Page 80 of Secrets of the Marriage Bed
And he realised he would protect her with his life if need be.
He released her hand and sat back. ‘Julia, you will not go anywhere without me or one of my handpicked men.’
In the meantime,hewas going to see if he could lure his enemies into making a mistake.
Digger was looking at him from beneath lowered grey brows. ‘Alistair, is there something you are not telling us?’
He should have guessed Digger would see through him. He gave her a smile of complete innocence. ‘Nothing at all.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Then I suggest you write to your Mr Lewis again and tell him an answer is needed sooner rather than later. We must know as soon as possible who it was who recommended Mrs Robins to him for Her Grace.’
‘I agree.’
‘I wish you would call me Julia,’ his wife said to Digger, albeit a little hesitantly, but with a very sweet smile for a lady Alistair held in great affection. Julia went up another notch in his esteem. If he wasn’t careful he would soon be putty in her lovely elegant hands. Chill settled over him like a blanket. While she might mean a great deal to him, for her sake he could never let her get too close.
He glanced at the clock on the mantel. ‘I hate to spoil our tête-à-tête, but my bailiff is due to see me shortly.’ He rose. ‘Julia?’
‘She can stay a little longer, Crawfy dear. We have such a lot to talk about.’
Inwardly he groaned, guessing who would be the topic of their conversation. Fortunately, not even Digger knew all his secrets or even she might not look on him so kindly.
One thing he knew for certain, he was a danger to anyone around him, so the further he kept away from them the better.
Loneliness weighed down on his chest. The accompanying dark empty space inside him made breathing a chore. As usual he ignored the feeling. Buried it in ice. ‘I’ll have Matthew come for you in half an hour and see you back to the house.’
Julia was staring at him oddly. ‘Is that really necessary?’
‘For now.’ It was if he was not going to go mad with worry.
He bowed and left.
* * *
Julia paced her bedroom. She knew she was safe—Alistair was only a few steps away, within earshot of her call despite the closed doors, but she could not convince herself to get into the bed.
She should have said something before they retired for the night. Asked him to stay, but in truth she feared his rejection. As wanton as it sounded, even in the depths of her own thoughts, she dared to believe he desired her as much as she desired him.
The night they first met, their lovemaking had been spectacular, passionate and exceedingly naughty. The games he’d played with her had been shocking and wonderful. She’d seen little of that playful man since their wedding. Occasional gleams of amusement in eyes usually icy cold, the odd crack of laughter, and those nights that he’d come to her... The wicked side of him was still there, hidden, kept rigidly under control by the Duke.
She came to a halt at their adjoining door. Stared at the door handle. If he turned her away...
She took a deep breath and quietly opened the door. Silent as a ghost she glided through the dressing rooms, hers and his, that separated their rooms. In the old days, their servants would have slept on little cots in these commodious chambers that now contained only presses full of clothes. Thank goodness they now slept in the attics. She paused at the final door.
Straightened her shoulders. If he was asleep, she wouldn’t wake him. She might, however, cuddle in beside him, the way she had on the night of his fall.
She eased the door open and peeped inside.
The great four-poster bed was empty.
Disappointment hollowed a place near her heart. She’d been so sure she’d heard him moving around in here after he’d escorted her to her chamber after dinner.
About to turn away, she became aware of a shadow partially blocking her view of the banked fire in the hearth. A shadow too bulky to be simply an armchair. The shadow moved. Rose.
‘Julia?’
She could not retreat now. She stepped closer. ‘Yes. It is I.’ He was wearing his dressing gown. He had a tumbler in his hand. There were a great many things this man could do with his drink that had nothing to do with imbibing.
‘Are you unwell?’
