newly wed."
Her heart was hammering. "He was a happy man then."
"Yes. He was. And he was my hero." Robert smiled pensively. "He was seven years older and could do no wrong. I worshipped him. I followed him everywhere. He did not mind. Until . . ." He paused, his glance fastening to hers.
"Until?" Lisa prodded.
"Until he met Melanie."
"His first wife."
"Yes."
Lisa paced across the room and stared out of the thick, grayish window at a small, shimmering lake. She realized she was hugging herself. She turned. "What happened?"
"She was Anglo-Irish. Although her father had an estate here, just across the channel, Melanie was raised in
"So he really loved her," Lisa said, feeling miserable. "She was very pretty."
"She was very weak," Robert said, his tone harsh and accusing. Lisa jerked.
"Yes, Julian loved her, but she was as fragile as hand-blown glass." Robert's stare was chilling. "You don't know what happened, do you? How she died? He hasn't told you, has he, about the accident?"
Lisa shook her head. She was perspiring in spite of the castle's ever-present chill.
"But he wouldn't. He won't speak about it. He's never spoken about it, not to anyone. It happened ten years ago, and Julian has never been the same. When they died, I lost my brother." Robert's voice had become thick.
Lisa trembled. "They?"
"They had a child. A little boy Eddie. He was two years old, blond and beautiful, a little angel. He drowned in the lake."
"Oh, my God," Lisa whispered, turning to look at the jewel-like lake. In spite of the leaded glass, it was the color of emeralds, sparkling in the spring sun. A place of peace—a place of death.
Robert's eyes were filled with tears. "Julian was bereft. Hysterical. As was Melanie. Instead of comforting one another, they retreated from one another. Melanie locked herself up in her rooms, Julian in his. And there was anger. So much anger with the grief. I begged Julian to come out. I was so frightened. Although Melanie had taken Eddie to the lake that day, Julian blamed himself for the tragedy."
Lisa was breathless with dread. "What happened? "
"Two days after Eddie died, Melanie left her rooms. No one knew—it was at sunrise. She went down to the lake clad only in her nightclothes." He stopped and brushed his eyes with his fist.
"No," Lisa said, already understanding, horrified.
"Yes," Robert said softly. "She drowned herself."
Six
Lisa had to sit down. She was vaguely aware of Robert guiding her to a chair. She covered her face with her hands. She ached for Julian with every fiber of her being. And now she understood.
Oh, God, how she understood.
"He has never recovered," Robert said, kneeling on the floor beside her. He took her two hands in his. "I know you are angry with my brother for marrying you without love, against your will. He told me how you ran away. You are a brave, strong woman, Lisa, and a beautiful woman—exactly the kind of woman my brother needs."
Lisa wiped her eyes, unable to put the tragic double death out of her mind. She stared at Robert. "I am not sure what you mean. Julian doesn't need me. He did not marry me out of choice. I thought he was falling in love with me, fool that I was. I had no idea that he had come to
"That is the past. What is done is done. He does need you, Lisa," Robert said in an urgent tone.
Their eyes met. For an instant, Lisa was unable to move. "What are you saying?" Her pulse was racing. Surely Robert did not mean what she thought he meant.
He gripped her hands more tightly. "I have no doubt that you will thaw his icy heart. And bring back the man we have all lost."
Lisa laughed in disbelief. "Me?" She was strangely out of breath. "How on earth could I thaw his heart?"
"The way all women thaw all men, Lisa, sweet. By making him fall in love with you."
Lisa was so stunned that she could not make a sound. She did not even blink.
Robert chuckled. "Surely you are up to the task?"
"T-task?!" she squeaked. She found her tongue. "He doesn't even think I'm pretty!"
Robert snorted. "You are beautiful. No man could think otherwise, and that includes my brother."
"I . . . other men have found me attractive," Lisa said hesitantly. "Robert, this is absurd! Julian truly does not know I exist!"
"He knows."
Lisa trembled. She was frightened—exhilarated. "What about Edith?"
"Edith?" Robert's tone was strange. "She is Melanie's youngest sister, you know. But she is nothing like Melanie. Julian never considered marrying her. I know that for a fact."
"Are they . . . close?"
Robert hesitated. "They are friends. Forget about Edith. Julian is an honorable man. He is not dallying with her, Lisa. I am certain of it."
Lisa studied her hands. Robert's proposal had left her breathless.
"The alternative is to give up on him, to let your relationship flounder, to remain perfect strangers," Robert pointed out.
Lisa was afraid. The stakes were so high—if she dared attempt what Robert suggested, if she dared to try to tame the beast and set Julian free. "Just what is it that you expect me to do?" she whispered. "How would I even start to make him . . . fall in love with me?"
Robert's grin was reckless. "That's easy, sweetheart. Seduce him."
Lisa opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Her eyes were as round as saucers.
"You could do it, Lisa," Robert said fiercely, his gray eyes flashing. "And I would help you. I know all there is to know about seduction."
Seduce Julian. Seduce him—win his heart—make him fall in love with her. Lisa was in shock.
It was a monumental task. She did not know the first thing about seduction—she was no temptress. She would make a fool of herself, she was certain, if she dared to try what Robert was so firmly suggesting. "Perhaps," she said huskily, "I might befriend him first?"
Robert's wide grin flashed. "Seduction is the way to a man's heart—especially in my brother's case."
Lisa was frozen. Her mind raced. Panic warred with excitement, despair with hope. And her anger was gone. It had drained away, leaving in its place a deep, abiding compassion. He had loved once and lost everything. How could she turn her back on him now, ignoring what she knew, no matter how afraid she was of his rejection?
"Well?"
Lisa was suddenly quite faint with the prospect. "You are mad," she managed in a rough whisper. "We are both mad."
"Is that a yes? Do you agree?" Robert asked exultantly.
Lisa nodded.
They stared at one another, the first bonds of conspiracy forming between them.
"I will tell you exactly what to do, even what to wear," Robert told her in a low, confidential tone.
But Lisa did not hear him. Images danced in her head of herself, clad in one of her lacy peignoirs, sauntering over to Julian, who was reading in front of the fire. She would sashay just a bit, the way the hussies did on stage in theatrical productions, and suddenly he would realize that she was there. He would be stunned. His gaze would slide over her. Lisa would smile seductively, and as she turned to face him, her silk jacket would open . . .
Lisa sighed. Who was she fooling? Not once in her life had she sashayed around in her peignoir, and she knew nothing about seduction, nothing at all. Even with Robert's help, she would probably make a fool of herself. "I am going to need a lot of help."
"Have no fear," Robert said with absolute assurance.
Lisa was not soothed. And her trepidation increased when Robert's door swung open and Julian entered. She stiffened as her cheeks turned red.
"Robert," Julian said irascibly, not having seen Lisa yet, "do you know where my little bride . . ." He stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes widening as they found her.
Robert dropped his hand from Lisa's shoulder and rose to his full height. "Yes?"
Julian looked from Robert to Lisa, his expression one of utter surprise—and then one of stern displeasure. "I see," he said slowly.
Lisa got to her feet. Her nerves were rioting, her face burning. Surely Julian did not think that she and Robert were carrying on in any illicit manner? Her gaze met his. His was cold and dark and seemed angry. Lisa regretted being closeted with Robert in his bedroom.
"Hello, Julian," she said unsteadily. "I was lost and I had no idea that I was outside of Robert's room."
Julian's expression was set in stone. "You are hardly outside of my brother's room." He looked again at Robert. "What were the two of you discussing with your heads so close together?"
Lisa could not think of a suitable reply.
"Your bride was exploring. She has been in the portrait gallery. We were talking about the family, of course." Robert smiled and walked over to his brother, then smacked his shoulder. "What's wrong? Are you jealous, Julian? Am I not allowed to converse with your bride?"
Julian flushed. "Do not be absurd," he snapped. He directed his cool stare at Lisa. "The cook wishes to discuss the evening's menu with you, Lisa."
"Of course," she managed, fingering the fabric of her skirt. She could not force a smile, not even a small one. She desperately wanted to tell Julian that she understood, that she was sorry. She also wanted to explain that there was nothing improper between her and Robert, and that there never would be. Suddenly feelings she had thought dead and buried were welling up inside of her—feelings of wild, aching love. Lisa was shocked to recognize them.
Robert seemed amused. "I am not feeling very well. I think I will take a nap. Why don't you show Lisa to the kitchens, Julian? She won't be able to find the way herself."
Julian nodded curtly. He gestured, and Lisa preceded him from the room. She was acutely aware of him directly behind her.
They traversed the corridor and went downstairs in silence. Lisa had to hurry to keep pace with Julian. As they crossed the cavernous central hall, she drew abreast of him and dared to peek at his face. Was he angry? Or had she imagined it? Was he jealous?
Could it be possible?
A man had to have strong feelings in order to be jealous. Julian had never given her any indication that he had any feeling towards her at all.
Lisa could stand it no more. She plucked on his sleeve.
When he failed to halt, she gripped it more firmly. "Julian, stop!"
He paused, his hands on his hips. It was an intimidating posture. "You have something to say to me?"
Lisa dared not think. "Yes. Julian, Robert and I were only talking, and surely you don't—"
"Of course I don't," he said coldly.
Lisa flushed. "I have displeased you."
"No. To the contrary, I am glad that you and my brother are such good friends." His tone did not soften.
Lisa was afraid to bring up the subject of his first wife and son. But she stared up at him, hurting for him, feeling for him, consumed with the love she had thought lost forever. "Julian?"
He waited, his gaze upon her upturned face.
Her heart pounded explosively. "Julian, I saw your portrait in the gallery," she began.
Julian's head shot up, his entire body stiffening. "I am sure that you had an amusing afternoon," he said, cutting her off, "but the cook is waiting." He turned abruptly, crossing the hall with long, hard strides, not even waiting for her.
Lisa was frozen. Had he guessed what she wanted to discuss? Had his rudeness been intentional—and meant to prevent her from raising the subject she so desperately wished to explore? Lisa could not help but think so.
Slowly, she followed him to the kitchens. Now that she understood what the shadows in his gray eyes meant, she could not stop thinking about him and his tragic loss. Her mind was made up.
Lisa paced her bedroom, still in her purple evening gown, an immodest iridescent affair which Robert had chosen. She was trying to decide what to do. Supper had been tense. Julian had not noticed her gown; in fact, Lisa thought that he had hardly noticed her. Julian had spent the evening studying his wine and pushing his food around. His mood had never been darker. Thank God for Robert, who had chatted with Lisa for most of the night.
She had not been able to take her eyes from Julian, who was so incredibly handsome even while so taciturn. Whenever she had thought about what she must do later that night, she had shivered with an odd combination of terror and excitement.
There was a soft rapping on her bedroom door. Lisa quickly opened it and Robert slipped into her room.
"What are you waiting for?" he asked, but he was not smiling. "Julian has gone to his rooms."
"Oh, God," Lisa whispered, suddenly so terrified she was ready to give up their plan before even starting.
