Chapter Eight

T here was no way that things would stay the same. James Bergin was now the chief magistrate sent from Scotland yard after his message was received. The other fool and every constable that stood and watched the warehouse burn had been fired with no severance. Julian wanted them to be placed in jail with all the other crooks, thieves, and vagabonds, but they were allowed to leave with their lives—and a warning.

If they so much as breathed wrong, they would be thrown in the same jail they shoved others into with glee. He watched in satisfaction as James, a good and honorable man who served the law with pride and honor, threw the five men from the steps of the office.

"You let my fiancée stay trapped in that warehouse while you watched and laughed." Julian seethed as he spoke the words. "There will be no civil work for you ever again. I suggest you get hired on at the docks. I will have you blacklisted. Now you'll have to learn to live like the people you insult and mistreat. You are one of them now. If she dies, God help you all, for you will face my wrath."

"You're a bastard," the previous magistrate said. "We have families to care for, and you sentenced them to the poorhouse."

"As you sentenced my fiancée to die because of her skin color," Julian replied. "What did you say again—ah yes, a ‘darkie putting on airs.'"

"He said it, not us." A constable stood before him.

"But you stood with him and watched a warehouse burn around her." Julian's voice became savage. "What did you think would happen if she died? That I would move on with a laugh like her life was a jest? I assure you all that none of you would be standing before me if she'd died."

"I wanted to help. I tried to and was held back," the constable said.

"You'd better watch your mouth, Stephen," the ex-magistrate snarled.

The constable Julian now knew was Stephen spoke. "I will do no such thing. I will not have my wife and baby pay a penance for your sins! Sir, I was held back, a knife to my throat such as the one that killed your people who watched the warehouse. I was told if I acted to save her, I would be replaced as a constable and my home burned to the ground such as the warehouse."

Julian gave him a cold look. "Were you now?"

"Yes, sir." Stephen didn't seem to care about the angry glares of the other constables he once served with, or the magistrate for that matter. "I swear it upon all that is good and holy, my dear wife and my child."

"You stay," James Bergin said. "It's one less man that I need to hire. I'll add that if anything happens to this man or his family, if he is to catch a cold or his child sneezes in its crib, I shall blame you all, and you will swing from Her Majesty's noose. There will be no prison for you, just a box six feet underground in the potter's field."

Julian felt a grim satisfaction as he watched each face drain pale with the knowledge of what the new magistrate's words meant. Some left in anger. Others stayed and begged, stating they had families when their pleas went unanswered. They walked away in dismay, shoulders slumped, after the true punishment of their actions was realized. Julian didn't care. Delilah was his family.

The people they routinely laughed at or hurt also had families, and this would be a hard lesson they learned. The two men Julian had guarding the warehouse hadn't left their task. Their bodies washed up the next day, throats slit from ear to ear. The men who started the fire was met by the revenge of half of The Sun Catcher's crew for their mistress Delilah. He'd asked them to bring them men to him, but he conceded they thirst for blood outmatched his own. Junior assured him, he did not want to know what was done to the men, Julian heeded that piece of advice.

Before their untimely deaths, the men disclosed that Lord Gibson had hired them, but he and Ian Saur had gone to ground, escaping on a ship to what Julian hoped was America. He was a patient man and would follow them there eventually, but he hoped, before then, some rough-and-tumble cowboy from the West would shoot them both dead. If that didn't happen, Julian wanted them to always feel like was in the shadows, waiting for them to sleep so he could dispatch their useless lives with great malice.

The fire had been started with kerosene and straw at an outer wall. The warehouse was completely destroyed, with everything in it turned to cinders. Junior was already on-site as the remnants of charred wood were removed, and rebuilding would take place immediately.

Three days later, and Delilah was awake, but still kept to her bed by the orders of Dr. Delaney, who came and checked on her three times day. The smoke had made her voice hoarse, so she was drinking tea with honey and mint while being given light broths or stew for dinner, much to her disdain. Julian was learning each day that Delilah had no patience for being infirmed.

Their wedding was in a week, and he hoped she was back to her normal self by then. As he walked up the stairs of the grand duchess's house to sit with his wife-to-be, a sense of relief assaulted him. What if he had lost her before they could truly begin their lives? It would never happen again. This was why the wedding had been moved up, so they could leave all the sooner.

The event at the warehouse left no wounds to mar her skin. Instead, it was a mental scar, one that made itself known by nightmares. The first night it happened, he was just about to leave for the night after ensuring that all was well in the grand duchess's mansion. The hoarse terrified scream echoed off the walls and put a chill in his heart. He rushed up the stairs with Montgomery close on his heels, and Bronwyn rushed from her suite of rooms close by.

He burst into the door, expecting a fight, only to see her in a fight of her own, eyes wild and staring blankly while she fought to live in her mind. Juno couldn't comfort her, not through her own tears and fear. Julian sat on the bed and pulled Delilah close, into his arms, until she stopped struggling, all the while crooning softly to her in his deep baritone voice.

"Hush now, my love," he whispered close to her ear. "You're safe in my arms. Nothing can harm you here. Come now, come back to me. Leave those dreams behind."

She settled, and soon she took a huge breath and then expelled it slowly from her lungs. It thrilled him because it meant her lungs were on the mend.

"Julian?" she whispered against his chest.

"Yes, darling," he said huskily.

"I was trapped in the flames, and there was no way out." Her voice still held the rasp of a throat that had pulled in thick smoke while she lay unconscious. "I could see them standing outside the warehouse. No one was trying to help me." Delilah looked up at him with unshed tears. "Why didn't they help me?"

