The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“I’m not drunk. It’s my nerves. Your nerves indeed.”

He smiled at that, as he carried her through the adjoining door to her room and sat her down on a chair. “Try not to fall off the chair,” he said over his shoulder as he pulled the bell cord.

She huddled in the chair and watched tensely as he spoke in a low voice to the maid. But a moment later she curtsied and Julien left the room.

A small voice deep within her told her that now was her chance to escape. She could render the maid unconscious and flee. But her mind seemed strangely befuddled, and the door seemed such a great distance away. But it didn’t matter. She forgot the maid, lurched to her feet, grabbed up the train of her wedding gown, and dashed to the door.

19

The damned maid yelped.

Julien was in the bedchamber in an instant, and behind her in the next, his hands firmly against the door over her head. “If you wished to take a stroll, you should have told me.” Slowly he turned her about and studied her upturned face. “No, I believe you’re too tired for a walk. I wouldn’t want the French watch to arrest you as a drunken bride and whisk you away from me. Come, my dear, let Anne put you in your nightgown. I won’t harm you, I swear it. Nor will I come to you tonight. Will you contrive to trust me in this?”

“I don’t believe you. You’re a man and you do anything you wish to do. I don’t want you near me. I—”

“Believe what you wish to. Now, can I trust you not to try to snaggle off again? If you don’t promise me, I myself will stay here and put you in your nightgown. What do you say?”

“I think you’re a bastard.”

“And?”

“I’ll stay.”

He looked at her for another too long moment, patted her cheek, and left.

She stood quietly as the maid, Anne, began to unbutton the many tiny hooks of her wedding gown. The dress dropped to the floor. Next came her petticoats, stockings, slippers, until finally she stood with only her chemise. As if from a great distance, she heard the maid ask her to sit at the dressing table. Her body obeyed the request, and she sat down. The maid unfastened her long hair from its pins, and it uncurled down her back. As the maid brushed out the tangles, she thought that this was the strangest wedding night she’d ever seen. The young lady had acted odd this afternoon, but now, goodness, she acted as if the devil himself were after her. She was drunk, that was it. She was drunk and she was afraid of her bridegroom, the silly girl. With her French common sense, Anne could see no reason why the lady shouldn’t be excited about the prospect of being bedded by such a handsome gentleman. But the lady was quite young, and in all likelihood innocent. Her maidenly display of modesty was probably just what the English gentleman would wish. She wondered what the groom thought of his bride’s drunkenness.

Anne finished brushing the lady’s hair, slipped the chemise off over her head and found herself staring for a moment at her body. She was delectable, no doubt about that, even though she was very English. All long and white and slender, a nest of auburn curls between her thighs to match the thick hair on her head. The gentlemen would lose his head when he saw her, no doubt about that. At least he would once he got the nightgown off her. If he managed to get the nightgown off her. She thought it far more the thing for the lady to await her husband naked in her bed, but the English gentleman had given her explicit orders to put the lady in her nightgown. This she did, fastening the ribbons around the new countess’s throat and straightening her long hair. Finally, according to her instructions, she walked to the adjoining door and lightly tapped on it.

She turned and curtsied to the lady, who was standing, still as a malacca cane, in the middle of the room where she’d left her, seemingly oblivious of her presence. At first the maid had believed her to be only drunk, but now she saw her fear. She felt a stab of pity and quickly sped to her, whispering, “It won’t be of a badness you won’t like, my lady. Your husband, he has that air about him, he knows, that beautiful man, he knows how to do these things you will like. Do come now, and put on a good face to him, a little smile, eh? You might even enjoy yourself once you have the understanding of it.” Yes, he should be kind, Anne thought, wondering if she would want any kindness from him if she were going to be bedded by him. No, she’d want him urgent and rough, his hands everywhere. She heard his approaching footsteps, darted one last glance at the lady, and left the room.