Rogue's Mistress(49)

“Thank you, you are most kind,” Mercy replied.

Arnaud beamed with happiness. “I saw a hummingbird in the garden. And two butterflies.”

“You did? How fascinating.”

“And I have a train,” he added eagerly, changing subjects with the ease of a four-year-old. “Papa gave it to me. Do you know Papa?”

“Yes,” Mercy said tightly.

“Would you like to see my train, madame?”

“Of course.”

His eyes danced with glee. “I shall go get it, then.”

Mercy watched the happy child skip out of the room. She glanced at Justine, taking in the other woman’s compassionate look. “He’s precious,” she whispered. “And so bright.”

“Thank you,” Justine replied with a mother’s proud smile. “I must agree. But tell me, madame—why did you not tell Arnaud that you’re married to Julian now?”

Mercy’s voice was hoarse as she replied. “Nothing would have been accomplished by the admission. I’d prefer that your son not know that I’m Julian’s wife.”

“You are most kind,” Justine said.

Mercy nodded, blinking back sudden tears. For now she understood completely why Julian was so protective of Justine and Arnaud. Indeed, after being with Arnaud for only a few minutes, she felt equally protective of Julian’s child.

Oh, mon Dieu, how she could ever compete with this darling boy in Julian’s heart? In truth, she knew she dared not even try.

And what if she could never bear Julian such a lovely child?

Her visit with Justine and Arnaud had left Mercy feeling anything but reassured.

***

For the balance of the day, Mercy struggled between her wounded pride and her fear of losing Julian.

Yes, she acknowledged, Julian had committed a major breach of trust in not telling her about Justine and Arnaud prior to their marriage. His withholding such critical facts from her made her wonder what else he’d kept from her, and made her remember her father’s death. Her doubts were terrible.

Yet Julian had this other family waiting for him, eager to love him unconditionally. If she continued to shut him out, could she really blame him if he turned to Justine once more?

If he hadn’t already? After all, Justine was a serene, giving, patient woman—everything she wasn’t. No wonder Julian had fallen in love with her. Why wouldn’t he again seek out her services in bed?

These thoughts nearly drove Mercy mad. For the truth was, she still loved Julian hopelessly, and if their marriage was to survive, she knew she must abandon her pride and fight for him, find some way to end this impasse.

Late that night, when he still hadn’t appeared, she donned her wrapper and went downstairs. The parlor and dining room were dark and deserted, but she spotted a narrow slit of light spilling from beneath the door to his office beyond. Cautiously, she approached and rapped gently on the panel.

“What is it?” came Julian’s muffled, irritated voice.

Mercy braced herself, then opened the door and stepped inside. Julian sat at his desk, unshaven and bleary-eyed, his shirt half opened. He had that wild look in his eyes that she remembered so well from the night she’d sneaked out of the convent to see him. He looked dangerous and sexy as hell. Oh, mon Dieu, she’d surely chosen a disastrous time to confront him.

Yet it was too late to retreat, for Julian’s cold eyes fixed on her at the doorway. “What are doing up so late?” he demanded, rising unsteadily to his feet.

She wrung her hands. “I came to check on you.”

He swayed slightly and braced his palms on the desk, his features twisted in a sneer. “Such wifely devotion is commendable.”

Mercy turned to close the door, taking a deep breath to hold on to her patience. “Julian, I felt we should talk.”

He ambled around to the front of his desk, leaning against it in a casual male stance that was anything but reassuring. His blue eyes bored into hers. “To what do I owe the honor, then?”

Mercy bit her lip. He wasn’t going to make this easy. Not that she really blamed him. She took a tentative step toward him and tilted her chin. “Where have you been these last nights?”

He cocked an eyebrow at that. “Do you care?”

“Yes.”

He gave her a hard, assessing look, then shrugged. “I’ve been working late at the Exchange, trying to catch up on all the business that was neglected during my absence.”

She drew a ragged breath. “Have you been with Justine?”

“Do you care?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she hissed.

His lower lip curled derisively. “Forgive me if I dispute your claim.”