Robert gripped her arm. "You have to do this."
She looked into his intense gray eyes and slowly nodded. "Tell me how to—start."
He smiled briefly. "Tell him that you wish to discuss the castle's condition. Choose a chair and sit down. Lean forward a bit. Do not worry if he looks down your dress."
Lisa felt her cheeks turning red.
"Talk about hiring more staff and spring cleaning. Look up at him with wide eyes. You have wonderful eyes, Lisa, so very expressive. Don't be afraid to use them."
Lisa nodded fearfully.
"At some point go up to him and place your hand on his arm and ask him in a soft voice if he truly minds what you intend to do. Be as soft and feminine as possible."
"I don't know about this, Robert," Lisa said. "How do I get him to kiss me?"
"Tonight is not a night to entice him into kissing you," Robert said. "Don't even worry about it, unless he kisses you. If he does, be receptive. Respond naturally. I am sure I don't have to tell you what to do." Suddenly he appeared anxious. "Has Julian ever kissed you, Lisa?"
She blushed. "When he was courting me."
His gaze was direct. "Did you like his kisses?"
"Robert!" Lisa protested.
He smiled briefly. "Well, that is a relief."
"He hasn't kissed me since I ran away from him the night of our engagement party," she said somewhat miserably.
"He will." Robert sounded confident. "Forget about kissing tonight. I just want you there in his room, looking so beautiful and innocent. You will stir his heart and soul, Lisa, as well as his body. I am sure of it."
Lisa gnawed on her lip. "I seem innocent?"
"Very."
Feeling as if she were about to face the hangman, Lisa turned towards the door. Robert halted her. "One more thing," he said, his hand on her shoulder, "don't talk about the accident."
Lisa started, about to protest, as Robert opened the door and gave her a gentle push. She found herself in the dimly lit corridor.
Her heart thundering in her ears, she refused to deliberate. She had already learned that Julian's suite was at the other end of the floor. Quickly she traversed the hall. Suddenly quaking with fear, Lisa knocked on his door.
It was opened instantly.
Seven
Julian stood on the threshold of his suite in his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up to his elbows to reveal muscular forearms dusted with golden hair. His shirt was unbuttoned to his waist. Lisa almost gasped at the breadth of his chest and the tense lines of his abdomen. He was still wearing his black wool trousers, but his feet were bare. She had never seen a man in such deshabille before. She could hardly tear her gaze upwards to his face.
But she did. And when their eyes met, time stood still. Lisa could actually hear her own racing heartbeat.
Julian's expression shut down. He took a step backwards, his lean, broad-shouldered body blocking his doorway as effectively as any physical barrier. "You wish to speak with me?"
It was very hard to formulate the single word, "Yes." Lisa's voice was a shaky whisper.
His gaze darted to hers again, searchingly. As he stared at her, Lisa thought he would refuse her request. Instead, his expression hard and somehow stoic, he stepped aside. Lisa entered the sitting room of his suite.
She did not notice its appointments other than the hearth containing a blazing fire and a pale, worn rug that covered the wooden floors. Her senses were rioting and focused only on the tall, golden-haired man standing beside her. Lisa was trying to remember Robert's instructions but her mind remained a solid blank. Only one word was engraved there—seduction.
"Lisa," he said harshly. "You wish to speak to me?"
Lisa jerked. Panic filled her. What was she supposed to say? Oh, yes, the castle! "The castle," she whispered hoarsely, beginning to feel flushed.
"The castle?" he echoed, his gray gaze riveted on her.
Lisa tried to unscramble her brain. "Castleclare."
"I know the name of my home," he snapped.
Lisa flinched.
He turned away, his shoulders squared. He ran a hand through his short, golden hair, then faced her grimly. "You wish to speak to me about Castleclare. What is on your mind?"
Lisa had been staring at his mouth. His mobile, surprisingly full mouth.
"We need staff," Lisa blurted. And then she remembered to lean forward.
His stare did not waver. "Yes, we do," he said slowly. Suddenly his gaze slipped below her throat.
Lisa could not believe that Robert's plan was working. Julian was actually looking at her decolletage. Her heart skidded to a stop.
His eyes rose abruptly, and for a split second, their gazes locked. His gray eyes were distinctly bright. A scant instant later he wheeled and was pacing the room. Lisa took a deep, fortifying breath. She could not tear her own gaze from him. The muscles in his thighs and buttocks kept pulling the fabric of his wool trousers taut.
But she was less afraid now, even growing elated.
Robert's plan was working, for she was almost positive that Julian's expression meant he did desire her.
He faced one of the triple-sized windows, speaking without turning to face her. "You may hire more staff Draw up a list of the servants you require. I shall glance over it tomorrow."
Lisa did not move. But she recalled the rest of Robert's instructions now and knew that she was supposed to get up, sashay over to him, arid place her hand on his arm. She was so nervous she felt frozen.
Julian whirled. "Is there something else?" His tone was like the lash of a whip. His gaze remained riveted on her face—as if he were afraid of looking anywhere else.
Slowly, Lisa stood up.
Julian's expression turned slightly comical—as if he knew what was about to happen but just could not believe it.
Lisa began to walk towards him, feeling as if she were in a trance. Then she remembered she was supposed to sashay. She swung her hips. Julian's eyes widened. Feeling rewarded, she put more effort into each pelvic tilt. Forward and back, then side to side. Julian stared at her, wide-eyed and motionless.
Lisa reached him, panting from her efforts. She looked up at him, recalling what Robert had said about using her eyes. She batted her lashes, something she had never done before. Julian stared down at her, a flush high upon his cheekbones.
Lisa placed her small, soft palm on his hard, bare forearm. Touching him caused a quick thrill to sweep over her; it left her breathless, even giddy. "Julian?" Lisa whispered, batting her lashes again.
His chest rose and fell. His nostrils flared. His eyes blazed. "What the hell do you think you re doing? " he muttered furiously.
Lisa felt as if she had been socked. In the abdomen. For a moment, as their gazes locked, she thought she had misheard him. But there was no mistaking his anger.
"Lisa?" he demanded. Suddenly his hand closed on her wrist, yanking her palm from his arm. He flung her hand aside. "Just what the hell is going on?"
Lisa jerked, realizing with horror that she had not enthralled him, only enraged him.
He towered over her, his hands on his hips. "I think you should return to your room," he said tersely.
Lisa's eyes filled with tears. Oh, God! She had made a fool of herself—as she had known she would! Lisa turned to flee. Instead, she tripped on the flounced hem of her gown and crashed to the floor, landing on her hands and knees.
"Lisa!" Julian cried, the anger gone from his tone.
She was intent on running away to the sanctuary of her room. She should have never listened to Robert. She tried to get up, but her skirts made it an impossible task, and she was also hampered because she couldn't see clearly, her vision blurred by tears. She was still on her hands and knees when she felt Julian kneel beside her. She froze.
Suddenly he gripped her waist, his hands hard and strong and large. Their effect was like a red-hot iron brand.
Julian had frozen as well.
Stunned by the suddenly explosive feeling pervading her, Lisa shifted slightly so she could look into his eyes. His were glittering and hot.
For the space of a single heartbeat neither of them moved. Julian's hands still held Lisa's waist, but his gaze was fastened on her mouth.
Lisa wanted his kiss. She had never wanted anything more. His name was on the tip of her tongue. It rode her soft, trembling breath. "Julian"
He tore his eyes away. "Let me help you up," he said thickly.
Lisa found herself on her feet a moment later, Julian having put a safe distance between them. She could not seem to slow her rioting heart, or calm her rampaging senses.
Julian's fists slammed into the pockets of his trousers. Lisa's eyes widened and she couldn't help but stare. There was a long, thick protrusion behind his button-front fly.
"Lisa, it is time for you to leave."
Lisa dared not look at him again. She walked to the door, her knees weak and buckling. She paused, her hand on the knob, feeling his eyes burning holes in her back. She jerked around. "Julian . . ."
She could not continue. In truth, she did not even know what she wanted to say. His eyes ensnared her again, their ferocity frightening her, thrilling her.
"I am asking you to leave now," he said very forcefully.
She met his stormy eyes. "Why won't you kiss me?"
He inhaled, the sound sharp and ripe.
"Julian?" Lisa said desperately.
His temples pounded visibly. "I thought I made myself clear," he ground out, "that this marriage is one in name only."
"Why?" Lisa implored. "Julian, why?" "Because," he said, perspiring, "it is what I wish." Tears filled Lisa's eyes again. "So you shall be loyal to a dead woman for the rest of your life?" He stiffened abruptly.
Lisa could not stop. "I am sure that you loved her, and that she was wonderful as a woman and a wife. I do not think to compete with her—I would not dare—but can't you give me a chance?"
One word, rasped. "No."
Lisa recoiled.
"No!" Julian shouted.
Lisa was frightened, for Julian was furious. She fought with a bravery she had never known she possessed. "She is dead, Julian. Melanie and Eddie are dead. Your loyalty won't bring either of them back. It accomplishes nothing. Please think about what I have said."
"Do not say another word," Julian cried in a dangerous voice.
But Lisa was compelled. She had to finish what she had begun. "Julian, do not misunderstand. If I could change the past and make things right for you, I would. I would give her back to you if I could, her and your son. I don't know why I have this desire, I don't know why I care at all when we are perfect strangers and I have been so hurt and betrayed by you. But I do care, I do. About you. It is time to let them go. I am so sorry, Julian. So sorry."
Julian stared at her, incredulity and rage suffusing his face. "Get out," he said, bracing himself on one of the bed's posters, his body shaking.
He was in pain. Terrible, terrible pain. Lisa saw it, sensed it—felt it. She wanted, desperately, to gather him to her breast as one would a hurt, frightened child. She moved across the room. She did not think. She wrapped her arms around him from behind and laid her cheek against his trembling back.
He whirled violently, the movement throwing her across the room. Lisa almost fell again, but managed to regain her balance.
"Do not interfere! Get out! Leave me alone!" he roared.
Lisa jumped backwards, cringing against the bureau.
He suddenly moved forward, towards her. Lisa pressed her spine into the wood, suddenly regretting everything, realizing the jeopardy she was in. He towered over her. "Never dare to speak to me about them!" he shouted. "You have no right!"
Lisa wanted to tell him that she had every right. She was his wife now, his flesh-and-blood wife, not the ghostly Melanie. But she did not dare. Tears streaked her cheeks, tears of despair, of fear. She quite expected him to strike her.
But he suddenly turned away with a soft, ragged moan. Covering his face with his hands, he whispered, "Get out, Lisa."
She was immobilized, wondering if he was crying. "Please," he said, his back to her, his shoulders sagging.
Lisa's heart broke. She slipped past him and fled.
Eight
No matter what, he was going to stay away from her. At all costs.
Julian's room was immersed in darkness, lit only by the glow of the dying fire in the pale, marble-manteled hearth. He was not in the stately canopied bed. He stood motionless by one of the windows, staring out into the moonless night. From his bedroom window, he could just make out the flash of whitecaps on the pitch-black bay.
