At midnight Jules was so tipsy that Saint ‘Vill
half-carried her upstairs to their bedroom. He called over his shoulder, ‘Good luck to you, Thomas.’ He grinned at the sound of Penelope’s giggle.
‘I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you quite so sodden,’ he said to his wife as he undressed her. Jules looked at him owlishly and grinned. He kissed her freckle again. ‘Do you think if we listen we’ll hear some marvelous lewd sounds coming from the other bedroom?’
‘What if they listen, Michael?’ she asked, her eyes nearly crossing in her effort to focus on his face.
‘I fear,’ he said with a disappointed sigh, ‘that all they would hear would be the sound of your unlady-like snoring.’
She tried to punch him in the stomach, but missed. Her head spinning, she fell onto her back on the bed.
Saint grinned down at her, and quickly pulled off the rest of her clothes. For a moment he was on the sober edge. ‘God,’ he whispered, looking down at her. ‘I prayed I would see again. Do you know how beautiful you are, Jules?’
Jules was too giddy to care that she was sprawled on her back, her legs parted.
‘That flame-colored hair, very delightful, sweetheart.’ She realized vaguely that he wasn’t looking at her head.
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‘Michael,’ she said, and tried to cover herself, only to feel his strong hands pulling hers away.
‘Oh no, you are mine, all mine.’
She swallowed at the richness of his deep voice, then felt a wave of dizziness and giggled. ‘You have your clothes on,’ she said. ‘Not for much longer.’
To his chagrin, Jules was sound asleep when he turned back to her. He kissed her lightly, drawing her slender body against him. She’d lost weight, he thought vaguely, his eyes studying her. He looked a moment toward the lamp by the bed. I can see you, he silently told the light. I can see everything. I am the luckiest man on earth. He was loath to plunge the room into darkness. I will see the sun in the morning, he thought. He grinned crookedly. And I will feel like the very devil and probably curse it.
The following afternoon, Saint was cursing, but not from a hangover. He was standing by the dresser in their bedroom, two pieces of paper in his hand. He closed his eyes a moment, utter fury washing through him.
He strode to the top of the stairs and
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bellowed at the top of his lungs, ‘Jules! Come here, now!’
Jules, who was feeling a bit tentative, excused herself from her company and slowly, with great care, mounted the stairs. She heard Agatha Newton , Tony Dawson, and Chauncey Saxton laughing in the parlor, and wished they wouldn’t be quite so loud.
‘Yes, Michael?’ she said, coming into the bedroom.
She stopped cold in her tracks, seeing him waving two sheets of paper at her.
‘I was looking for a handkerchief,’ he said with great calm, ‘and I just chanced to come across these.’
She looked at him helplessly.
‘It is not that I haven’t enjoyed having Thomas and Penelope staying with us,’ he continued, his voice becoming harder, ‘but this, Juliana! Damn you, how dare you?’
Juliana. She’d just regressed again. ‘Michael,’ she began, sliding her tongue over her lips, ‘you don’t understand Her mouth felt like dry cotton.
‘Yes?’ he said, his voice silky. ‘You can, I am certain, manage a marvelously competent explanation. You’re rarely at a loss for glib words, are you? … Well?’
‘I don’t know why I didn’t throw them away,’ she said, cursing herself silently, her
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eyes, as if mesmerized, on those wretched sheets of paper.
‘Juliana! Damn you, answer me!’
She raised pleading eyes to his face, and he cursed crudely.
‘Do you have any idea how this makes me feel?’ He waved the papers in front of her nose. ‘Less than a man – in fact, something far less than a tinker’s damn! How dare you keep this from me?’
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. The papers made a loud crumpling noise as they wrinkled between his hand and her shoulder.