Smuggler's Moon Read online

  “I can assure you, they do. And if they do not, they wish that they were!” He was laughing again, and realized that he felt a twinge of delighted affection for her.

  Julia couldn’t breathe as he moved over her, restraining her head with a palm on either cheek. It came to her that he was exerting his dominance over her, and on a primitive level, she was thrilled. He kissed her deeply until she surrendered, then his lips trailed over her throat and shoulders until she heard her own moans. Finally he opened her nightgown to claim her swelling breasts.

  “Oh!” she cried. “I do not think—”

  “Shh,” he commanded.

  Julia let him touch her with feather-light fingertips and felt a tingling heat spread from her breasts directly to the place between her legs. When she began to tremble, he took one of her puckered nipples into his warm mouth and suckled until her hips moved involuntarily against the waiting heel of his hand.

  “Please,” she begged, “you’re frightening me.”

  “I don’t believe you.” When she glanced up at him, Sebastian gave her a roguish grin and she blushed. “You’ll learn to like the marriage bed, or there’ll be no marriage, my lady.”

  Secretly, Julia adored the sensation of his hard male chest on top of her, and his tongue exploring inside her mouth, and his hands searching out places on her body she’d never understood before. When his fingers deftly stole between her legs, caressing until he’d drawn out the most maddeningly pleasurable sensations, she opened her thighs to him, helpless to stop herself from growing wetter by the moment.

  “Touch me, Julia.”

  She obeyed, her heart racing ever faster. His manhood was big and unyielding in her delicate hand, not at all the way she imagined it would be. And it was warm, seeming to pulse with his blood. Her mother and her friends had spoken of unpleasant obligation. Was this what they meant? No doubt Sebastian was wickeder than other men, and yet she was hungry for more.

  He made a laughing-groaning sound, then quirked his mouth in a way that made him look sinfully appealing. “You’re ready then…to proceed?”

  “Quite, my lord.”

  “How brave you sound. This shouldn’t be quite as terrible as the rack.”

  When he slowly entered her, Julia felt a burning mixture of pain and pleasure, and she closed her eyes so that he would not see the tears. His hands fit themselves to her bare bottom, and he pushed past her maidenhood. She bit her bottom lip, determined not to let him see her discomfort.

  “Julia…are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Liar.”

  When Sebastian began to kiss her, slowly, she melted into him, lifting her hips to accept his thrusts. At length, he pushed in to the hilt and made a low animal sound. Julia clung to his back as his breathing slowly returned to normal, feeling as if she had gained entrance to a secret, rather forbidden world.

  “Mmm.” He withdrew from her and lay back against the pillows with a sigh.

  Within a few moments, his changed breathing told her that he was asleep. She lay in the hard-muscled curve of his arm until she was certain that he would not awaken, and then she crept out of bed to wash the blood from between her thighs. She would have liked to put her nightgown back on, but saw that he was lying on top of it.

  Returning to the bed, Julia stared at her slumbering husband. Sebastian was the rugged, black-haired, rakish hero of her dreams; better, in fact, than her simple maiden’s imagination could conjure. The sight of him, sprawled magnificently naked amidst bedclothes faintly streaked with her virgin blood, stirred the deepest corners of her soul.

  Yet, this was no dream, and he was no hero. Sebastian had not meant to marry her, nor did he love her, and he was a hard, combative man. These circumstances were hardly the makings of a fairytale.

  With a sigh, Julia extinguished the candle flame and climbed back into the big bed. Rain was rattling the leaded windowpanes, and Sebastian’s breathing was a low growling sound. How fiercely beautiful he was in the silver-blue shadows! She felt a stab of longing to be cradled in her husband’s arms, to share intimate words of affection with him.

  To her surprise, he reached out for her, caught her by the waist, and drew her against him. Julia knew that he was asleep, and doubtless had no idea who he held, but the warmth of his strong body was reassuring all the same. She fit her hand around his forearm and surrendered to sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Julia dreamed that her mother had taken to her bed again, and Sarah was delivering the news over a breakfast of porridge. Near tears, Sarah worried aloud about the future, and whether she would ever be able to marry the impoverished Charles Whimple. Freddy was waiting to show Julia his Greek lessons, and Cook was marching up from the kitchen building with a new market list in her reddened hand. Julia couldn’t decide whose needs should be seen to first. Even before she opened her eyes to the morning light, she felt pressured.

