Rogue's Mistress(40)
Julian studied his proud, vulnerable wife, his heart welling with love, deep compassion, and fierce protectiveness toward her. He spoke savagely. “After the way they turned their backs on her? Never!”
Before Mercy realized what she was doing, she had slipped inside Julian’s arms and was tightly hugging his waist. “I’m glad.” With her head snugly nestled beneath his chin, she glanced back toward the hill. “I never want to see them. Never.”
A tremor of emotion seized Julian at her passionate words. His arms clenched about his precious bride. He leaned over to kiss the shiny splendor of her hair.
“Mercy!”
At the sound of a gay feminine voice, the two moved apart and watched Lavinia approach.
“Mercy, M’sieur Devereux, come with us up to Natchez!” Lavinia called with a grin. “Papa’s going to rent a grand carriage and we’ll all go shopping and out to dinner.”
Mercy hesitated.
“Well, Mercy?” her husband asked solemnly. “Last chance. Shall we go with them to Natchez?”
Mercy wavered for another moment, then turned to Lavinia, wrinkling her nose playfully. “Thanks, Vinnie, but not today. You know how we newlyweds are. I think we’ll just loll about the boat.”
“Well!” Lavinia colored vividly, then giggled and waltzed off.
Watching the girl, both husband and wife laughed. “So what will we do today?” Julian asked with wry amusement. “Everyone else will be gone, and our stateroom is bound to be stifling.”
“But you have such a marvelous way of cooling me off,” she whispered, her green eyes tempting him.
Julian clutched his adorable wife to his heart.
Chapter Eighteen
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Two days later, the Natchez docked at the booming industrial city of St. Louis. Julian registered them at the Planter’s Hotel, and, for the next ten days, their home was a huge suite overlooking the busy streets.
Mercy adored the time spent sightseeing with Julian, for she had never before seen a city quite like St. Louis. Since becoming a major industrial port along the Mississippi, the city was burgeoning, bursting at its seams. Manufacturing facilities of every type were springing up—flour mills, meat packing plants, foundries, and hardware factories.
To keep up with the level of industrial expansion, immigrant labor was pouring in from all over the world. Mercy was fascinated by the mishmash of French, German, Italian, and other languages that she heard in the streets. She was equally enthralled by the quaint clothing of the foreigners. While the city was clearly in a state of flux, it also had charm—block after block of handsome brownstones, the tranquil splendor of the Old Cathedral, the ornate wonder of the huge domed courthouse that was even now being built.
While becoming acquainted with the city, Julian and Mercy had more fun than she ever would have dreamed. They ate at elegant restaurants, attended plays, operas, and horse races. They shopped, purchasing small presents for the nuns and Julian's mother. They visited a fabulous toy store, where Julian purchased a cast-iron train set, which he said was for the son of a friend. They rode through the streets on horse-drawn trolleys and watched a steamboat race down at the levee. They strolled through lovely Lafayette Park. They held hands, talked, and laughed. Sometimes, they merely stayed at the hotel in bed all day, making love and giggling over glasses of champagne. While they still skirted the heavier issues of their past, they became much better friends and the best of lovers.
Mercy was falling deeply in love with Julian. She didn’t want to do so, yet she seemed to have no control over her own emotions. Previously, she had always thought of her guardian as a bad-tempered autocrat; but especially since they had wed, she’d seen more of his other side. Julian was so handsome, so charming, so devastatingly romantic. She was captivated by him. Indeed, she yearned for him so much that she seemed to have little need for food or sleep. Julian, noticing that her wedding ring had grown loose, ordered luscious trays of hors d’oeuvres and fed them to her in bed; his solicitousness endeared him to her terribly. When she protested that he was making her fat, he chuckled, patting her lower belly and saying wickedly, “I plan to have you fat soon enough, madame.”
They had only one argument the entire time they were in St. Louis, and that was on the day Julian took Mercy shopping for new clothing. At the elegant shop not far from their hotel, Julian had the owner bring out only matronly frocks—beige, mauve, and gray affairs with high necks—while Mercy was determined to dress fashionably. Any dress that was the least bit low-cut Julian instantly dismissed, and he and Mercy were soon at loggerheads. Mercy got the distinct impression that her husband was having a grand time squashing her fun, which only increased her exasperation.
