Chapter 24
The de Montforte footman who answered the urgent knock at nine past the hour the following morning didn't recognize the man who stood just outside.
"I am sorry," the servant said, already closing the door on the tall fellow dressed in a humble suit of green broadcloth, "but her ladyship is not receiving callers."
"Oh, I think she'll receive me —" he smiled — "I am her husband."
The footman's mouth dropped open as he recognized the figure standing just outside. "Lord Gareth!" He choked out a sputtered apology. "Why, the whole household has been worried sick about you; they thought —"
"Yes, I can imagine what they thought," Gareth quipped, grinning ruefully. "But as you can see, I have not abandoned my wife and daughter after all. Please summon my wife, would you, Johnson?"
The footman bowed and hurried off. He had always liked Lord Gareth and didn't believe all the wicked tales making the rounds about him "abandoning his wife."
A moment later, Juliet herself was hurrying down the stairs in a flurry of skirts.
"Gareth?"
She came up short, pausing at the foot of the stairs, hesitant, uncertain, unsure. He stepped over the threshold, his hat in his hand, a little smile on his face that only hinted at how his heart had leaped at sight of her, and everything inside him had begun to sing. For two days he had anticipated this moment, alternately mad to see her again — and dreading the reception he was sure he would get. He had, after all, had a row with her, dumped her here, then disappeared for three days.
"Hello, Juliet," he said, with boyish sheepishness.
She leaned against the balustrade and eyed him with a mixture of wariness and relief. "Hello, Gareth."
And then both chorused: "I'm sorry."
They rushed toward each other, she flinging herself into his arms and he lifting her high to swing her once, twice around, her skirts flying up over her legs, her shining face just inches from his own. He set her down and was kissing her before she even found her balance, his mouth hungrily meeting hers, seeking forgiveness, seeking proof that she still cared. She responded with all the passion with which she had missed him, worried about him, and — despite herself — wondered about him.
"Ah, dearest," he murmured, setting her back on her feet so that he could gaze down into her face, alight with joy and relief. In that moment he realized she'd been just as worried about his reception as he'd been about hers. "I am sorry for going off and leaving as I did; can you possibly forgive me for not sending word back to you?"
"Only if you can forgive me for losing the money."
"That was my fault, not yours."
"No it wasn't, it was mine —"
"Shhh." Smiling, he leaned down and stopped her protest with another kiss that left them both reeling.
She put her arms around him and hugged him. "Oh, I am so glad you're back, Gareth. I was worried sick about you!"
"I don't feel as if I deserve your worry, Juliet." He swallowed, hard, all but undone by the magnitude of her forgiveness. "After all, Charles would never have —"
"Stop it. I don't want to speak of Charles. I'm positively sick of the way everyone keeps comparing you to him. I just want to stand here for a moment with you, the man I married."
Gareth's brows shot straight up. Shocked into speechlessness, awash in a sudden, all-enveloping pleasure at her words, he held her for a long, happy moment, pressing his cheek against her soft hair, loving the feel of her body against his, the delicate bones of her shoulders beneath his hands. I just want to stand here for a moment with you, the man I married. Could he read into those words what he wanted to read into them? Had she finally put his all-too-perfect brother aside, in favor of him?
If so, he was truly blessed, the happiest man in England. And as he stood there holding her, he got a tantalizing whiff of her soap, felt her breasts pushing against him, her hand roving down his back. Oh, he couldn't wait to continue what they'd started on their wedding night!
"So, aren't you even going to ask me where I've been?" he finally asked, holding her at arm's length and grinning down at her. He pulled down his lower eyelid to expose his eyeball and shoved his face playfully into hers until a burst of laughter escaped her. "Don't you want to look into my eyes and see how bloodshot they are from two nights of steady debauchery?"
"Oh, do stop teasing me so!" she cried, smacking him lightly. "I have more faith in you than that."
Her words warmed him in a way that strong spirits never could. "Do you? I must confess, it's a very humbling feeling, to find that someone in this world has faith in me after all."
"You've never given me any reason not to have faith in you. Though I should tell you that every harridan in London — culminating with Perry's mother and sister, both of whom I finally threw out — came here to speak ill of you." She grinned. "But I didn't believe them, of course."
"You threw them out? Perry's mother and sister?!"
"Well, yes. They were ripping you to shreds."