  A moment passed as she lay on her side, taking in her surroundings. By daylight, the bedchamber at the Goat in Boots was shabbier than it had seemed last night. A thin layer of dust covered the worn pieces of furniture, and the floor sloped northward. Her thin pillow held a trace of Sebastian’s scent, and that realization brought her fully awake.

  Sebastian! Dear God, they were truly married, and the ache between her thighs reminded her of the rest. A hot flush spread up Julia’s face. Looking over, she found that the only reminder of his presence in their marriage bed was a dent in his pillow.

  Julia’s thoughts bumped against one another as she considered her new married status while wondering suddenly if her family at Turbans could cope without her. Already, she could imagine a range of situations that would require her attention that very morning, for she imagined her family to be quite helpless without her.

  And where was her new husband? How did he feel by the light of day?

  She was about to climb out of bed and dress when the door swung open and Sebastian strode in carrying a breakfast tray.

  “Oh!” exclaimed Julia. “How kind of you!”

  “Not at all,” came his sardonic reply. Lines etched his face, his cravat was half-knotted, and his hair was wind-tossed. “Keswick is finishing our travel preparations, and I am out of patience. I brought your breakfast to speed you along.”

  Realizing that she was still without a nightgown, Julia tried to fasten the sheet under her arms as she sat up to accept the tray. When one pink nipple peeked out for an instant, she blushed.

  “Think nothing of it,” he advised. “After last night, I imagine that I am more intimately acquainted with your breasts than you are.”

  Julia sipped her chocolate. “I was brought up to believe that there are subjects one does not discuss.”

  “Indeed? I have been under the distinct impression that you are quite fearless, my lady. It’s a relief to hear otherwise.” He paused, waiting until she finally looked up to meet his bloodshot gaze. “I have something to say, and since I feel like the devil himself, I should like to dispense with this banter.”

  “I am listening, my lord.”

  “As I explained to you in Sydney Gardens, I chose your sister to be my bride because I wanted an attractive, obedient wife who would not make demands on me. Sarah Faircloth seemed an ideal candidate, and I was pleased to be able to help your family—”

  “Control us, you should say!”

  “Let me finish,” he ground out, his jaw hardening. “Do you have any idea how angry I am to be tricked into marrying you instead of Sarah? Who are you to accuse me of trying to control this situation?”

  “I have already explained that I was thinking of my sister’s needs, not yours, my lord!”

  “How noble you are.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he sat down facing her on the edge of the bed and helped himself to one of her raisin buns. “Now then, about the future. It seems that I shall have to make the best of this coil you’ve fashioned for me, since I lost my head last night. The marriage is consummated, so even if I were to ar
gue that I’d meant to marry the other Miss Faircloth, it’s too late.”

  Julia’s eyes burned as she watched him rise and restlessly pace across the room, the muscles of his thighs flexing under his snug doeskin riding breeches. Why should his rudeness make her heart ache so?

  “I hadn’t bargained on a wife as thorny as you are,” Sebastian said.

  “Do you mean to insult me, or is it happening completely by chance?”

  He whirled around and pointed at her. “I am angry, and I have every right to be! I am married to you, madam. Your scheming has altered the entire course of my life!”

  She swallowed, realizing that he had a point. “Perhaps you have a right to feel angry, but you needn’t behave as if marriage to me is a fate worse than death.”

  “I want to be clear that I do not intend to spend my future days sparring with you, or getting you out of scrapes, and I certainly will not be transformed into a romantic husband. If you’ve been harboring any secret hopes of that—”

  “Say no more. I take your meaning, my lord.” She drew a deep breath, and felt herself trembling. “In fact, we are in agreement. I do not hunger for your attentions. I am an independent woman, and as I have explained, I married you to save Sarah from—”

  “Don’t go on. We have already suffered together through the horrors from which you saved Sarah. I’ll leave you now to dress.” His demeanor was cool and remote. “May we expect you downstairs in half an hour?”

