Rogue's Mistress(69)

Studying Julian’s abstracted expression, Mercy wondered what else she could say to comfort him. She realized that it might be some time before he could talk freely about his lost little son. She thought of telling him that she hoped they would have a child soon, but then caught herself in time. While she would pray for a baby and she knew a child would be well-loved and special to them both, she didn’t want to risk intimating that their child could replace Arnaud.

She squeezed his hand. “I wish there was something I could do to help you with your grief, Julian.” Her voice faltered. “I know what loss is like.”

He gently brushed a tear from her cheek. “Of course you do, after you lost both your father and your mother.”

She shuddered, resting her head against his shoulder. “I’m so glad you were there with her that night.”

He wrapped an arm about her and kissed the cloud of her hair. “I am, too, chère. Your mother spoke of you, you know.”

Mercy drew back. “Did she? What did she say?”

He smiled tenderly. “She told me how good you were, how bright and quick and beautiful, how proud and spirited. How much joy and love you brought her. How you always tried to help, small as you were.”

She sighed, snuggling against him. “I’m glad her memories of me were good ones. Tell me more.”

Julian went on talking, relating everything he could remember from that night so long ago. His voice broke when he spoke of the peaceful moment when Corrine had passed away, of how he had sat with her dead mother until dawn.

“Oh, Julian, you’re so dear,” Mercy whispered afterward. She hugged him tightly and wept in his arms in a great emotional release. Julian held her but did not interrupt her private moment of healing. Mercy felt as if she had finally come full circle, letting go of her grief over both of her parents and, with it, all her bitterness toward Julian.

A long time passed before she squeezed Julian’s hand, before she dared to ask, “Do you remember me, too, from that night?”

He twisted to look adoringly down at her. “Oh, yes, love. I remember holding you—how piteously you sobbed, how helpless I felt trying to comfort you.”

“But you did,” she whispered hoarsely. “You were always there when I needed you.”

He raised her chin with his fingertips. “Mercy, can we make this night a beginning?”

“Yes,” she whispered back. “No more secrets?”

He nodded, pressing his fingers against her mouth. “And no more running away?”

She nodded, hugging him tightly.

Yet a troubled frown flitted across Julian’s brow. “What about the Dubois?”

She sighed. “I’m glad I met them, and I want to see them again. But this place is not my home.”

He gazed deeply into her eyes. “Where is your home, then, chère?”

“With you,” she whispered back brokenly, stretching upward to press her trembling lips to his.





Chapter Thirty-two


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The next morning, Mercy and Julian prepared to leave for New Orleans. When Julian took his wife by the Dubois home to fetch her things, they suffered through a brief, emotional scene with her grandparents. Gradually, though, the elderly couple acceded to Mercy’s wishes in the face of her absolute determination. Mercy was grateful that Julian did not interfere in her exchange with her grandparents, although she caught him clenching his jaw more than once. This time, her grandparents were wise enough to treat Julian with detached courtesy. Mercy ended the visit by thanking the Dubois for their hospitality and by promising that she and Julian would visit again in the future. She also asked them to inform Anton of her decision and to bid him farewell on her behalf.

Later that morning, Julian and Mercy boarded the small steam packet Sprite and headed back for New Orleans. The voyage downriver was rainy and rather chill, but neither seemed to notice or care; they spent most of their time in their small stateroom, making love.

Mercy felt even more ecstatic being with Julian now than she had on their honeymoon. The terrible anger and jealousy that had haunted them for so long had at last receded.

Mercy realized that Julian still grieved for Arnaud; indeed, sometimes when he didn’t know she was watching him, she glimpsed a faraway, haunted look in his eyes. But at least his grief was out in the open now. She often hoped that she was no part of that lingering sadness in his eyes, that he felt as joyous regarding their reunion   as she did.