If only he could stop thinking about her.
Her. Lisa. He refused to think of her as his wife.
Yet her image haunted him. What had she intended? To seduce him? The idea was almost laughable. Instead, a wave of grief rose up in him, so intense that it almost choked him.
He covered his face briefly with his hands. A tremor swept through his lean body. He realized, too late, his mistake. He had married a girl who was charmingly innocent, naturally good-natured, and far too beautiful. How could he have been such a fool?
He should have attached himself to a skinny, older woman like Carmine Vanderbilt, who had been in the market for a titled husband for more years than anyone could count. Then, he would not have been so terribly tempted.
Julian cursed his body for its betrayal.
He paced. Lisa knew nothing about seduction, and her efforts might have been comical if they had not been so utterly original and somehow so damn enticing in spite of her bumbling. Dammit. He couldn't laugh, and he couldn't cry, not when he was filled with such lust.
It had been so goddamn long.
He paced, cursing himself for being a mere man.
The real problem was that Lisa was not just innocent and beautiful, but compassionate and kind. He had chosen her thinking her nothing but a hothouse flower, a spoiled and spineless debutante. How wrong he had been. She possessed nerves of steel, iron-willed determination, and the courage of an entire pride of lions. Yet she was naive, innocent and, except for her amateur attempt at seduction, incapable of manipulation. Her every emotion was expressed on her face and in her golden-brown eyes. Tonight Julian had hurt her yet again, as unintentionally as all the other times.
How he hated hurting her.
But she had felt far more than hurt, and far more than compassion. Julian recalled a single shared look, after Lisa had tripped and fallen, when he was helping her to her feet. God, she had wanted him then, too.
Julian's hand slipped, once, and he touched himself. In his mind he pretended it was Lisa touching him and he could not stand it.
How could he survive like this?
He had to stay away from his bride. Dear God, he had to.
But a tiny voice taunted him, saying, so what? So what if you take her to your bed? So damn what?
The rage came so quickly that Julian did not recognize it until it was too late. His hand flew out, striking the vase of flowers from the corner table. Blue and white porcelain hit the floor, shattering loudly. Wildflowers lay strewn on the old Arabian rug amidst the broken shards and the puddle of water.
Julian groaned. Regret seized him, body and soul. Not just regret for breaking the vase his mother had cherished, a gift from Julian's grandmother, but a vast, deep, bitter regret.
He regretted the past, he regretted the present—and he feared the future.
Breathing harshly, ignoring his sex, Julian walked to the sideboard and poured himself a shot of Irish whiskey. It was a poor substitute for what his body needed.
But he had no choice.
Passion was to be denied at all costs. Forever. Just as he must forever deny himself his heart.
Lisa had not seen Julian in days. The morning after her humiliating effort at seduction, he had left Castle-clare, leaving her only a brief note.
Matters of business require my attention in
Lisa did not believe him for a moment.
He was running away from her and their problems.
She sat on a red plaid blanket with Robert, a picnic of roasted chicken, vegetable salads, and hot buns laid out beside them. She could not stop thinking about Julian, wishing desperately that there had been a different ending to that other night.
Lisa knew now that Robert was wrong. She was not going to seduce Julian and make him fall in love with her. He was a man stricken with dark demons, and she was only a young, sheltered woman hardly capable of exorcising them.
How she ached though, wishing that she could.
A part of her still yearned to try.
Robert tugged playfully on her hair. "A penny for your thoughts, sister-in-law?"
Lisa smiled wanly. "I am not sure that they are worth that."
Robert was stretched out on his side, his jacket was open, hatless, as the May sun beat down on his pale face. Had he not been so pasty, with dark circles under his eyes, Lisa would never have thought him a man soon fated to die.
"Then I'll guess," he said, grinning. His smile faded. "You are thinking about my pigheaded brother."
Lisa hugged her knees to her chest, her blue and white skirt belled out around her. "Yes."
"He is afraid of you, Lisa. Afraid of his own feelings. That is why he has run away."
"It would be nice if you were right, but after the other night, he probably cannot stand the sight of me," Lisa replied. She had told Robert almost everything.
"After much reflection, I have decided that the other night actually went well."
"How can you say that?" Lisa gasped. "It was so horrible—you have no idea!"
"Surely you are not ready to give up?"
Lisa stared at Robert's cheerful face. How could she give up? After a few days respite, she felt far less humiliated than she had, but she could not shake Julian's image from her mind. Sometimes she even imagined him looking at her with his hot eyes. At other times she saw him with his hands covering his face, his body wracked with a pain that was not physical.
"Why did he love her so much?"
Robert was somber. "Lisa, when she took her own life, they were still newlyweds. She was beautiful but very simple. She was sweet and uncomplicated. Yet he is a very complicated man. I am not sure Julian would fall in love with Melanie if he met her today, but they truly suited each other then."
"That hardly matters," Lisa said morosely. "Julian is in love with a ghost."
Robert sat up with a wry smile. "Do you really think he is still in love with her, Lisa?"
Lisa sat up straighter, her heart pounding. She thought about what Robert had said. "There are probably many feelings locked up inside Julian. Love may very well be one of them."
"I think there is a single feeling inside my brother, and it is not love. It is rage."
Lisa stared, her fists curled by her sides. "Yes," she said slowly, "Julian is certainly angry. But I am not sure that your plan will work. In fact, I doubt it. I do not think I am woman enough to mend his soul and steal his heart."
"I think," Robert said lazily, picking up a handful of cherries, "that you are precisely the woman for the task."
Julian had stayed in
But the closer he came to Castleclare, the more tense he became. Lisa's image had stayed with him during the entire trip. He had not been successful in forcing it to the back of his mind. Now, as he strode through his home, he could think of little else. Inexplicably, he wanted a glimpse of her. Or had she left him while he was gone? Julian would not be surprised. He would be relieved—he would be dismayed.
O'Hara met him in the library. "Her Ladyship is out with your brother, m'lord," he said blandly. "Cook made them a hearty picnic."
Julian felt a stab of jealousy, but was rational enough to realize that it was misplaced. Robert had only brotherly feelings for Lisa. In the next instant, the jealousy returned with a vengeance. But what if Lisa fell in love with Robert?
Many women had succumbed to his gallantry and charm.
Tersely, Julian asked, "Are they alone?"
"Yes, m'lord." O'Hara smiled. "Y' know yer brother. Robert said he had no need of grooms. Guess he wants the lass all t' himself."
Julian was well aware of O'Hara's prompting. He tamped down a scowl. "Where are they?"
"They took the small gig and drove out towards the lake."
Julian halted in mid-stride, a feeling of nausea rising in him. He ignored it and it subsided. A moment later he was hurrying outside and ordering his favorite mount brought around. While he was waiting for the seventeen-hand sorrel, he saw a rider enter Castleclare through the barbican. It was Edith Tarrington.
Julian mounted as she rode up to him at a canter. Edith was a superb horsewoman who often hunted with the hounds. "Hello, Edith."
"Julian, have you just returned?" She reined in besides him.
"Yes."
"Where are you off to in such a rush?" she asked, studying his face. She was wearing a pale green riding habit that set off her porcelain complexion perfectly.
"Robert has taken my bride on a picnic," Julian stated, aware of how frequently he now thought of and referred to Lisa as his bride. He refused to wonder why.
"I see," Edith said somberly.
Julian looked her in the eye. "Why don't we join them?"
Edith nodded, her face reflecting a tension that was hardly characteristic of her. In unison, they wheeled their mounts and cantered down the drive and through the raised portcullis. Julian could not enjoy the fast ride. He kept thinking about Robert and Lisa sharing the picnic, imagining Robert's amusing quips and Lisa's honest laughter. He kept imagining her smile, her dimples, and her shining eyes.
A moment later he and Edith topped a rise. Julian's reaction was immediate. He halted his cantering horse far too abruptly, causing the animal to rear. Below, he saw the shimmering, emerald green lake where Eddie had drowned and Melanie had taken her life.
"Julian?"
It was a moment before he could speak. The nausea seized him again; he ignored it. "I am fine," he lied. He had not been to the lake since their deaths.
He spurred his sorrel forward, having spied Robert and Lisa as small figures beneath several trees. Edith followed.
He cantered down the slope. Robert and Lisa heard him approaching and turned to watch. Julian halted his gelding but did not dismount. He barely glanced at Robert, who rose to his feet, grinning amiably. Julian could not take his eyes from Lisa.
As she returned his stare, a warm pink crept up her cheeks.
Julian could not ignore it. Desire stabbed him harshly, directly in the loins, and with it, a soul-felt yearning far more potent.
Lisa remained motionless.
The devil inside him taunted, Why not? Why not let go of the past?
Then Edith came cantering up behind Julian. Reining in, her gaze swept everyone. "Hello, Lisa, Robert."
As Robert replied, Julian slid to his feet, his jaw set
with the resolve he had lived with for a decade. He left his horse drop-reined and moved slowly towards her. Lisa began to rise as Julian extended his hand. Their palms clasped. As he pulled her to her feet he felt his pulse racing uncontrollably. He had not planned to approach her this way.
And he knew, he knew, that he should release her hand, turn around, and go—but he was incapable of behaving rationally.
She wet her lips. "Hello, Julian. Did you have a pleasant trip?"
He knew he was staring, but he could not tear his gaze away She was so perfect and so lovely, and her lips were full and ripe and meant for kissing. If only he could forget those few times he had plundered there when he was courting her in
Lisa looked at her toes, fidgeting.
Suddenly Julian heard himself say, tersely, "Walk with me."
She started, her eyes wide and wary. Wincing, he remembered his previous rejection of her. Julian tried to force a smile and failed. He held out his arm.
Slowly, Lisa placed her palm in the crook of his elbow.
They walked away from Robert and Edith in a strained silence. Julian's heart was drumming. He knew he should speak, any trivial subject would do, but instead, he was consumed with the idea of kissing her, just once. Dammit. He wanted to kiss her, badly, so badly, but knew he did not dare.
He would never be able to stop with a single kiss. "Julian?" Lisa asked in a nervous tone. "Are you all right?"
Julian paused beside a pile of boulders which blocked his view of the lake. He raked a hand through his hair. It was trembling. "Why do you ask?"
"You keep staring," Lisa said tersely.
Julian's jaw ground down. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he kept staring because she was impossibly lovely, but that kind of talk did not come easily to a man like himself—and he had not flattered any woman since Melanie. "I am sorry. I am just . . . tired."
Lisa licked her lips again. "Perhaps we should all go back to Castleclare."
"Yes," he said, when he really wanted to say no. Lisa turned to walk back to the picnic area. Julian had to clench his fists to stop himself from seizing her—and pressing her body tightly against his.
Reluctantly, torn as never before and acutely aware of it, Julian followed her. Over Lisa's shoulder, he saw Robert and Edith standing in awkward silence. Then he looked at Lisa's rigid back.