  Julia managed a stiff nod, staring into her cup of chocolate until she heard the door close.

  * * *

  No sooner had the coach route brought them to the outskirts of London, than all of Julia’s old feelings about the city came bubbling back to the surface. She’d spent most of her life in London, yet remained ambivalent. There was too much rudeness, filth, and vice. If one’s eyes were opened to it, degradation was everywhere. The rich needn’t look further than their downtrodden staffs of servants, many of whom trudged miles each day to work along roads that were dust-choked in summer and knotted with mud and ice in winter.

  Spring was relatively pleasant, and as the coach rolled down fashionable Park Lane under a veil of plum-hued twilight, Julia thought it might be possible to enjoy living in London as a married noblewoman. Accompanied by her husband or a female companion, she could amuse herself with forays to dressmakers and milliners, pleasure gardens, the theatre, print sellers, and all manner of assemblies and drawing room soirées.

  Could such a life possibly make her happy?

  As the coach turned into Grosvenor Square, Julia watched a nearby lamplighter climb his ladder to illuminate a street lamp. They drew up outside a four-story, colonnaded townhouse built of mellow stone and Sebastian brought his horse alongside the coach and dismounted. He bade her wait with Keswick, then approached the entrance.

  Standing before the door, Sebastian wondered if it was really a good idea to bring Julia to Caverleigh House. Granted, George had fled to Italy and Isabella was away at school, but still, it made him uncomfortable to think of her seeing all his parents’ possessions, the family portraits, the servants who had known him since he was christened…

  He lifted the massive lion’s mask knocker and waited. A familiar, labored step sounded in the entrance hall before the door swung open to reveal Roderick, the butler.

  “Lord Sebastian!” The tiny man seemed to have been old all his life, and he rarely betrayed even a trace of emotion, but the sight of Sebastian seemed to have a rousing effect. “I am surprised to see you.”

  “Are you? Someone had to take matters in hand, Roderick, and I’ve come to do just that. I know that my brother is not in residence, but I’ll need rooms for a few days. I regret that I couldn’t give you and Mrs. Butter more notice.”

  Blood rushed to the wizened butler’s face. “You have not heard, then, my lord?”

  Sebastian suddenly felt a chill. “Heard? I have heard a great many unpleasant reports since the death of my parents, but none that would affect my request to stay in our family home. Kindly enlighten me.”

  Roderick began to perspire. “Before traveling to Italy, his lordship, um…sold Caverleigh House. The new owners were kind enough to keep us on.”

  “Sold? New—owners?” It was almost more than he could take in. “God’s death, how can this be?”

  Just then a tall, dark man came out of the study and walked toward them. His clothing was impeccably tailored, his top boots were burnished, and his skillfully tied cravat was white as snow. As he drew closer, Sebastian realized that he was older than he had first appeared to be, for there were silver strands in his black hair, and rakish lines around his gleaming gray eyes.

  “Bon soir, Lord Sebastian,” the stranger greeted him.

  Glimpsing the thin white scar that traced the man’s jaw, and hearing his slight French accent, Sebastian knew a flash of recognition. “Ah, it’s Captain Raveneau, is it not? I haven’t seen you for years, sir.”

  André Raveneau nodded and extended his hand. “I believe the last time we met, you were still in school. Won’t you come in? Can I get you a drink?”

  “Do you mean to tell me that you are the new owner of Caverleigh House?”

  “I am. I felt it was better that I, as a friend of your family, help your brother out of his predicament than some stranger who would have no regard for your home.”

  Dazed, Sebastian took a step backward. “Clearly, I shall have to accept your offer of a drink so that we may converse at greater length. However, a more pressing matter is finding lodgings for the night. I am newly married and my wife waits in the coach.”

  Before Raveneau could reply, a petite and lovely woman with an upswept cloud of red-gold curls appeared in the entry hall. She immediately hurried toward Sebastian and reached for his hand.

