Rogue's Mistress(46)

He spoke fiercely, his breath hot on her cheek. “There’s nothing I can do about the past, Mercy, but I refuse to let you sabotage our future together. We had something good together, and we’re not throwing it away. This estrangement is going to end, and it’s going to end now.”

“Only if you force me!”

“We’ll see.” And to her confusion, Julian released her hands.

Mercy flailed out at him, beating against his chest and cursing him with every breath. Curiously, he made no effort to restrain her, absorbing her blows stoically.

“That’s it, chère,” he murmured sympathetically. “Take out all your anger on me. Then you will love me.”

His words proved devastatingly prophetic. Indeed, as soon as he uttered them, all the fight in Mercy abruptly died away. Suddenly, she felt like a monster for attacking him while he held himself defenseless. With a sob, she fell back against the pillows, biting her clenched fist, uncertain what to do next. All that seemed to exist were his beautiful, tormented eyes staring down into hers and the sound of her own heart crashing in her ears.

At last she blinked away tears and said, “I’m sorry I hit you.”

“I know,” he whispered. He raised her clenched fist to his mouth, lovingly kissing the bite marks she’d inflicted, rubbing his lips sensuously over her tight fingers until they uncoiled.

His tenderness desolated her pride. With a heartbroken sob, she lost control. She threw her arms around his neck, brought his lips down to hers, and kissed him fiercely. He moaned, his hands drawing her nightgown up and around her waist. She gloried in the intimacy, moving her bare hips eagerly against his hard arousal. His fingers dug into her buttocks, raising her to meet him.

To her surprise, he entered her with exquisite gentleness, studying her eyes in the darkness, watching her melt and soften. He was a hard, hot shaft of delight, burrowing into her tightness ever so slowly. She soon lost patience and arched to take him deeply. She didn’t want his tenderness tonight. She wanted to love him until it hurt, until passion obliterated all memory of his betrayal. She rolled her hips like a wanton creature, deliberately provoking the wildness in him. He plunged home powerfully, and she cried out at the blinding intensity of it, digging her fingernails into his shoulders and whispering shameless encouragements in his ear.

A violent groan escaped him. His mouth devoured hers as he pounded into her with all the love and torment in his body.

Then the dance began in earnest, and they grappled deep into the night . . .

***

The next morning, Mercy awakened to see her husband dressing. His beautiful blue eyes were focused on her with tension and uncertainty. He looked so sexy with the bright sunlight gleaming in his disheveled hair, with his shirt still unbuttoned and his trousers hugging his trim waist and narrow hips.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice tight.

Mercy hungered to reach out to him, but pride brought her up short, reminding her that he had gotten his way last night. How could she have been such a weakling, giving in to him so soon after he’d told her about his mistress?

“Good morning,” she said at last, her voice cold.

He frowned as he tucked in his shirt. He reached for his belt and buckled it. Then he came to sit beside her on the bed, brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes. She recoiled, and his eyes glittered with anger.

“I trust last night settled the issue of separate bedrooms once and for all?” he challenged.

Her gaze flashed mutinously to his. “Meaning you’ll force me to continue sharing your bed?”

He surged to his feet, his features white. “I didn’t force you last night and we both damned well know it.”

She glanced away and bit her lip. He had spoken the truth, much as it rankled.

Julian studied his wife, noting her hot cheeks and defiantly gleaming eyes, her trembling underlip. She was so beautiful and so proud, yet last night she had swallowed that pride and had loved him insatiably. His heart welled with sudden, fierce sympathy toward her.

With a sigh, he sat down beside her again and touched her hand. “Mercy, I’m sorry. Can’t we start anew?”

Even though Mercy’s feelings were torn, her wounds were still far too fresh, too deep. “Start anew? After what you did? You must surely enjoy being miserable.”

“But we haven’t been miserable—not for most of our marriage,” he pointed out patiently. “I want what we had in St. Louis.”

“Had,” she echoed bitterly. “We’ll never have it again.”

“Why are you so determined to be cold and unforgiving?” he demanded.