Oh, God, he thought with an inward groan. He should have stayed in
Not in ten goddamn years.
Nine
Although Julian had returned home, Lisa did not see hide nor hair of him in the next few days, except at suppertime. He remained locked in his library or he rode out across the island. After the fiasco Lisa had caused with her miserable attempt at seduction, she did not dare intrude when he was closeted with his business affairs, or ask to join him when he galloped through the castle gates.
But she would watch him ride away through her bedroom window, a magnificent figure astride his sorrel, and her heart would twist, hard. His misery had affected her greatly—she could not bear to witness it. If only he would extend his hand even halfway towards her, Lisa would meet him the rest of the way.
She could not stop thinking about him. Could not stop imagining how it might be if only he would bend just a little. Lisa could imagine passion bursting between them—and the following blossoming of love. If only . . .
To soothe her injured soul, to heal the ever-present hurt in her heart, and to distract herself from what was fast becoming an obsession, Lisa focused her efforts on restoring Castleclare. Through O'Hara, Julian had approved her plans, although Lisa was not certain he had really paid any attention to them. She and Robert hired a dozen carpenters and twice as many maids, several gardeners and groundskeepers, and eight new permanent staff, including a housekeeper. Lisa now awoke every morning not to cheerful birdsong and the quiet country silence of
Lisa hugged her arms to her breasts and watched the men working in the ballroom. Julian had agreed that, when Castleclare was ready, they would have a ball. One entire wall was being repaneled, as a centuries-old leak had destroyed the original woodwork. Maids were waxing the parquet floors. Tapestries had been taken outside to be beaten and aired and when needed, repaired. Two young men stood on ladders and were painstakingly cleaning every crystal on the Louis Quatorze chandelier.
"You should be proud of yourself, little sister-in-law," Robert said, entering the room. The windows were open and the fresh, mid-May air was filtering into the huge, bright room. He sniffed appreciatively and sighed. "Castleclare has needed a woman's loving touch for a long time," he declared.
But Lisa hardly heard him. She was wondering where Julian was. She had seen him riding away very early that morning at a near-gallop. Did he despise her so much that he could not remain in his own home with her? Or was he, possibly, tempted by her presence, and thus seeking to avoid her almost desperately?
"You should be pleased with yourself," Robert repeated softly.
Lisa faced him, forcing a smile. "I love Castleclare. I am happy to see the beauty of this place restored."
He studied her and said softly, "Julian will come around."
She bit her lip. "He hasn't paid me any attention since the day he returned—not since the picnic." She could not hide her wounded feelings from Robert. "He hasn't even noticed the changes in his own home—or bothered to thank me for my efforts."
"I am certain that he notices everything," Robert said with a smile. "It is time for you to make another move, Lisa."
She stiffened. "I hope you are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting," she said huskily, her cheeks flaming.
"This time when you go to his room, wear a peignoir. I happen to have the perfect garment for you, something made in
Lisa was frozen; then her color increased. "I can't."
"Yes, you can," Robert said, laughing. "You can and you will and this time, my beauty, I daresay you might succeed in taming the beast."
Lisa was filled with dread. She knew she was a miserable excuse for a temptress.
But she could not stand the status quo. She had never been more unhappy. She could not continue living with him and being so thoroughly neglected, so ignored. She had to do something to get Julian's attention.
A movement caused them to glance up. Lisa stiffened. Edith Tarrington stood on the threshold of the ballroom, regarding the two of them, her brows knitted together. In her pale gray riding habit she was impossibly beautiful.
Robert did not greet her, so Lisa went towards her. She had already overheard three new maids talking about Edith's unrequited love for the Marquis. Apparently she had comforted Julian after Melanie's death when she was a blossoming young woman of fifteen.
"Hello, Edith. How nice of you to call," Lisa managed with a smile.
Edith nodded, glancing around the room, but not at Robert, who still did not move or make any effort to greet her. "You are doing a wonderful job here, Lisa," she said softly. Her gaze finally fastened on Robert. "Hello, Robert."
His jaw flexed. "Edith. I am afraid that Julian has already ridden out. You have missed him." His gray eyes flashed.
Edith twisted her riding crop in her gloved hands. "I ... I had heard there was renovation here, and I was curious to take a look," she said. She appeared to be lying. She was not good at deceit.
Robert made a harsh sound, like a snort.
Although more dismayed than before, Lisa said gamely, "I would be happy to give you a tour, Edith."
Suddenly Robert moved forward, his stride aggressive. He inserted himself between Lisa and Edith. "Aren't you needed in the kitchens, Lisa? I need some air myself. Why don't I escort you back to Tarrington Hall, Edith?" His tone was hostile.
Edith paled.
Robert gripped her elbow firmly. "Come." Without waiting for her answer, he began propelling her from the room.
When they had left, Lisa thanked her stars for Robert, a real friend and ally, and walked slowly after them. Her heart was drumming wildly. Did she dare do as Robert suggested?
But what if Julian rejected her yet again?
Lisa did not think she could stand it.
On the other hand, the romantic fool within her wondered what would happen if he did not reject her this time.
"You are hurting me," Edith cried, yanking her arm from Robert's grasp. They stood outside the stables in the bright morning sun, Edith's mount tied at the post rail a few yards away.
"I do apologize," Robert said coldly.
Edith's mouth trembled but her eyes flashed. "You are
a boor, Robert. I do not know why the ladies find you so attractive when you are so rude!"
Robert's eyes narrowed. "I hardly care what you think of me, Edith."
"That has been made very clear," she said as she turned her back on him.
He whipped her around so that she faced him again. her face paled as his head ducked close to hers. "But I am very tired of your chasing after my brother," Robert said through clenched teeth.
Edith was frozen for a single instant, then her gloved hand shot out. In spite of the soft deerskin, the slap to Robert's face cracked loudly. His head jerked back and his eyes widened. So did Edith's.
The sound still reverberating between them, they stared at one another in shock.
Edith took a step backwards and cried breathlessly, "Oh, God! I am sorry! I—" But she never had the chance to finish.
Cursing, his face tight with tension, Robert seized her by her shoulders, pulled her up against him, and ground his mouth down on hers. Edith was so stunned she could not move. Robert clamped one arm around her waist and deepened the kiss, forcing Edith's lips open.
Edith's hands slowly gripped his shoulders, not pushing him away but not clinging either.
Robert tore his mouth from hers. He was panting. Angry. "Maybe now you will stop chasing after my brother."
Edith stared at him, touching her swollen mouth with her gloved fingertips.
Some of Robert's anger faded as he stared into her blue eyes. Suddenly he realized what he had done. "Edith . . . God," he murmured softly. "I am sorry."
Edith squared her shoulders, her eyes glistening with tears. She turned her back on him abruptly, hesitated—then she whirled. Very distinctly, she said, "I am not chasing Julian." Then she about-faced and rushed to her horse.
Robert watched her mount, making no move to help her. He stared as she urged her dappled mare into a canter and then galloped across the ward and through the barbican.
He cursed.
When Julian returned to Castleclare, the sun was just beginning its descent. He reined in his sorrel outside of the gates, briefly admiring the orange-red sun as it hung over the crenelated roof of the central tower, the bay glistening darkly blue just behind it. Then, tension he could not escape mounting inside him, he spurred his sorrel forward.
A few moments later he had entered his home. The hall was empty and silent, but a cheery fire blazed in the hearth. He looked around, almost grimly. The ancient trestle table had been polished until it gleamed. The stone floors had been waxed; they glistened like silver. Even the coat of mail in one corner had been tended to, and he saw no dust motes in the air nor any cobwebs in the corners. His mouth tight, Julian crossed the hall.
He turned down the corridor and entered that part of the castle which had been begun in the sixteenth century and completed at the turn of the seventeenth. His footsteps slowed as he approached the ballroom.
He paused on the threshold, taking a deep breath. God, it looked the way it had when he was a small boy of six or seven, before his father had gone so deeply into debt when his mother had had the resources to keep the place up. Julian's heart twisted as Lisa's image filled his mind.
All because of the little bride he did not want—yet wanted far too badly.
Julian stared at his reflection in the Venetian mirror above a small Chippendale table on the opposite side of the room. He glimpsed himself standing in his oldest riding jacket and threadbare boots in the magnificent room. Overhead, the chandelier sparkled, even in the fading twilight. How alone and forlorn he appeared. His face was a mask devoid of emotion, stern and patrician.
This was not going to work.
Lisa was no vain, shallow society heiress. She was sweet and lovely and she loved his home and dear God, she was willing to give him another chance. He knew it. Every time he dared to look at her he saw her every emotion shimmering in her amber eyes.
"Julian?"
He whirled, steeling himself against her. He nodded without speaking, but could no more stop himself from glancing at her thoroughly, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, than he could stop the sun from setting.
Her gaze was fastened upon his face. "I . . . saw you ride in," she said hesitantly.
Had she been watching for him? His pulse raced; his heart tightened; his loins filled. He clenched his fists tightly so he would not reach out, grab her, and do the unthinkable—so that he would not kiss her.
"Do you . . . like it?" she asked.
His jaw flexing, he forced himself to respond. "Everything is fine."
Lisa's gaze searched his, as if trying to read past his words to delve into his heart and his soul.
Abruptly Julian strode past her, his face a harsh mask. It was either that or succumb to temptation.
Lisa wrung her hands, trying again and again to decide what she had done to anger Julian so. Why wasn't he pleased with her efforts to restore Castleclare? Had she somehow offended him? She covered her racing heart with her hand. It hurt her so much. How could she go on this way, loving him, aching for him, wanting to be with him—while he avoided her so completely?
She walked over to the Victorian mirror to survey herself in the peignoir Robert had left for her.
It was white silk trimmed in white lace. Breathtakingly beautiful, it was also scandalous. Lisa's nude body was almost visible through the fabric. When the jacket opened, she could see her nipples through the thin silk.
He will not be able to resist you. So Robert had said. And what did she have to lose? She wanted him so much. She was so desperate, she would welcome the briefest of embraces, the shortest of conversations, a single touch.
Screwing up her courage, terrified of failure, Lisa walked to the door. Supper had been over hours ago; the household was asleep.
But not Julian. Robert had assured her that his brother stayed up late, reading.
Barefoot, Lisa walked silently down the hall to his apartments, her heart banging like a drum. She could hardly breathe.
She poised herself to knock, then she decided against it. If he saw her like this, he would never let her into his rooms. He would guess her intentions immediately.
Flushed and breathless, Lisa tried the knob. The door opened and Lisa glided inside.
The sitting room was lost in darkness, except for the fire dying in the hearth. A quick look assured Lisa that Julian was not within. Did she really dare enter his bedroom?
Wetting her dry lips, Lisa crossed the small salon. She peeked into his bedroom.
Julian sat in bed, wearing nothing but the gray trousers he had worn to supper that night. His chest formed thick slabs of muscle, his stomach was concave and flat. Lisa could not tear her eyes from him.