  “Do you remember me, my lord? I am Devon Raveneau. My husband is about to declare that you must stay here, with us. This is still your home. Bring your new wife to me and I shall see that she is settled comfortably.”

  * * *

  Julia perched on the edge of a chair in a gracefully appointed sitting room, near a tall window overlooking Grosvenor Square. As darkness settled outside, Devon Raveneau lit lamps and directed the servants who brought fine linens and a fresh water-jug for the washstand.

  “You must be very tired,” she said, her accent American. “What can we get you? Dinner will be served in two hours, but in the meantime, you must have sustenance!” Before Julia could reply, Devon turned to one of the housemaids. “Francis, will you please bring some refreshments up for her ladyship? And, let’s give her a choice between tea and wine, shall we?”

  Julia thought she must be dreaming. No sooner had Sebastian brought her indoors and offered a rather confusing explanation about his brother selling Caverleigh House to some friends, than Devon had appeared and whisked her away. She had no idea what had become of her husband.

  “Are you wondering about Lord Sebastian? I believe he went off with my husband. I’ve given you this lovely suite; the bedroom is on the other side of that dressing room.” She pointed to an arched doorway. “Would you care to lie down and rest?”

  Julia met her hostess’s candid blue eyes. “I am quite fatigued, but I don’t think I want to be alone.”

  Just then, a servant appeared with a tray laid out for two, and set it on a pretty Pembroke table near Julia. Devon drew another chair over and sat down, nodding. “Will you have tea or wine?”

  “Perhaps a small glass of wine…”

  “And I will join you!” Beaming, she proffered a delicate goblet. “My husband is French, you know, and we have excellent wine. Let’s share a toast to our new friendship.”

  Julia gratefully raised her glass and sipped. Quickly, the wine and the warm manner of her hostess put her at ease. “Have you known Sebastian for a long time?”

  “Yes, a dozen years, at least. We first met when he was at Eton, when Andre and I were newly married and we came to London after America’s War for Independe
nce. Even now, we live in Connecticut most of the year and are only in England for a few weeks at a time. As a consequence, I have only ever known Lord Sebastian in passing. Our former home was across the square, and we occasionally encountered Lady Caverleigh and her children.” Devon paused, sipped her wine and gazed out the window for a moment. “My husband told me that he and the marchioness had known each other in France, when they were much younger.”

  “How interesting. Was she French?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. As I understood it, Charlotte came from Cornwall, which of course is just across the Channel from Brittany. She visited with her family, and I believe that is how she came to know André. She was a lovely woman; such a tragic death.”

  “It was a carriage accident?”

  “Yes. Lord and Lady Caverleigh were in Devon, visiting Isabella, and I believe that his lordship was driving too near a seaside cliff. He was a notorious whip and, I fear, rather bad-tempered. Thank God the child was not with them.”

  Julia wondered if the wine had fuddled her memory. “Isabella? I’m afraid I don’t know who that is.”

  “Really?” After a moment of clear surprise, Devon smiled. “I suppose Sebastian must have swept you off your feet. He seems just the type to be mysterious.” She patted the new bride’s hand. “Isabella is his sister. So sad for her, losing her parents, but of course she didn’t spend much time at home.”

  “But—why not? How old is she?”

  “About fourteen, as I recall. It seems that Charlotte had her late in life, when Sebastian was at Eton, and she wasn’t prepared to raise another child. Isabella attends an academy for girls in Devon.”

  “Away from family? That’s very sad, I think.”

  “I agree with you,” Devon said, nodding. “All my children are here with us, but as you know, such arrangements are quite common in England.” She paused. “She was having rather an awkward time of it when we saw her last. Perhaps, now that her brother has married, her situation will be a bit less lonely.”

  Julia took a bite of plain cake with lemon curd so that she might think for a moment. Sebastian had a younger sister, who was now an orphan! She did sums backward and forward, realizing that he must be about thirty years old, which was younger than she’d guessed from the lines on his rakish face.