Stormswept (21 page)

He looked stunned silent by her quotation from
The Black Book of Carmarthen
. In his quest for “vengeance,” he’d forgotten all the pleasant hours they’d spent discussing poetry and books, all the sweetness between them.

So this was what she must do. Remind him of the sweetness. She must uncover the old Rhys.

His face mirrored his torn emotions. “You’re wrong,” he murmured in Welsh. “I don’t know how to ‘fashion peace’ anymore. I don’t even know what peace is.”

She held out her hand to him. “Then let me teach it to you. Let us learn peace together.”

For a moment, he wavered with his gaze fixed on her
outstretched hand. Then he turned away. “Get dressed. We leave in an hour.” And he was gone.

She stared after him. Despite his commands, she now knew the truth. Inside, he ached for love.

Hope for them sparked within her. She would feed that spark with the tinder of her own precious memories. And perhaps one day soon, the flame would melt the ice in Rhys’s heart.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Rhys shifted in the saddle and looked back as the coach lumbered into view, raising clouds of dust behind it. Juliana was in that coach, riding alone because he’d chosen to accompany the vehicle on horseback.

He twisted the reins about his hand until the leather bit into his gloves. Two hours of hard riding had taken its toll on a head that throbbed from last night’s brandy and a stomach that churned as badly as when he’d eaten maggot-ridden hardtack.

Yet he couldn’t make himself join her for the last half hour, not even to lie back on soft cushions and close his eyes. Joining her meant enduring her quiet, long-suffering presence, and that he couldn’t do.

But this solitude wasn’t much better. No matter how hard he rode, he couldn’t push her words from his mind.

You know how to fashion peace.
This morning he’d expected her to fight, to snap and shout at him. When she did, it was easy to think of her as a light-headed, spoiled flirt who’d ruined his life on a whim. It was easy to remind himself of all she’d cost him.

But when she met him with Welsh poetry, so perfectly spoken that it might have been a bard intoning the words about “peace” and “mercy,” all his convictions about her grew shaky.

Then memories crept in. Like that night long ago when she’d sat on his lap and recited the whole of “Praise of a Girl,” the Welsh words flowing from her like rich music. Her face had glowed from the pleasures of poetry spoken aloud, and she’d taken delight in the kisses he’d given her after each stanza. There’d been no hesitation in her, no sign of dislike for his penniless state or his Welshness.

Her explanations this morning simmered in Rhys’s brain. Her family’s pressure on her to have the marriage annulled . . . Darcy’s urging her to keep the marriage a secret . . . her reasons for her betrothal . . . All of it rang too much of truth.

He no longer knew what to believe. And every time he thought of her defending that handsome marquess, it made his blood boil.

But when she’d spoken of not having their child . . . The yearning shining in her eyes couldn’t have been false. Even now, it sparked a deep desire for something he’d never wanted before.

His child. Their child. Would their children be pale as cream like their mother, or dark like their father? Would their hair capture the sun like Juliana’s or reflect the black night like his own?

Thoughts of children led him to thoughts of how children were made. Of how she’d looked in that thin shift that barely veiled the dusky rose of her nipples or the auburn
curls below her belly. How her heady lavender scent still made him want to bury his face in her hair . . . in her neck . . . between her legs.

“
Cer i’r diawl! 
” She drove him as mad with need as ever. And he was woefully tired of fighting it.

Perhaps he shouldn’t. Because she was right about one thing: He didn’t want her to lie there like a whore and let him spend himself inside her. He wanted her moaning beneath him, lifting her mouth to his of her own accord to find her pleasure.

Aye, he wanted her willing. He remembered so well how sweet it had been when she was willing. And he wouldn’t be giving up anything, to have her willing. It was what they both wanted.

Her words came back to him.
Fashion peace
, eh? Let them fashion peace in the marriage bed. She was right: They had a lifetime together. And as long as he made it clear who would be master in their house, they could have pleasure together.

Of course, he wouldn’t let those pleasures negate her duty to make amends. He wouldn’t trust her, but he could bed her as often as he wished, and if she drew enjoyment from it, that was even better.

And why should he resist her anyway? He had a right to enjoy his wife’s body.

Just then he topped the hill that looked down on Llynwydd, and his breath caught in his throat. Home. He’d finally come
home
.

He was glad that he hadn’t come until he could enter the estate as owner, for it made the pleasure more intense.
Llynwydd was his. Every garden, every field, every tenant farm. No one could deny that any longer.

He halted to savor it—the massive wrought-iron gates, the expanse of outbuildings, and the thriving orchards of plum and peach. A lump grew in his throat. The yews his father had planted when Rhys was barely eight were so tall now.

Then there was the squire hall itself—a block of aged brick flanked by the newer wings his grandfather had put in. Sunlight glinted off the white painted railings of the entrance steps, and the oak door looked as solid as ever. At last he could ride up to that very door and walk into the halls of his childhood home with impunity. He had his birthright back, and not even the treacherous St. Albans brothers could wrest it from him.

But Juliana already had.

A knot twisted his gut. After living here all this time, she must have changed things to suit her whims. Some changes were evident from here: a new tile roof on the coach house, expanded stables, and the vine house that showed she’d revived the practice of growing cucumbers and melons at Llynwydd. What else had she altered?