He was not reading. A book lay by his hip, but it was closed. He was staring at the fire.
Suddenly his head jerked around and he saw her. His eyes shot open, traveling up and down her nightgown.
Lisa could not move.
Julian remained staring, wide-eyed and frozen.
Lisa forced her legs to function and entered his room. "Julian," she said hoarsely.
He swung his strong legs over the side of the bed, his thighs straining the fabric of his trousers, and rose to his feet. He was still staring at her, stunned.
Lisa hugged herself. Her mind was failing her, and she could not think of what to say or do.
Julian's gaze dropped to her breasts, pushed into prominence by her folded arms. He immediately looked at her face, jamming his hands into the pockets of his trousers. His erection was impossible to miss. "What do you want?" he snapped.
Lisa felt a moment of pure panic. She cried, "Julian, don't send me away! At least let us talk! I cannot continue this way! Please!" she heard herself beg.
His gaze again slammed down her breasts and thighs, lingering on the place where they joined. He jerked his eyes to hers. A tremor passed visibly through his body. "No."
One single word, filled with steely resolve, and Lisa felt as if it were the first nail in her coffin. "Please!'
"No!" he shouted, his eyes blazing.
Lisa choked on a sob. She was frightened of his anger and knew she must flee. But instead her feet carried her forward, to him. Incredulity changed his expression.
Ignoring his disbelief, Lisa gripped his bare arms.
"Julian, why are you doing this? Why?" she asked, begging hysterically. And as she gripped him she felt his heat and his power, both utterly male. A searing sensation filled her loins—never before had she been overcome with such physical desire.
Lisa wanted him. She wanted to take his face in her hands, devour his mouth, then open her thighs and accept his big body inside of hers.
Suddenly his hands closed on her shoulders. Lisa saw the savagery in his eyes and felt a flash of fear, thinking he intended to push her away. Instead, his palms tightened. Lisa cried out. Their gazes locked, and the sound of their harsh breathing filled the room.
"Damn you!" Julian said, and then Lisa was crushed against his hard, hot body, while his mouth seized and opened hers. His tongue swept deep. His hands slid down her back, then up, and down again, finally gripping and spreading her buttocks. Unthinkingly, instinctively, Lisa pressed her pelvis against the massive ridge of his erection.
Julian froze, holding her up against him, his mouth still fastened on hers, their tongues entwined.
And Lisa knew that he would leave her.
She locked her hands around his neck, pressing shamelessly against him, kissing him frantically, trying to express all of her love.
Then Julian ripped his body from hers.
Lisa stumbled, falling against the bed. She caught herself before she fell to the floor, lifting her head just in time to see Julian striding from the room, his face stark with lust, with anger, with denial.
Ten
Her room was bathed in moonlight.
He stood on the threshold, the corridor behind him dimly lit, staring at her sleeping form. She appeared, in that moment, to be an angel.
An angel sent from heaven to aid him, to heal him.
Julian closed his eyes. He was trembling. He dared not move, afraid to leave, so afraid, and worse, terrified to go closer. He did not trust himself. He was losing control.
He reminded himself that she was no heavenly angel, but a flesh and blood woman who had somehow managed to turn his carefully constructed life upside down.
Lisa. How had she managed to break the steel bonds surrounding him? He wanted to send her back to
God, no.
But he was also afraid to live.
What would happen if he allowed himself to respond to her? What if he allowed himself to love her? Julian choked. He did not dare. Once upon a time he had loved so much and lost everything, even himself. He could not withstand such tragedy and grief again.
Julian turned and left Lisa's room.
"Why aren't you smiling when you are so lovely tonight?" A soft male voice said in Lisa's ear,
Lisa shifted in order to see Robert. It was the evening of the ball, but Lisa felt no excitement. Instead, the hurt of rejection filled her breast, and she ached with it. "How can I smile when he has avoided me like the plague these past few weeks?"
Robert sighed, putting his arm around her. The guests were just beginning to arrive, one grand covered coach after another rolling up the drive and pausing by the open front doors to allow their passengers to alight. Lisa stood with Robert in the great hall, acutely aware of Julian standing by the doorway in his elegant black tuxedo. His back was to her, his shoulders squared.
"He did not even say hello to me when I came downstairs," Lisa said, her mouth trembling. "The tension has worsened between us. I do not know how I can go on."
Robert hugged her to his side. "He is fighting himself, Lisa. When you enter the room, he cannot keep his eyes off you."
"I don't think so," Lisa said in a tight voice.
"When you look at him he turns away, but when you are oblivious, his eyes devour you," Robert said. "I know you will break down his resolve."
Lisa no longer believed Robert, even though she knew his intentions were good. "I have to join Julian to greet the guests," she said sadly, pulling away from her brother-in-law. "And somehow pretend that our marriage is not a miserable sham that is destroying me."
Before Robert could reply, Lisa spied Edith Tarrington and her father entering the hall. Edith had never looked lovelier than she did in her silver chiffon gown. Lord Tarrington and Julian shook hands. Lisa watched Julian lean towards Edith, kissing her cheek while she gripped his palms. Lisa's heart sank. Robert was also regarding
I hem, and he muttered something that sounded suspiciously ill-mannered under his breath.
Lisa lifted her chin and sailed forward. This was her home, her ball, these were her guests. As she came abreast of Julian he finally looked at her; their gazes collided, held, locked. Hurt and anger vied for predominance in Lisa's heart and soul. It was very hard to tear her gaze away.
But she did and said gamely, "Hello, Edith, Lord Tarrington. It is so wonderful that you could join us for Castleclare's first ball in so many years." Smiling in a manner which she desperately hoped was gracious, her back to Julian, Lisa extended her hand.
She did not have to look at Julian now to know that he stared unblinkingly at her.
"The first dance is ours," Julian said in her ear.
Lisa jerked. His warm breath sent unwanted heat unfurling throughout her body. All the guests had arrived and were mingling in the newly renovated ballroom. The ladies were ravishing in their rainbow-hued gowns and glittering jewelry, even if some of it was glass and paste, the men resplendent if not always elegant in their black tailcoats and white shirtwaists. Two buffets had been set up at the far end of the room, and waiters were passing flutes of champagne. The orchestra awaited orders to begin.
Lisa stared up at Julian's handsome but grim face. Her heart was pounding madly. He stood so close to her that their bodies almost touched. "I beg your pardon?"
"The first dance is ours." Not waiting for her acceptance, he took her gloved hands in his. Lisa stiffened in shock, not so much at his presumption after these past miserable weeks, but at the sensation engendered by his touch. Her mouth turned dry.
His jaw flexed. "It is traditional, Lisa, nothing more."
She felt like wrenching her hands free of him, in spite of all their guests, and slapping him silly. Slapping him until he told her why he refused to look at her, why he was determined to avoid her, why he was such a coward. Until he told her why they could not have a wonderful life together. Instead, Lisa plastered a smile on her face and moved into Julian's arms. He nodded to the orchestra which immediately began a waltz.
As he began to sweep her effortlessly around the floor, she closed her eyes, acutely aware of every powerful inch of him, and of the extraordinary tension filling them both.
If only she could stop loving him.
If only her heart could be as cold as his.
The crowd applauded them.
Tears stinging her eyes, Lisa met Julian's gaze. Seeing his expression she stumbled, but he caught her. His eyes were twin mirrors of warmth and concern. His next words startled her. "Don't cry," he whispered.
His unexpected sympathy and sudden tenderness undid Lisa. Tears spilled down her face. Julian halted in mid-stride. Trying to break free of his embrace, Lisa began to weep. She realized that Julian was watching her, apparently horrified. The crowd was utterly silent.
Lisa lifted her gown and whirled and ran from the room.
She could take it no more.
"This is all your fault," Robert said harshly. Edith stiffened. "That is unfair. What's more, it/is untrue!"
They stood shoulder to shoulder near the entrance of the ballroom, and Lisa had just run past them, sobbing. Julian stood alone in the center of the dance floor, his face white. Glaring at Edith, Robert jerked his head at the orchestra, and followed that unqualified gesture with an upward slash of his hand. The conductor could not misunderstand and immediately the band began the same sedate waltz again. None of the guests moved as an astonished silence filled the ballroom.
Suddenly Robert seized Edith by the elbow and led her onto the dance floor. She cried out as he put one hand on her waist, gripped her other palm, and began to whirl her about. "Relax," he snapped, his gray eyes blazing.
"You are hurting me," she gritted, her blue eyes heated.
Robert eased his hold fractionally. "Someone ought to turn you over his knee," he said grimly.
She jerked as he spun her around. "How dare you suggest such a thing."
"Perhaps I'll be the unfortunate soul to administer such a painful lesson?" Robert's smile dripped vinegar.
"I need no lesson, especially from a rogue like you!" Edith cried. But then Julian strode through the ballroom, his face flushed, and he disappeared across the threshold. Other couples began to filter out onto the floor.
"Poor Julian," Edith said softly, her gaze still on the open doors through which he had vanished.
"I have had it!" Robert shouted, causing a couple to falter and gawk at them. But Robert did not care. He had halted in mid-stride; he held Edith hard against his chest. "Leave my brother alone. He is falling in love with his wife! Do not interfere."
Tears filled Edith's eyes and she nearly spat, "I don't want your brother! I never have! How many times must 1 deny it?" She wrenched free of Robert, very much as Lisa had moments ago, and hurried from the ballroom.
Robert stared after her, uttering a string of curses no well-bred gentleman should ever express in polite society.
Lisa lay weeping in a heap on her huge canopied bed, her gold satin ballgown crushed beneath her. Julian stood in the doorway, overwhelmed by her pain, acutely aware that he was the cause of it. "Forgive me," he said harshly.
Lisa stopped crying. Slowly she sat up, staring at him. Julian met her glistening amber eyes and felt the blow all the way to his stomach. Despite his bitter regret, he was thoroughly aware of how gorgeous she was, even disheveled and teary-eyed, her ebony hair rioting about her bare shoulders. How gorgeous and good, how vulnerable and young. "Lisa . . ." He did not know what to say.
"Get out," she said tremulously.
"Not until you forgive me," Julian said firmly, his gaze fastened upon her. "Lisa . . . please. I never meant for any of this to happen."
"But it has!" She lifted both hands as if to ward him off. "I want to go home. I give up. I concede defeat. Take my money. Just let me go."
Julian was aware of his heart slamming to an unpleasant stop. Her words had caused another blow, one even more physical in sensation than the previous time. He could not respond. An image of Lisa leaving Castleclare pervaded his mind.
"I am going home. You cannot stop me."
Julian was overcome with tension, immobilized by it. Grief welled up out of nowhere. "I will not try to stop you," he said hoarsely. But his mind screamed at him— Don't let her go!
Lisa stared at him, a beseeching look suddenly in her eyes.
Julian wanted to speak, but did not dare, afraid he would voice his traitorous thoughts. Afraid he would beg her to reconsider, to stay. She was right—she should go. But . . . Oh, God. Could he survive her leaving him? Suddenly he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He was shocked to realize that he was crying.