He threw back his head in laughter. "Oh, what a plucky woman you are, my brave little colonial!" He sobered then, suddenly worried. "I probably shouldn't ask what they said about me, though curiosity begs that I do."
"Oh, just that you've ruined every woman in England, and you're having an affair with Lord Pemberly's wife."
He guffawed. "Lord Pemberly's wife? His mistress, maybe, and that ended three months ago! What rubbish!"
"Yes, I rather suspected as much."
"Oh, Juliet. How can I ever thank you for believing in me?"
Her eyes warmed; she reached up and ran her soft, dainty hand over his jaw, then removed it and put it behind her back, gazing up at him with a coy shyness. Her cheeks flared pink, and he knew she was thinking about their aborted wedding night lovemaking. "I can think of a way."
"Dear God, why didn't I come back two nights ago!"
"I don't know. But I do know that my trust in you must be rewarded," she said playfully. "I'm certain that you haven't spent the last few days with another woman, and I can tell just by looking at you that you haven't spent them carousing, either; your face is clean-shaven, your eyes are too clear and bright, and you have this ... this rather humble set of new clothes. What have you done, Gareth?"
He grasped her upper arms. "I had a dream, Juliet. Actually, it was more like a vision than a dream. I —" He abruptly decided not to tell her that Charles had been his mentor in the dream; she would make him tell her everything about Charles, neglecting the message of the dream in favor of Charles's presence in it. Jealousy rose within him at the very thought; he'd had a tantalizing taste of this woman's passion, rather liked the idea that she had actually worried about him these past two days, and was not inclined to share his wife — his wife — with his dear departed brother. "I dare say there was a message in the dream," he continued. "It scared me. In it, I saw what I've been, realized what I would become if I continued on the path I was on. I saw that I was well on my way to losing you and ... well, I know we don't really know each other just yet, but I am growing rather fond of you, you know? So I sold my expensive clothes, sold my jewels, and" — a brief shadow of pain crossed his face — "I sold Crusader."
"Oh, Gareth. you didn't! I know how much he meant to you —"
He shrugged, as though selling off his beloved horse had been as easy as pawning his jewels. "You and Charlotte mean more. And we needed the money so we could have a place to live, food in our bellies."
Juliet frowned. She hated to destroy his newfound confidence, but she had the sneaking suspicion that he had not thought things through beforehand. "Er, Gareth ... that was very noble of you, but what will we do when the money runs out?"
He shrugged, looked down, and kicked at the edge of the carpet, obviously embarrassed. "I ... well, I've found work. I think we shall be all right. I mean, we won't live in the lap of luxury, but —"
"Work?"
"Yes. I know you're probably wondering where I've been the past few days. Well, I swallowed
my pride and went to see that fellow Snelling up in Abingdon; you know, the one who followed us the other night and offered me a job. I wanted to talk to him and see just what it was he wanted me to do before bringing you and Charlotte all the way back to Berkshire."
"You mean you've been up in Abingdon the past two days, trying to work out a way to support us?"
"I have indeed." He grinned. "Proud of me?"
"Well, yes, but — just what is it he wants you to do?"
He shrugged. "Oh, nothing really ... just a little fighting, 'tis all."
"Gareth, I don't like the sound of this."
"Everything will be just fine, Juliet. I can take care of myself."
"You were furious with him when he made that offer the other night. You were insulted and ready to kill him. And now you tell me that everything's just fine?"
He reached out and grasped her by the shoulders. "Juliet, we need the money."
"I thought gentlemen didn't engage in swordplay for money."
"They don't, but — Oh, never mind, it doesn't matter. Even gentlemen have to find ways to feed their families, don't they?"
"Gareth, I —"
He turned, picked up a bundle he'd left propped against the steps, and, grinning, held it out. It was a beautiful bunch of red roses, tied with an expensive silk ribbon. "Here, I got you a present. It's to celebrate."
"Gareth — " she shook her head and looked at him in mock exasperation — "if you're going to start being frugal, you can't be wasting money on buying me flowers. Money should be spent on necessities!"
He grinned. "Do you like them?"
"Of course I do, but that's not the point —"
"I said, do you like them?"
"Well, yes, but —"
"Then they are a necessity. Now, go fetch Charlotte and let's get out of London before the neighborhood awakes, shall we?" He gazed down at his humble clothes with a mixture of amusement and ruefulness. "I don't want to give those miserable old gits anything more to talk about than they already have."