He straightened in the saddle. It didn’t matter. Llynwydd was his now. If her changes were good, he’d let them stand. But
he’d
make that decision, not her. She’d soon learn he was master here. When she accepted the role of dutiful wife—and when she came willingly to his bed—he’d accept the peace she offered.

But not until then.

I’d go back to my father’s country,

Live respected, not lavish nor meagerly,

In sunlit Mon, a land most lovely, with

Cheerful men in it, full of ability.

—GORONWY OWEN, “THE WISH”

W
hen Rhys opened the carriage door for her he was smiling, which made Juliana wary. She wanted to believe he’d considered her words and found them sensible, but given the glint of calculation in his eyes, she doubted that. Yet something had changed in him since this morning.

Behind him, the servants were scurrying out of the entrance door to line up along the railings of the stairway. There weren’t as many as usual—when she’d closed the house, she’d had to let some of them go—but their well-scrubbed faces and impeccably clean attire made her proud. At least Rhys couldn’t accuse her of hiring a slovenly staff.

No sooner had Juliana alighted from the carriage than her housekeeper, Mrs. Roberts, came rushing up. “Milady,
we weren’t expecting you or we’d have readied the house. I’m afraid everything is still under covers and all in a muddle.” She cast Rhys a quizzical glance. “But it won’t take us long to get all in readiness, if you’re wanting to stay.”

“Thank you,” Juliana said. “We will . . . that is . . . Mr. Vaughan and I—”

“What my wife is trying to say is, we’ll be in residence at Llynwydd from now on, aside from occasional trips to Carmarthen or London.”

Mrs. Roberts’s jaw dropped. “In residence?” Then, as the rest of Rhys’s words registered, she stammered, “Your wife?” She looked to Juliana for confirmation. “Milady?”

Rhys did the same, his smile widening. Obviously, he planned to enjoy watching her announce her secret marriage to her staff.

Juliana sighed. No telling what Mrs. Roberts, with her vivid imagination and penchant for gossip, was thinking. “This is Squire William Vaughan’s only son, Rhys. As you’ve probably heard from other members of the staff, his family were the previous owners of Llynwydd.” She swallowed hard. “Mr. Vaughan is also my husband.”

As Mrs. Roberts continued to gape at her, Rhys leaned close to whisper, “Very good, wife. Finally you’re learning some compliance.”

She scowled at him, but he’d already turned to the astonished Mrs. Roberts. “You are the housekeeper?” he asked in Welsh.

It was the first time Juliana had heard him speak entirely in Welsh since his return, and he clearly had an accent. But the housekeeper seemed surprised to hear him
use Welsh at all. “Aye, sir,” she said quickly. “I’ve been with Lady Juliana for six years.”

“After Papa acquired the estate,” Juliana put in, “he dismissed your father’s servants and hired his own. Once I moved here I hired as many back as I could, but most had already found other positions, including your father’s housekeeper.”

He took a moment to appraise the staff ranged stiffly down the stairs.

Juliana wondered what they were thinking, since they’d all known Stephen. The few servants who’d worked for Squire Vaughan might recognize Rhys, but she doubted it.

Flashing Mrs. Roberts a smile, Rhys drew Juliana out of earshot of the servants. “ ’Tis best that we get this over with now, so here’s what I want you to do. Announce to them, as you did to Mrs. Roberts, that I am your husband and that we’ve been married for six years. Explain that you thought me lost at sea, which is why you never said anything. They’re going to hear rumors anyway—”

“Because you insisted on making this whole thing public.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Aye. If I’d confronted you and your brothers privately, I might not have lived to tell anyone else about it.” As she opened her mouth to protest that horrible statement, he let out a frustrated breath. “For once, just do as I say, will you? Better to have it over with.”

When she still hesitated, he pulled her closer to murmur, “And for God’s sake, wipe that expression from your face. You look like a virgin facing the sacrificial knife. Try
to appear as if you’re actually glad to have your husband back.”

“If you’re so concerned about how this is done, why don’t
you
tell them? Embarrassing public announcements are your forte, not mine.”

Amusement glittered briefly in his eyes. “At present, their loyalty is to you. They’re liable not to accept me if I thrust myself forward in your place.”

“Remind me why should I help you gain their acceptance?”

“You said you wanted peace. Show me that you mean it.” His voice hardened. “Because if you refuse to support me in this, you won’t have a moment’s peace, I assure you.”

Glancing at the servants, she realized she had no choice. A battle before the staff was unthinkable. Aside from being mortifying, it would only gain her more enmity from Rhys. Nor would it help matters to have the servants confused by who was in charge. This was between him and her, and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose her dignity before the staff.

Besides, her people would be loyal to her no matter what Squire Arrogance told her to say, so it wouldn’t hurt to acquiesce to his wishes.

With a quick nod, she faced her staff. He settled his hand on the back of her waist, and the slight pressure of his fingers against her spine made her more aware than ever of the reality of their marriage.

If only he were touching her with the tenderness of a husband who cared for his wife. But no, his touch was to control, to aim her in the direction he wanted. And for
now, his direction was the only one to take. So she announced her marriage, trying to sound sincere while she fought to ignore the warm hand at her back.

Then he stepped in. “None of you need fear for your positions as long as you’re doing your jobs well. But I may change how the household is managed, depending on what I find when I tour the grounds and meet with the housekeeper and agent. At a minimum, there will be more staff. In the meantime, if you have a question about the running of the household, you are to come to me. Is that understood?”