"Julian?" Lisa whispered, poised as if she intended to rise and rush to him.
"You are right. This has been a disaster. It is best that you leave," he said unsteadily. His heart was hammering, each blow so painful that he could hardly think. He was almost ready to refute what he knew was best, and call her back.
Somehow he bowed. Somehow he kept his face devoid of all emotion. "I apologize, madam, for all the inconvenience." He turned and left the room.
"Julian!"
In the hall, his strides faltered.
'Julian!"
He began to run.
Eleven
The ball continued, the sounds of the orchestra and the laughing, conversing guests filling the castle, but Julian did not care. He felt as if he were in some kind of living nightmare, and he was both horrified and shocked.
He shoved open the front doors, ignored the footmen, and left Castleclare.
His strides long and hard, he walked rapidly past the coaches and broughams double- and triple-parked around the circular drive, across the ward and through the barbican. He did not know where he was going; he did not care. One thought drummed in his mind: Lisa was leaving and he had to let her go.
His strides lengthened. The night was starry and bright and in a few more days there would be a full moon, so Julian had no trouble seeing the rough ground. Lisa's tearful image remained stamped upon his mind. Of course she wanted to leave him. And he, of course, wanted her to.
Didn't he?
Yes, he did—he wanted nothing more!
Suddenly Melanie's face swam before his eyes, and as always, Julian forced her image away. But this time he realized that her face was blurred and indistinct, as if he could not quite recall precisely what she had looked like. And then, Lisa's fine features were transposed upon Melanie's.
Julian's strides quickened until he was running. He welcomed the exertion. He pumped his arms and legs, gulping in the cool, early June air. Sweat streamed down Ins face and body. Still, he could not seem to outrun Lisa's crystal-clear image or Melanie's faded one.
He had destroyed his marriage. But he had not wanted another marriage in the first place. The first one had en ded in tragedy, which haunted him to this day. Why did it seem as if this second one was ending in another tragedy?
Julian halted, out of breath and panting. He had topped a painfully familiar rise. Below him, the lake shimmered in the starlight, wet and shiny and black, streaked with silver, the landscape around it dark and shadowy and vague. Julian's heart lurched.
The words came up, without thought, erupting before he even understood them. "Damn you, Melanie."
He froze, stunned by the sentiment. Worse, he was aware of a seething hatred welling up inside of him, a hatred directed at his first wife.
Julian could not move. This was all wrong. He loved Melanie. He had loved her from the moment he had first laid eyes upon her. And he still loved her, even now, ten years after her death.
Julian's blood was pumping violently now, and he did not feel any love inside of himself; no, he felt a furious hatred—oh, God.
Everything, dammit, was her fault.
Eddie's death, her suicide, the endless torment of his life, and now Lisa's desertion.
Lisa. Julian covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook. He felt torn—torn between a dead woman who had betrayed him by taking her own life and a live woman whom he had hurt again and again when she only wanted to love him.
He turned his back on the lake abruptly, the lake where
Melanie's body lay with that of his only son. He had a vicious urge to destroy everything in his path. He wanted to rant and rave at the moon. He wanted to exhume her body from the bottom of the lake and wring her neck.
Julian gasped, then shut his eyes in dismay. How could he feel this way towards Melanie? What was happening to him?
It wasn't her fault. She had been weak, frail. He had known from the beginning she was as fragile as glass. He hadn't cared. He had loved her completely. It was his fault, wasn't it, his and his alone?
He should have prevented her death!
Julian shuddered, rage and guilt twisting up inside him, seething and confusing and overwhelming him until he could hardly remain upright.
And from where he stood, Julian could see his magnificent home, splendidly alight because of the ball Lisa had insisted on having, a ball he had not given a damn about. His home, which she had restored to its former magnificence because she loved Castleclare even though she was an outsider—because she loved him. And he could just faintly hear the band, the pretty, happy strains of the piano and violins on the
For a moment Julian remained motionless. The lake which held all the secrets and tragedy of the past rooted him in place, yet Castleclare beckoned him in a way he felt almost incapable of resisting.
Julian found himself walking back towards Castleclare.
But he was acutely aware of the lake behind him where Melanie was entombed, and as acutely, he stared at the castle ahead of him where Lisa wept in grief.
Lisa had dried her red, swollen eyes, but she had no intention of returning to her guests. How could she? Julian had destroyed her. Never had she loved this way before, never would she love this way again. It was hopeless. To love such a complex man, a man so determined to cling to the past, yet filled with such anguish, was impossible. Lisa wanted to comfort and hold and cherish Julian until death parted them naturally fifty years hence. Yet he would not even speak to her, was determined to ignore her. God, it wasn't worth the pain.
Tomorrow she would go home.
Lisa had made up her mind.
Her bedroom door suddenly swung open. Lisa stiffened in utter surprise. Julian stood on the threshold, his eyes hot and wet, his trousers streaked with dirt and mud, his shirt open to the waist. He stared at her. Lisa's mouth became completely dry, because she saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before—the whole man, complete with his soul.
"Julian?" she whispered, her insides fluttering with hope.
His body began to shake. "I came . . ." he began, and could not continue. He licked his lips. "I came," his voice was harsh and low, "to say goodbye."
Tears filled Lisa's eyes. She gripped the bedding so tightly she was sure she was shredding it. She must try to reach him one last time—something had changed. "Julian, perhaps I don't have to leave," she whispered, her gaze locked with his.
He was trembling, and he almost appeared to be crying. He shook his head. "You must go. I . . . understand."
Her heart exploded with his pain. Lisa was almost certain that he did not want her to leave him. She was on her feet before she could think otherwise, rushing to him. But Julian raised both hands, halting her in the center of the room. "Don't!" he shouted. "Can't you see? I am trying so very hard . . ." Tears suddenly spilled onto his cheeks, "So very goddamn hard to let you go!"
Lisa froze as she recognized the extent of his conflict. He wanted her, she knew he did, and she was joyous. But the fury she saw in his eyes terrified her. Instinct made her whisper, "Let me help you, Julian."
"You cannot," he shouted, his eyes blazing. He raised his fist and shook it at Lisa. "You cannot help me, Lisa—no one can."
She pursed her lips, choking on a sob.
Then Julian shouted, "Dammit! Damn her! Damn Melanie!"
Lisa inhaled hard, wanting to go to him but afraid to. Julian covered his face with his hands, his body shaking.
Lisa said softly, "Curse her again Julian, if you must. She left you, Julian. She was weak—she left you."
Julian dropped his hands from his face and stared at her almost blindly. "I hate her." Abruptly he turned and struck out, his fist hitting a pitcher on the bureau and sending it crashing to the floor.
Lisa jumped away from him.
Then he faced her, shaking with rage. "I hate her," he said, each word distinct. "I hate her!" "Julian . . ."
"Dammit!" he cried, and with the sweep of his arm he sent everything on the bureau crashing to the floor. "She let Eddie drown! And then she took her own life! She left me—damn her!"
"Julian!" Lisa cried, frozen in the center of the room.
But if he heard her, he gave no sign. He went berserk. With the strength of several men, he upended the huge oak bureau. Lisa watched, mesmerized and terrified, as it crashed over in the center of the room. But Julian did not stop. His expression twisted with rage and madness, he pulled out the top drawer and flung it clear across the chamber. Lisa fled to the other side of the bed as the four other drawers were also heaved at the far wall.
Julian ripped the hangings from her bed, tearing them apart with his bare hands, while Lisa cringed, unable to look away or even flee and hide. He tore the draperies from the window on that side of the bed and kicked over the bedstand, surely damaging his foot. The gaslamp spilled as he sent books flying in every direction. A man possessed, he finally lifted the beautiful standing Victorian mirror and sent that thudding against the opposite wall where it broke apart, glass shattering all over the floor.
Lisa watched and wept as he expelled a decade of pentup rage. She was very afraid, for she could hardly trust him now, but she also knew that he had to finish this, until the rage was gone, or she would never have a chance to love him and be loved by him.
When Julian was finished—and it could not have been more than five or six minutes—-her room was destroyed. He stood gasping in its center amidst the jumble of broken chairs, drawers, the upended bureau and bedstand, the ripped bedding and draperies, the broken vases and lamps and cosmetics. His face was red with exertion; his tuxedo jacket was torn between the shoulders and arms. An unnatural silence filled Lisa's room, broken only by the sound of Julian's harsh breathing.
Lisa swallowed. She was as rigid as a board, unable to react or speak.
Julian remained unmoving, his head hanging. Suddenly he said, "It's my fault, too."
Lisa jerked.
Julian whispered, "My fault."
Lisa cried out, "No. It's not your fault. God took Eddie, Julian, and I cannot explain why. No one can, but Melanie was a grown woman-—her suicide was not your fault!"
"She was a child," Julian moaned.
Slowly, Lisa began to weave her way across the room, through the chaos, toward him.
Julian covered his face with his hands. Tears streaked through his fingers.
Lisa did not hesitate. When she was close enough to touch him, she wrapped her arms around him. "Oh, Julian, dear, it is not your fault. Melanie was old enough to know better. Don't blame yourself."
For one moment, his body stiffened in resistance against hers. But Lisa held him hard, stroking his back, his hair, murmuring endearments, telling him that it was not his fault, that if anyone was at fault, other than Melanie, it was God. And suddenly his body melted against hers and he was crushing her against him and murmuring her name. The tears fell yet again from Lisa's eyes; his hard palms stroked down her back and up and down again. They clung to each other.
For a very long time.
Lisa knew that she had found ecstasy at last.
But then Julian finally moved, shifting her in his arms. "Lisa," he whispered roughly.
She lifted her face upwards. His gray gaze was shining. When their eyes finally met, so did their souls.
Very tenderly, he cupped her face with his palms, his hands strong and filled with barely controlled intensity. Then, slowly, he leaned over her. Lisa's heart soared as his mouth touched hers gently. For a brief moment, their mouths brushed. And then Julian claimed her.
Hungrily, without control, his mouth seized hers while he locked her against his rigid body; Lisa did not protest. She strained against him so that her softest parts met his hardest ones, while their mouths fused. His tongue sought hers and she opened wider, accepting all of him. As desire coursed through every inch of her body, joy infused her entire soul.
Suddenly Julian lifted her in his arms, stepping over the drawers and bureau. He carried her to the bed and laid her down, his hot eyes meeting hers, a question there. Lisa held her arms out to him. "Yes," she whispered, beaming. "Oh, yes!"
He came down on top of her, wrenching off his torn tailcoat, never taking his eyes from hers. Lisa reached up and laced her hands behind his head, smiling at him happily.
His eyes brightened and a beautiful smile transformed his handsome features, until his head dipped and he took her mouth again.
Lisa sighed.
Tenderly, his lips moved over her face, cherishing each eyelid, her cheekbones, and her nose. Lisa did not move. Her body had become boneless, melting into the bed, while wet heat flared deep inside of her. Julian began nuzzling her neck, her shoulders, and the bare skin of her upper chest, then lower, where her bodice ended. His breathing filled the room, harsh and male and impatient.