“Because you’re a liar and a cad—and a seducer,” she railed. “Why don’t you just go to the Exchange and leave me alone? I wish I’d never married you. I wish you’d never even come home last night!”

Now he, too, was furious, standing and shaking a finger at her. “When are you going to stop lying, damn it? You know you wanted me last night as much as I wanted you. Shall I remind you of how you awakened me long before the cock crowed? This act of outraged virtue comes a bit late, woman.”

Her face burned at his ruthlessly accurate words, and she lashed out at him like a wounded animal. “Perhaps I do take some pleasure from our moments in bed—but nothing else about this marriage pleases me!”

“Damn you!” he hissed. Anger and terrible hurt shone in his eyes. “You’re just using all of this as an excuse, a pretext. You’ve always hated me. You never wanted to marry me. You’ve just been searching for an excuse to shove me away.”

“That’s not true!” she cried. “I tried on our honeymoon—I really tried. But then you betrayed me!”

“Yes, I betrayed you,” he said with a terrible fatalism. “I killed your father.”

Mercy reeled, feeling sudden remorse. “Julian—”

“You’ll never forgive or forget, will you, Mercy?” he cut in savagely. “That’s what all of this is really about. You’ll never trust me, or see me as anything but a monster. Well, I hope your hatred keeps you very warm.”

Mercy tried to take back her hateful, hurtful words, but it was too late. Julian had already stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

She collapsed onto the mattress, sobbing into her pillow. Belatedly, she poured out her feelings. “Julian, I don’t hate you. And I don’t love just what we have in bed. I love you. God help me, I do.”

She wept heartbrokenly for all they had lost.





Chapter Twenty-one


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Later that morning, Mercy received a summons from Madelaine Devereux. The terse missive read: We must have tea, my dear. My coachman will call for you at two.

In the sunny parlor, Mercy crumpled the crisp parchment with a frown. She was beginning to suspect that Julian had inherited much of his imperious nature from his mother. She was tempted to ignore the peremptory command, but quickly realized she could not do so. Madelaine did have a right to see her daughter-in-law, although her methods might be annoying. Still, Mercy knew that it wasn’t fair that she try to vent her anger at Julian on his mother.

Thus, at two, when the coachman called, Mercy was ready, dressed in a stylish frock of pale blue silk organza. As the elderly black man drove her out toward the American District in the open barouche, she absorbed the familiar sights, sounds, and scents of the Quarter and wondered if Madelaine was aware of the tensions between herself and Julian. After all, Julian had gone to visit his mother yesterday. If he had already informed her of their troubles, that was doubtless the reason for her invitation.

In the lavish parlor of her home on Prytania Street, Madelaine Devereux received her daughter-in-law with open arms. “Darling, you look wonderful—I must say that marriage agrees with you.”

“Thank you, madame.” Mercy took the chair Madelaine indicated, and watched the older woman seat herself on the settee. Mercy noted that the widow’s coiffure was embellished by the bejeweled mother-of-pearl combs she and Julian had purchased for her in St. Louis. The combs reminded Mercy of happier days, and also reinforced the fact that Julian had been here before her. She wondered again how much Madelaine knew.

“Well, dear, tell me all about your honeymoon,” Madelaine directed with a smile.

As Raoul brought in tea, Mercy dutifully gave Madelaine a dispassionate but thorough account of her travels with Julian.

Afterward, the widow studied Mercy with a bemused smile. “But did you enjoy yourself, darling?”

A sudden, riveting vision of herself and Julian making love in the carriage in St. Louis flashed through Mercy’s mind. Feeling her cheeks smarting, she lowered her eyes. “Oui, madame.”

“Then why do I get the impression that much is wrong between you and my son?” Madelaine pursued.

Mercy’s gaze flashed up to Madelaine, who was studying her with a coolly discerning frown. Suddenly, she was growing tired of the cat and mouse game she and Julian’s mother seemed to be playing.

“Actually, madame, I think you’re already well aware of the reason things are not right between myself and your son. After all, Julian came here to see you yesterday, no?”

Madelaine sighed. “Yes, dear, he did. And I must say that I deeply regret his ever telling you about that Begué woman.”