When the shopkeeper brought out a breathtaking low-cut gown of rich aqua taffeta, and Julian vetoed the frock with an imperious wave of his hand, Mercy rebelled. She sprang up and politely asked the woman to give her and her husband a moment alone in the fitting room. Wisely leaving the vibrant gown, the middle-aged owner swept out.
“What is wrong with this frock?” Mercy demanded, the instant the shopkeeper was out of earshot.
Infuriatingly calm, Julian was standing near the front wall of the room, leaning indolently against a pillar. He glanced at the luscious gown hanging from its rack. “It’s highly immodest, unsuitable for my wife.”
“Julian, you want me to dress like somebody’s mother!”
He grinned wickedly. “You are going to be somebody’s mother—and soon.”
“Oh, you’re such a rogue!” Mercy rolled her eyes. “You want me to look like an old woman.”
He laughed. “We both know that there’s absolutely no chance of that.”
Mercy glanced at the mouth-watering frock with wistful yearning. She suddenly felt like a small child denied a favorite treat. Her gaze met his beseechingly. “Julian, I want it. I want to wear it to the theater tonight.”
He harrumphed, setting his jaw stubbornly. “It looks like a strumpet’s dress.”
“It does not!”
“It does. And furthermore, if I let you wear it to the theater tonight, every man there will undress you with his eyes.”
Despite herself, she smirked. “But only you can—”
“Yes?”
She drew closer and flashed him her most seductive smile as she straightened his velvet lapels. His features were still rigidly set, but she could tell from the slight quiver in his jaw that her nearness was having its effect. She spoke in a sexy purr she normally reserved for the bedroom. “Only you can truly undress me.”
Unwittingly, he groaned, looking down at her with eyes filled with wry humor and darker desire. “You really like to play the tease, don’t you, Mercy?”
“Perhaps I like to tease you?” she suggested recklessly.
His gaze impaled her then, and his hand reached out to grip her slim waist, his fingers splaying out lower, suggestively. “Keep in mind, madame, that I’m a man who is perfectly capable of putting a tease in her proper place.”
She pressed provocatively against him. “I’m counting on it.”
Julian laughed his delight, fondly swatting her derriere. “You’re a persuasive little brat—do you know it?”
“Oui.”
“And if I buy you the dress, what will I get in return?”
She swallowed hard. “A kiss?”
He chuckled. “Much as I adore your kisses, Madame Devereux, at this stage of the game, that will hardly be enough—you’ve so deepened my appetites.”
“Julian!” Blushing to the roots of her hair, Mercy glanced about quickly to make sure no one else was within earshot.
“What will I get in return, Mercy?” he pressed remorselessly.
She glanced hungrily from the frock to him. “Anything.”
“Anything?” His eyes glittered like those of an animal delighted to have cornered its prey. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, though she was half afraid she had just plunged into deep, treacherous waters.
“Anything . . .” he murmured, stroking his strong jaw. “Now, that offer is irresistible. Go find the shopkeeper and tell her to wrap your dress.”
“Oh, Julian!” Impulsively, she hugged him, and he chuckled again.
As she started off, he caught her hand. “And tell her to wrap the frocks I chose, as well.”
She tossed her chin disdainfully. “You needn’t bother to buy me those oppressive old shrouds, Julian. I shan’t wear them.”
He whistled, a hard, implacable tone in his voice. “Mercy, this stubborn streak of yours will be mastered.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “No, it won’t.”
“Indeed?” He hauled her closer with a grip of steel. “Then you never should have promised me anything.”
***
He teased her about her reckless offer as they rode back to the hotel in a hired coach. “Now, my dear, since we’re staying out late tonight, I’m taking you back to our suite for a nap.”
“A nap?” she exclaimed, crestfallen. “But I don’t want a nap. I want to go to the country fair and the ice cream parlor, like you promised.”
“Ah, but it’s you who promised me anything,” he pointed out. Glancing at the box in her lap, he smiled slowly. “We can always take the dress back.”