Lisa moaned softly, recognizing his need because it matched her own. He rubbed his cheek against her breasts and he was moaning, too.
His head moved lower. One of his arms became an iron band beneath her, lifting her slightly. "Lisa, how I want you," he said, kissing her stomach through her satin ballgown. "I have wanted you for a very long time, from the moment we first met."
Lisa's pulse quickened, joy racing in her veins. "Oh, Julian—"
"Lisa, I need you." He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. "God, how I need you. In every way."
She understood what he was trying to tell her and her vision blurred as she reached up to cup his cheek. "I need you, too, Julian." She paused, their gazes locked, and Lisa felt herself drowning in his shimmering gray eyes. "Julian, I love you."
He froze. His expression was stunned and joyous at once. He appeared to be very near tears.
"I love you," Lisa repeated vehemently. "I always have, I always will."
He laughed roughly, and Lisa smiled, equally moved, and then his hand fluttered over her face. "I love you, too," he said suddenly, his tone thick.
Lisa began to weep. The kiss which followed was long and deep. Time stopped for them.
Julian's mouth began an unerring descent. Lisa began to squirm as he kissed and nibbled her throat and chest. She did not protest as his hand went underneath her, unbuttoning her gown. Her heart was pounding so hard with excitement and anticipation that she felt faint. Except for the astounding torment building between her legs.
Shifting restlessly, Lisa allowed him to remove her dress between kisses, her body deeply flushed. She was vaguely aware of the impropriety of making love like this, with the room utterly alight and herself immodestly naked and a houseful of guests on the floor below. Yet she did not protest. Breathless, her eyes transfixed, she watched Julian's hands cupping and molding her firm breasts through her sheer silk chemise. Lisa's nipples were erect and when Julian lowered the edge of the chemise, prominently displayed. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met," he whispered.
Lisa was about to refute him, then thought the better of it, for Julian's tongue was flicking out to tease each erect tip. She gasped. And as his mouth finally claimed one nipple, his hand moved over her silk-draped thighs, loving there gently, finally brushing her pubis. She began to breathe in earnest. She could not believe the torrent of sensation coiling inside of her. "Julian"
Julian made a harsh, ragged sound. Before Lisa was completely aware that she was utterly naked—and that he was still fully dressed—he was nuzzling her thighs and the hot juncture between them. Lisa was shocked, but even more, she was fascinated, especially because he was kissing her there, kissing her as if she had a second mouth, oh God . . .
Lisa began to pant, her mind shutting down. Her hips began a fierce undulation of their own. His tongue played havoc with her swollen lips and the painfully aroused protrusion between them, while his fingers combed through her hair. He spread her wider. Lisa sagged against the pillows as he kissed her fully again and again. Suddenly she was arching up off the bed, crying his name, lights sparking inside of her head, blinding her, dazzling her . . .
"Yes, Lisa, darling," Julian whispered, and then he continued his exquisitely thorough torturing of her.
Lisa had been returning to this world, but her body tightened and tensed and her pulse picked up its beat all over again. She was shamelessly gripping Julian's head. Shamelessly moaning his name.
Julian loomed over her now, his thighs pushing hers as far apart as possible, something huge and hard and warm and wet prodding her. Lisa managed to focus just enough to realize that his eyes blazed with lust, just enough to understand what he intended. She looked down at his manhood as he rubbed languidly against her. Oh, God, she thought, because he was beautiful and magnificent and so powerfully male. "Julian, come to me," she whispered.
His eyes flared hotter and he obeyed, thrusting just enough to insert his swollen head inside of her. Lisa tensed, her eyes widening.
"Don't be afraid," he murmured. "It will hurt, but only for one brief moment."
Lisa wet her lips, staring downwards at their partially joined bodies. "I am not afraid," she managed.
He laughed—a harsh, male sound, bent and kissed her mouth, her ear, and then tongued her nipple. All the while pushing gently against her, into her. As Lisa relaxed he invaded inch by hard, vibrating inch, until he had sheathed himself inside of her as far as he could go without doing the necessary damage. Lisa wrapped her arms around his broad back and clung to him.
"Now," he told her, and he thrust deep.
The pain was brief and inconsequential, because Lisa now possessed all of him, body and heart and soul, and as he moved inside of her, his rhythm increasing, she found herself beginning that otherworldly ascent again. "Julian," she cried as their mouths mated.
"Lisa," he cried in response and then he was above her, straining, and when Lisa could stand it no more she shouted his name wildly, exploding, and he bucked in response, convulsing inside of her. And there, while inside her, he began to weep, as they found ecstasy together, and love.
Twelve
Julian lay back, his eyes closed, one arm flung outwards, towards Lisa. She was floating slowly back to reality. Her body felt delicious, soft and nearly boneless, still quivering with delicious sensations. Julian. Lisa's eyes opened and she turned to him, her heart bursting with joy and hope and love. And for the first time since she had met him, she saw his face devoid of tension, his expression utterly relaxed and at peace. Lisa waited for him to return to reality, too.
His eyes fluttered open and he turned his head and looked directly at her. For a single moment they stared at one another, unsmiling. Lisa was suddenly stiff with anxiety-—and then Julian smiled.
It was a smile filled with warmth and tenderness and it came from the heart.
Lisa smiled back, overwhelmed with relief.
He reached out and pulled her into his arms and up against his body. Lisa snuggled against him, thinking, thank you, God, thank you.
"Lisa," Julian whispered, stroking her dark hair.
Lisa shifted to meet his gray eyes. She was stunned to see tears there. "Yes?"
"I am not good with words," he said ruefully. "Somehow, I want to apologize—and thank you."
Lisa laid her palm on his chest and leaned upwards to kiss his mouth lightly, "You need not apologize, Julian, not for anything. I understand completely."
"You are an angel," he murmured, his tone low and seductive, his eyes far warmer than before. His hand slid down her spine, sending hot little shivers up Lisa's back.
"Don't be silly," she retorted, although she was secretly very pleased. If he wanted to insist that she was an angel, who was she to protest? "Julian, there is no need for you to thank me, either."
His smile was tender, in stark contrast to the smoldering heat of his eyes. "My life has been miserable, Lisa. I did not really realize how unhappy I was until you entered it. Of course, then I was even more miserable, wanting to touch you, to love you, yet unable to do either." His lips feathered hers. "Thank you, Lisa, for being a determined angel of mercy."
Lisa laughed, filled with pleasure.
"It is one of the things I like best about you," Julian said, smiling at her.
"That I am an angel?" Lisa quipped.
"That you are determined, and strong, and brave."
Lisa's smile faded. "Oh, Julian," she whispered, unbearably moved. "That is the nicest thing you could possibly say to me."
He did not hesitate, and pulling her close, he said, "That is why I fell in love with you."
Lisa blinked back tears, and managed to say, "You mean, it wasn't my ravishing face or exquisite body or feminine ways which did you in?"
He laughed. "I admit to being enticed on other, more mundane, levels." His hand slipped over her breast.
Lisa knew she should be shocked, but she was too interested in her body's nearly magical response. "How can such a big man be so gentle?" she murmured huskily as he began to caress her. "Perhaps I shall have to explore this contradiction further."
"Explore as you will." Julian laughed, pulling her down onto the bed, claiming her lips with his.
And Lisa kissed him back fiercely, the sounds of his warm laughter lingering in her mind.
Three days later, Robert paced the dining room, brooding. Clearly Julian and Lisa were reconciled. No one had seen hide nor hair of them since the night of the ball, as they remained locked in Julian's suite. No one, that is, except for O'Hara, who had faithfully brought refreshments upstairs. And every time he had returned, he had been beaming.
Robert was thrilled, of course. But now he had a serious dilemma to face. The truth would have to come out. Julian was going to be furious, absolutely furious, when Robert told him all that he had done.
Robert sighed. Perhaps he would put off his confession just a little while longer. He was not pleased at the prospect of sporting one or two black eyes.
O'Hara paused on the threshold. "Lord Robert, sir, Lady Tarrington is here."
Robert had already spotted her standing behind the butler, her cheeks pink, no doubt from her habit of riding like the wind. He felt tension coiling within him. "How come this is no surprise?" he said rudely.
Edith had already entered the dining room, but his tone caused her to halt abruptly.
"As you can see, we are alone," Robert continued in the same harsh voice, gesturing around the room.
She was flushed. "Good morning, Robert. The ball was a success. The entire county is talking about little else."
"Come, Edith, let's forego the small talk, shall we? We both know why you are here."
Edith's small smile vanished. Her eyes were hurt, not angry. "Why must you be this way with me?"
Robert ignored the question. "Julian is upstairs, abed. In fact, he has been upstairs, abed, for the past three days. And he is not alone."
Edith turned a fiery shade of red.
He strode over to her until he towered above her, his expression furious. "He is with his bride, my dear."
Edith's hand shot out. Robert was prepared this time and he seized her wrist before she could strike him. "Once was enough," he growled. "Never try to slap me again!"
"You are disgusting," Edith hissed. But her eyes were suspiciously moist. "No gentleman would ever refer to what you have referred to in the presence of a lady."
"A true lady would not be chasing a married man, darling," Robert said with contempt.
"I am not chasing Julian," Edith cried, still trying to yank her wrist free of his grasp and failing. "What do I have to do to convince you of that?"
"Edith, all of
"All of
They stared at one another coldly.
"I do not believe you," Robert finally said. His grip on her wrist had eased.
"That is because you are a fool."
"Hardly."
Edith wet her lips. "Tell me something, Robert. Tell me why you despise me so much?"
His head jerked. He did not reply immediately.
"You are gallant with all the ladies, even with your
He hesitated. "Because of Julian."
"But it is not Julian I am in love with," Edith said fiercely. Robert's gaze turned sharp.
Edith hesitated, then did the unthinkable. She stepped forward, gripped his lapels, and, eyes closed, she planted a solid kiss on his mouth. Robert did not move.
For a moment Edith remained on her tiptoes, her mouth pressed to his, her heart pounding wildly. Robert did not respond. Choked with bitter defeat, she released him and stepped away. Edith began to tremble, appalled with her own behavior.
Robert stared at her in amazement.
Edith turned abruptly, intending to flee.
As she raced for the door, Robert overtook her with three long strides. Edith cried out as he caught her from behind, whirling her around. Their eyes met, hers frightened, his dark and wide. And then his arms went around her as he crushed her to his chest, and his mouth was on hers, hot, hard, impatient and demanding. Edith gasped.
And Robert kissed her with a decade's worth of longing, again and again.
When Lisa and Julian finally came down for a late breakfast the third day after the ball, they were holding hands and smiling. O'Hara beamed at them as they approached him in the corridor. "Good day, m'lord; good day, m'lady."
Julian smiled at his manservant. "Good morning, O'Hara. It's a beautiful day, is it not?"