For Mercy was still not completely sure where she stood with her husband. She knew he wanted her in his bed, but he’d never once said he loved her. And, while she was virtually certain now that he was no longer sleeping with Justine, she continued to stew about her husband’s relationship with his former mistress. She often feared that Justine was still the first choice of Julian’s heart, a choice denied him due to the constraints of law and society.

Thus, Mercy wondered if she and Julian could ever have a true marriage in the deepest sense—with complete love, trust, and sharing. She also dreaded their return to New Orleans, since she and Julian had never truly been happy there. Other people and bitter memories had always crept between them.

The afternoon they docked at the levee was mild and bright, suffused with the sweetness that came after rain. Nonetheless, there was a discernible tension between Julian and Mercy as Henrí met them at the docks and drove them home.

Back at the town house in the Quarter, Mercy felt somewhat reassured when he caught her hand as they crossed the fragrant courtyard together. “I must go out for a while now, dear,” he told her apologetically. “Go see Mother, and—”

“Go check on Justine?” Mercy finished, but without anger.

He nodded soberly. “Do you mind? As time goes on, I won’t need to visit her quite as much. But now . . .”

“I understand,” Mercy said bravely. “Go see her, Julian. I think you should.”

He smiled in obvious relief. “I’ll be back early.” Giving her a wicked wink, he added, “Why not have dinner sent up to our room?”

She tried to pick up his bantering mood, though it was hard. “I take it you want to make an early night of it, then?”

“Indeed.” He gave her a mock leer and lowered his voice. “I want you waiting in our bed, with nothing on.”

Mercy smiled as she watched him turn and stride across the courtyard, his male figure so tall and splendid in the gilded, late afternoon light. Yet her expression became troubled as she turned toward the cypress stairway and started upstairs.

Though they were both making a fine show of things, the mood between them had definitely changed since they had returned to New Orleans. Still, Julian had been honest with her just now—she had to grant him that. It was a big step forward for him, and it was incumbent on her to trust him in return.

***

Half an hour later, Julian arrived at Justine’s cottage. He sat with her on the settee; their expressions mirrored their shared grief.

Justine was dressed entirely in black, and there were pale circles beneath her eyes. Julian noted her stomach was still relatively flat, but figured her pregnancy would soon begin to show. All in all, she did look much better than she had weeks ago when Arnaud had passed away. “You have been well?” he asked gently.

“Yes. And you?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“I know just what you mean,” she returned with a heavy sigh.

Julian glanced about the room, absorbing the eerie silence. Only the tick of the mantel clock sounded in the void. “The house seems so empty without him.”

“I know,” she replied. Her pain-filled eyes met his. “I just can’t adjust to it, Julian. I keep listening, as if at any moment I’ll hear—”

He squeezed her hand convulsively. “I understand.” Eager to distract her, he asked, “The pregnancy is progressing well? What does the doctor say?”

She smiled. “He says I am doing just fine.”

“Bien.” Julian slanted her an admonishing look. “You must marry Henrí right away, you know.”

“Do not fret—we still have plenty of time. And what of you and Mercy? When you arrived, you mentioned you’d brought her back from Natchez . . .”

Julian smiled tightly. “Yes, she’s home. And I’m proud to say we’re back together now.”

Justine’s eyes gleamed with joy. “Oh, Julian. I’m so glad. Did she tell you why she ran off?”

He nodded, his eyes suddenly glazed with pain. “The morning when Arnaud died, she came here and saw us through the window, in an embrace. You see, she didn’t know our child was desperately ill, and she assumed . . .”

Justine’s hands flew to her face. “Oh, mon Dieu! I do hope you explained everything to her?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And what about me and Henrí? Have you told her of our plans to marry?”

“No, I haven’t. Frankly, I’m afraid—”

“That she’ll think the child I’m carrying is yours?” Justine finished wisely.

“Yes,” he admitted, his stark eyes meeting hers. “Even after you marry Henrí, I’m afraid she’ll still suspect it.”

“Oh, Julian.”