The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“Your behavior, my lord?” She looked up at him, striving for calm, for a show of indifference that he would believe. He saw too much always, and now she simply couldn’t bear it if he saw her misery.

“Yes, and undoubtedly I owe you an explanation. By taking Lady Sarah to the balcony, I evidently gave the gossips a delectable topic of conversation. You, I am persuaded, must know my reason for doing so.”

“Indeed, my lord, it isn’t for me to question your actions.” She wouldn’t look at him, she couldn’t. She kept her eyes straight ahead.

“Come, Kate,” he said sharply, frowning down at her profile, “you’ve taken me to task on practically every one of my actions since the day I met you. That I perhaps chose an awkward place and time to set Lady Sarah straight is very much your affair. I am sorry for it, but at least it’s now at an end.”

Kate felt a deep bitterness invade the comforting numbness that surrounded her. Yes, she thought sadly, I saw just how well you handled the lady.

“I see I’m to judge by your continued silence that you either understand my motives or you are jealous. Which is it?” He grasped her arm and pulled her up to face him.

“As you say, my lord,” she said finally, her voice wintry and far away, “I understand your motives perfectly. I assure you, there’s no need to explain further. You’re a man, after all.”

“Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Are you not a man?”

“Damnation. No, this is quite ridiculous.” He regarded her steadily and said at last, “It will be as you wish, at least for the moment. We haven’t yet danced. Would you like to?”

“No. That is, I’m very tired. It’s been a long evening, and so many people and all of them talking and talking. If you wouldn’t mind, I would just as soon leave.”

He studied her pale face. She did look exhausted and unhappy. Damnation, what was he to do?

Gray flecks of dawn penetrated the darkness of the room when Julien awoke at the sound of a piercing scream. He bounded from his bed, threw his dressing gown about him, and rushed through the adjoining door into Kate’s room. She screamed again, tangling herself among the heavy bedclothes.

He leaned over her and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her none too gently. “Kate, come on now, wake up, that’s it, you must wake up. It’s a nightmare. Nothing more, just that damned nightmare. Come, sweetheart.”

A long shudder passed the length of her body, and she forced her eyes open. Julien was balanced over her, his face pale in the dim light, his hair tousled, beard stubble on his chin. She cried out in protest as he shook her again.

“It was the nightmare again. Oh, God, I hate it. It’s so frightening because I can’t see what’s there, can’t see anything, but the evil is there, I know it.” She struggled up and pulled her hands from beneath the covers to push damp masses of hair from her forehead. She threw out her arms to clasp him to her, to burrow against him, but as she did so, Lady Sarah’s face rose in her eyes. She fell back against the pillows and turned her face away.

Julien drew back, baffled. Always before, she’d wanted him to comfort her, to hold her. Slowly he straightened and automatically began to smooth out the tangled covers. He saw that she was trembling uncontrollably. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly. She made no response, and he eased himself down beside her. Above all things, he didn’t want to frighten her, and thus he contented himself with gazing at her averted face, satisfied, for the moment at least, that he was close to her. Gradually the trembling lessened and her breathing became more regular.

She turned her head back to look at him. “I thank you, my lord, for waking me.” Her voice was dry and crackling in the silent room, like fragile autumn leaves falling from branches.

“I’ll stay with you now, all right?” He reached out his hand and lightly touched her damp cheeks.