Tears welled in the butler's eyes. So that His Lordship would not see, the old man turned away, blowing into a handkerchief. He had not seen the Marquis smile quite like that since the tragedy, and he was undone.
"It is a good day, isn't it, O'Hara?" Lisa sang sweetly.
Her face somehow glowed. She flashed him a wide smile; she had never been lovelier.
O'Hara finally regained control just as they passed him. " Tis the best o' days," he murmured happily.
Lisa and Julian halted abruptly on the threshold of the dining room. "Oh, dear," Lisa said softly, as she and Julian caught Robert and Edith in a passionate embrace. "Oh, my," she added.
Julian laughed. "I cannot say that I am surprised," he said. "I have waited for this day for a very long time."
"Oh, really?" Lisa cocked her head.
At the sound of their voices Robert and Edith leapt apart, both of them flushing brightly. Edith's long, platinum hair had come loose from its coil and was streaming down her back.
"Good morning," Julian said heartily.
Robert appeared dazed. He blinked at Lisa and Julian. "Hello." He hesitated, then glanced at Edith, who was frozen with embarrassment and indecision. Their eyes held.
Robert put a comforting hand upon her waist, her eyes instantly softened. "Why don't you tidy up and join us ... me ... for breakfast?"
Her mouth opened, but she made no sound.
Robert smiled at her. "I shall not take no for an answer," he said softly.
"Then my answer is yes," Edith whispered, smiling.
"But you might want to wait a moment," Robert said suddenly, flushing. He coughed several times.
Julian had begun to pull out a chair for Lisa, but he paused at the sound of Robert's cough. His brow furrowed with concern.
Robert forced a smile. "I am only clearing my throat, Julian. There is something I wish to say to everyone."
Julian's relief was visible. Lisa reached for his hand and gripped it, her newfound happiness pierced with the
dark shadow of dread. How could she be so happy when Robert was ill with consumption? When he would one day die? Julian had already suffered so much—Lisa wished that she could spare him yet another tragedy. But at least she would be there when the time came to comfort him.
Robert coughed again. Everyone faced him expectantly.
Robert wet his lips. "First I would like to say that my greatest dream has come true." He smiled, looking at Lisa and Julian. "And that dream was to see my brother happy and whole again." His gaze warm, he regarded Lisa. "Thank you, Lisa. I knew you were up to the task of winning my brother's heart."
Lisa beamed. "Thank you, Robert, for your advice and help."
Julian put his arm around her. "I never had a chance," he said, serious and teasing at once. Lisa laughed.
Robert glanced at each and every one in turn. "But there is something I must confess." He was grim and pale. "Julian, promise me that you shall hold your terrible temper in check."
Julian cocked his head. "Have you done something I should be angry about?"
"I'm afraid so," Robert said uneasily. "Remember, I am your only brother and you adore me."
"I can hardly forget who you are, Robert. Out with it, then, so we may eat breakfast and enjoy the day."
Robert glanced at Edith as if she might help him with his confession, but she was openly perplexed.
"What is it?" Edith asked softly. "What could be so terrible? Julian will not be angry with you, Robert, I am certain."
"I am afraid that you are very wrong." Robert sighed, glancing heavenwards just once. "Julian, everything I did, I did for you."
Julian eyed him suspiciously.
"I knew that you had to start living again. At the very least, to manage the estate responsibly. We needed money, of course. Clearly you had to be motivated to go out and wed an heiress. I decided to provide the proper motivation."
"The proper motivation," Julian repeated. His eyes narrowed. "Go on." It was a soft command.
"But my motivations were even grander than wanting you to have the means to provide for us and manage Castleclare and our holdings. I was sure you needed a woman—a wife—to make you happy again. And I was certain you would not wed a woman you were not secretly fond of. And I was right, was I not?" Robert's face brightened hopefully.
"You were very right," Julian said, sharing a warm glance with Lisa. "What is it you are trying to tell me, Robert?"
"Well, here is the good news," Robert said as he laughed nervously. "I am not dying." Everyone stared.
"The bad news is that I deceived you so that you would be forced to wed," he added in a rush.
"Oh, my God," Lisa whispered, shocked.
Edith stared at Robert and began to weep.
Immediately Robert reached for her. "Edith, there's no need to cry," he began.
She wept harder.
Lisa was beginning to cry, too. This was the most wonderful news possible! She reached for and clung to Julian's hand. But he did not notice.
Julian gawked at Robert. "You are not dying?" he said roughly.
Robert faced him squarely, nodding.
"You pretended to be ill?" Julian said. Robert nodded again. "Julian, remember, you do love me!"
"I think I might kill you myself," Julian cried, rushing forward.
"Julian, no! This is wonderful," Lisa cried, trying to grab him and missing. Robert tensed.
"The agony you have put me through!" Julian shouted, and then he embraced Robert, hugging him so hard that he lifted him off of his feet. "Damn you," Julian whispered against his brother's cheek. Then, setting him back down, he said, "Thank you, God!" He released his brother, tears spilling down his cheeks.
"You will not kill me?" Robert said in his usual roguish manner.
"I will wait until tomorrow to kill you," Julian promised hoarsely. He put his arm around Lisa. "Today I am too gloriously happy. You are well—you little bastard— and I am in love." He turned and Lisa moved into his arms. He held her there, the two of them absolutely motionless and content just to hold one another.
"I think we must forgive him, Julian," Lisa whispered, deliriously happy. "Do not forget, Robert's deception brought us together. We owe him, darling."
"Yes, we will have to forgive him, won't we?" Julian murmured, stroking her hair. "But I will forgive him only after I throttle him, hmm?"
Lisa laughed and strained upwards as Julian bent to kiss her. Their mouths touched, fused. The kiss deepened and deepened and did not appear to have any inclination to end.
Robert smiled and held out his arm as Edith moved against him. Silently, so as not to disturb the newlyweds, they left the room.
Lisa and Julian did not notice.
Epilogue
Castleclare, 1904
Lisa could not stand it.
Stealing a glance at Julian, who remained soundly asleep in their bed, she slipped to the floor, quickly donning a quilted wrapper. As she stole across their bedchamber, shivering, she peeked at him again. But he remained unmoving, breathing deeply, eyes closed. The barest of smiles graced his handsome face. Lisa could not help but marvel at the magnificent sight. She still could not believe that she was his and he was hers and that they were deliriously in love.
Lisa fled their room.
The castle was eerily silent. It was Christmas Day, 1904. And Lisa could not wait another moment to find out what Julian had given her as a present on their first real Christmas together.
She grinned as she hurried downstairs. Her gift to Julian was going to be a big and, she hoped, happy surprise.
Lisa paused in the ballroom. They had had a Christmas ball a few days ago for most of the county, and a huge Christmas tree stood in the center of the far wall, heavy with tinsel and candy canes, a pretty angel gracing its peak. The angel was symbolic and Lisa knew it.
Lisa rushed to the tree and began pawing through the many gifts. She found presents for everyone, including herself, but nothing from Julian. She checked again. Robert and Edith, who had married in the fall and were already expecting a child, had left gifts for Lisa, as had O’H ara and her maid, Betsy. But there was not a single package from Julian.
Lisa was in shock. She sat down hard on the wood Moor in her nightclothes and bare feet. Had he forgotten? Was it possible?
"Is something amiss, darling?" Julian said teasingly from the threshold of the ballroom.
Lisa knew he had forgotten. She forced a smile. "No, of course not! Good morning, Julian. Merry Christmas." She stood up.
His gray eyes were twinkling mischievously. "Merry Christmas, angel."
And Lisa realized from his low, sexy tone that he was up to something. She regarded him suspiciously, perplexed.
"Merry Christmas!" shouted a group of voices in unison, and suddenly three people came barging into the loom.
Lisa cried out as her father, Benjamin Ralston, reached her first. He lifted her off her feet and swung her around. "Lisa, Merry Christmas!"
"Papa!" she gasped. Over his shoulder she spied her beloved stepsister, Sofie, and Sofie's dashing husband, Edward Delanza. When Benjamin released her, Lisa flew across the room. Sofie met her halfway. Both women were crying as they embraced.
"Don't I get a turn?" Edward asked roguishly.
"Of course you do," Lisa cried, and was instantly swallowed up in his arms.
Finally the tearful greetings were over. Lisa moved to Julian's side, looking around at everyone. "I am in a state of disbelief," she confessed.
He laughed, putting his arm around her. "That is obvious."
Lisa glanced at her father and stepsister. "I have missed you so—I am so glad you are here!" Then she turned to her husband. "Julian, this is the most wonderful Christmas I have ever had."
His smile faded, his gaze intense. "This is only our very first one, angel. There will be many, many more."
Tears filled Lisa's eyes. As she moved into his embrace, the rest of the room ceased to exist; there was only Julian and herself. "How I love you,'5 she whispered.
"You are my life," he said, and his eyes were shining and moist.
Lisa smiled shakily, then said, "I have a surprise for you, too, Julian."
His glance did not stray to the gifts beneath the tree. "Really? Last night I failed to find a present from you, darling, when I sneaked downstairs myself"
Lisa laughed, realizing that Julian had also checked the gifts beneath the tree surreptitiously. "You won't find my present gift-wrapped and in a box," Lisa said huskily.
His brow lifted. His hands were still clasped behind her back. "What will I find, then?"
"I do hope you will not be disappointed," Lisa said, then added, "five months from now."
He froze.
Lisa wet her lips. "I am having our child, Julian. In May"
His expression was transformed. Joy lit up his face. Lisa found herself in his arms, her feet no longer touching the floor, as Julian crushed her to him.
Lisa began to laugh. "I am having Julian's baby!" she shouted to the interested onlookers.
Edward and Benjamin cheered. Sofie laughed, crying, "That is wonderful, Lisa!"
Then Julian slid her to the ground, inch by interesting inch. Lisa found her thoughts quite distracted by the time her feet reached the floor. "Julian . . ."
"I have never been happier," he whispered huskily. " Nor have I ever loved anyone the way I love you. Thank you, Lisa, thank you."
"I have done nothing," she said.
"You have wrought a miracle," he replied unevenly. "And you know it."
Lisa did know it. She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek.
"Let's have our own private celebration, angel," Julian whispered.
Lisa was about to agree, but they were suddenly besieged by her family. "Forget it," Edward said jovially. "This is a family day and we have traveled the
"That's right," Benjamin said, clapping Julian on the shoulder. "C'mon, son, all that hiding has given me an appetite. Lead the way to your dining room."
Sofie shared a warm look with Lisa, smiling. "I want lo know everything," she said.
Lisa sighed happily and looked at Julian, who was being propelled across the ballroom by her father. She shrugged helplessly. "It is a family day," she cried.
Pausing, he gave her an intimate look and said, "Later, angel."
Her heart flipped hard. Julian smiled as Lisa decided i hat she could, indeed, wait. Their gazes locked soulfully.
"Merry Christmas, darling," she whispered.
"Merry Christmas, angel," he said.