The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“Yes, my lord, I should like that very much.”

She stood unmoving for some moments after he had left her room. She thought of his kindness and of his gentle, undemanding kiss before leaving her. It touched her deeply.

Julien found that his fondest hope, that Kate would learn to trust him and willingly wish to be in his company, was granted. In the days that followed, she became like a shadow, not allowing him out of her sight. On several occasions he found himself ruefully explaining to her that he had to leave her, for but an instant, to relieve his physical needs. Her face would flame with color, but she remained where he left her, doggedly awaiting his return.

It didn’t occur to her that Julien would think her behavior odd, for her constant fear prevented her from understanding how much she had changed toward her husband. Somehow it didn’t even seem strange to her when, the night following her riding accident, Julien gently informed her that he would no longer pressure her to consummate their marriage, that he wanted her to have as much time as she wished. From that evening on, she no longer wished to escape her husband’s company as the hour grew later. Her bedroom was no longer a solace against him, but an empty, lonely place where her guilt and fear mingled with terrifying clarity, keeping her from sleep.

A week had passed when, near dawn one night, she awoke to the sound of her own cries. Vague, menacing shadows crowded about her; hands tried to grab at her, and ugly, crude voices dinned in her ears. In panic she threw off the tangled covers and ran terror-stricken to Julien’s room.

He heard her screams and had just thrown on his dressing gown when she burst into the room, looking like a white apparition, her hair streaming about her face and down her back. He caught her up in his arms and held her fast against him, feeling her heart hammer against his chest. “There, it’s all right. There’s nothing to fear. I’m here, and I’ll always be here for you.”

“It was so awful, Julien, yet I can’t seem to remember. Why can’t I remember? It must be the same nightmare as before. I’m sure of it. I just can’t grasp it and hold it, it slips away from me, but it’s horrible, horrible—”

“You must trust me. Everything will be all right. I give you my promise.”

She looked up at him, a small frown furrowing her brow, as she weighed his words. “Please let me stay with you, Julien. I can’t bear to be alone.”

28

Even a week ago he would have been gape-mouthed with surprise to hear her say that, but now, no, he wasn’t shocked or surprised at all. He cupped her face in his palms. “Of course you’ll stay with me. I won’t leave you. You’re safe with me. Do you believe that, Kate?”

She nodded slowly. He picked her up in his arms and placed her in his bed. He lay down beside her, pulled the covers over them, and gathered her to him. He felt a long sigh pass through her body, and in but a moment she was asleep, her head on his chest.

Sleep didn’t come so easily to Julien, and he lay staring at the ceiling even as gray shafts of dawn filtered into the room. His promise to her to keep her safe rang hollow in his ears. How could he protect her from her own fears, fears that emerged to terrify her at night, fears she didn’t begin to understand? During the day, she was living the guilt that he had forced upon her, and the misery in her eyes made him writhe with self-loathing.

Try as he would, he could think of no way to separate her rape as a child from his own rape of her. That’s what it had been, despite his bringing her to pleasure. Rape, pure and simple rape. Only rape wasn’t ever simple. God, he’d been a fool, a conceited ass, so confident in himself and his ability to seduce his wife and then calm her into accepting him. Had he been utterly mad?