Gritting her teeth, she drew a step closer. She realized she must have really hurt him with her recent unfeeling words. “Julian, about what I said last week—”

“Yes?” His voice grew tight and a mask closed over his features.

“I—I didn’t mean it,” she admitted in a small voice.

He laughed sardonically, then started toward her. “What didn’t you mean, dear wife? That I’m a liar and a cad? That you wish you’d never married me? Or that you only enjoy what we have in bed?”

“I . . .” Swallowing a huge lump of pride, she said, “I didn’t mean any of it.”

He loomed before her now and was studying her with a penetrating scowl that made her pulses pound. “What a refreshing change of heart.”

His sarcasm cut her to the quick. “Julian, I—”

“You must be feeling amorous, Mercy.”

Her gaze flashed up to his. Oh, he could be a heartless scoundrel at times! “Why must you make this so difficult?” she demanded with a passionate gesture.

“This,” he uttered ironically, “is really quite simple. You miss my services in bed, n’est-ce pas?”

She miserably clenched and unclenched her fists. “Julian, it’s not just that.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” He eyed her up and down. “You know, I’m tempted to take you up on your generous proposal—only you’re not offering me what I want.”

“What do you want, then?” she cried.

His gleaming gaze impaled her. “I want your heart.”

Julian’s words hit Mercy like a massive blow, and silence crashed all around them. Gazing into his hard, glittering eyes, she was tempted to tell him he had her heart; yet pride and fear choked off the words, and she could only stare at him helplessly. How could she give him her heart when he held himself so cool and aloof? God help her, she still didn’t know if her feelings would ever be safe with him. She couldn’t doubt that he wanted her heart just to break it, to hurt her as much as she’d hurt him.

Her silence seemed ample answer for him. “And you’re not willing to give me that, are you, Mercy? Your body may be warm, but your heart is as cold and unforgiving as ever. Isn’t it so?”

She stared helplessly at the rug. “I want to try.”

His mocking laughter cut her short. “Forgive me if I find your efforts too little, too late. I tried to apologize to you, but you cast me aside anyway. Then you made your contempt for me—and our marriage—quite clear.” As she stared up at him in anguish, he reached out to touch her cheek. His eyes were strangely glazed, and his voice rang with a tremor of emotion. “But do not worry, chère. I won’t always want so much from you. There will be plenty of times when your body will be enough. Only tonight isn’t one of them.”

With a low cry, Mercy turned and fled the room. Oh, it was hopeless! How could their marriage ever survive with all this hatred and bitterness between them?





Chapter Twenty-two


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The next day, Julian sat in his office at the Exchange. He glanced ruefully at the documents cluttering his desk—assorted contracts with planters, crop forecasts, freight bills, bids from cotton mills in Birmingham. He and his partner were approaching their busiest time of year—harvest, when a constant flood of bales of cotton and hogsheads of sugar would pass through their warehouses near the levee and on to lucrative accounts in the East and in England. Now more than ever, he needed to keep his mind on business.

Instead, his thoughts were consumed with his troubled marriage. Ever since his argument with Mercy a week ago, when she’d told him so brutally that only the physical aspect of their marriage pleased her, he’d held himself apart from her. While he’d never thought of himself as particularly straitlaced, he’d discovered that even he had an aversion to being used as a stud. When his wife had come to him last night and had attempted an apology, he’d felt certain she’d only been hard-pressed to satisfy her more carnal needs. She was a passionate creature—he’d learned that much during their honeymoon.

Not that he hadn’t felt tempted to take what she offered—indeed, right now, a part of him hungered to take her into his arms again, to kiss her until he drowned in her, to delve into her until she cried out in pleasure. Yet pride held him back. Even when she gave her body to him, she withheld the rest of herself. And as he’d told her, perhaps foolishly, last night, he wanted more—he wanted her heart. She’d set her own sights much lower.

He sighed, getting up and walking over to the window, staring out at the teeming alleyway a story below. What was he to do? A mere week ago, he’d been determined to fight for Mercy, but that was before he’d discovered how she could kill him with just a few, cruel words. Perhaps she’d been right—perhaps they should seek an annulment while they still could.