"Those men have been taken care of," Julian promised. "Junior and I made sure to get you out. Delilah, I swear on my life, not another will be able to harm you."

"The men you had to protect me, where were they?" she asked. "I at least expected them to come."

He tried to keep the hard edge from his voice. "They were killed before the fire started."

"How are you here so late?" Delilah settled herself more firmly into his arms, moving closer, and it pleased him immensely.

Julian kissed her temple. "For situations such as this, I'm here to protect you and the grand duchess. I made sure the grounds and the house were safe and was about to leave when I heard you cry out."

"C-Can—I mean, might you stay?" she asked. "I feel safer when you are close by."

"I will," he stated immediately, with no hesitation in his voice.

"There will be talk," Bronwyn said doubtfully.

"We're to be married in a week. They can talk all they want," Julian said calmly. "I will sleep outside these doors until she is my wife and in my home."

"Very well," Bronwyn sighed. "Montgomery, have a room made up."

"Outside these doors," Julian added firmly. "I'll take blankets to make a pallet."

"Stubborn men will be my demise." Bronwyn threw up her hands. "Come along, Montgomery. Get those blankets. I will give you a few minutes with Delilah, and then you must leave the room. Juno, come with me for now so they can speak."

Julian held her as they all left the room, and the grand duchess closed the door with a soft click. He took Delilah's shoulders gently to pull her away from his chest.

"Give me the truth. Are you alright? Shall I call the doctor?" he asked.

"There is no need. I breathe easier now, but I feel like the smoke is still in my throat." Delilah shuddered. "I can taste it, acrid and bitter still, even though I know it's no longer there."

"Oh love, what would I have done if I'd lost you?" Julian kissed her gently. "The way I was ready to tear London apart would have paled in comparison to how I would be if you were taken from this life."

"I just want to go home!" Delilah cried out. "England has nothing good for me. Can't you see this now for yourself!?"

"I see this, love, and we will leave one week after the wedding," he promised. "Before the sun sets seven days from the marriage, we will be sailing out of London Port."

"Thank you, Julian," she sighed and lay back on the pillows. "Lay with me for a moment and keep the demons at bay."

"Your godmother has said only a few minutes. I doubt she will want to come inside and see me lying in your bed."

"Well, she seems to like your father in hers, and all I'm asking is to be held." Delilah moved over a bit. "Please, Julian."

Her soft voice was his weakness. He lay next to Delilah and wrapped her in his arms. The scent of her perfume filled his senses, and the feel of her body against his made him ache, but this wasn't the time for that type of intimacy. His wife needed to feel safe and secure. This was his job, his mission in life, to love her so much she never had an ounce of worry. He held her until she fell asleep, and it was only then he left the room and Juno returned to Delilah.

Each night after, she woke screaming, hiding from flames, and the only one who could seem to calm her was Julian. His bedroom was now a pallet he had made on the floor outside her door. From his work and conducting his business, Julian went home to bathe and change before going to the grand duchess's mansion. He dined with them, and when Delilah retired for the night, he took up his position. He was a soldier once, against his father's will, Julian could sleep anywhere as long as he closed his eyes.

Taking his slumber on the floor of a mansion wasn't the worst place he'd slept, but after a week or so, one evening he came up the stairs, and there was a leather chaise lounge waiting. A pillow and the blankets he used were folded neatly on the piece of furniture. He waited, sitting patiently, hoping by any means that she wouldn't dream that night, but those hopes were dashed when Julian heard her cry out. Juno opened the door and gave him a look of anguish before stepping aside so he could enter.

"When will this stop?" Juno asked brokenly. "I hate this for her. I hate that people could be so cruel to cause this."

"I will stop when she feels safe," Julian replied grimly. He sat on the bed, lifted his fiancée onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around her tight. As he soothed Delilah, her terror turned into sobbing tears. "Juno, you can go to bed. I will stay with her tonight."

"Her Highness will not be pleased," Juno gasped.

"Then Bronwyn can speak with me in the morning," he said briskly. "You go to your room now, dear one. Hershel would be mad at me if he learns of your sleepless nights.

"Yes, sir." Juno hurried away after a sweet smile at his friend's name.

He lay next to her, held Delilah and kissed her temple. "Darling, hush now, please—it destroys me to hear your tears when I can do nothing to fight the demons in your dreams."

"I never thought I would feel fear like this again." She lifted her tearstained face to look at him. "I hate that they make me so weak and afraid, like I'm a young girl again and hiding from their abuse."

"You are no wilting flower, shying away from the light," Julian said huskily. "You're a sunflower, bright, beautiful petals opened to the sun, and you stand firm in the wind. You are the same woman who walked in on a meeting with men of industry and claimed me as yours."

"I was procuring a contract if I recall." A small smile hinted at her lips.

"And with that, you got me." He kissed her gently before promising, "We'll be home soon."

"You say ‘home' as if you've been there all this time," Delilah remarked.

"Wherever you are is my home." Julian wiped the last of her tears from her cheeks. "Till then, you'll not let them take the fire that burned within you when we met."

"Even what is mine isn't, because of what this damnable place calls law. Women are second-class citizens here. Their lives mean nothing. Combine that with my skin color—to them, I am worth more than nothing." She sighed. "It's too much. How many times do I need to be pushed into the dirt before I stop getting up—before I break?"

"Delilah, you'll walk down the aisle to me with your head held high in just a few days," Julian said firmly. "There is no one in this classless society that is better than you, more worthy than you. They know it and try to destroy what they cannot control. You will not let them see anything but pride and defiance in your demeanor. They didn't break you then, and they won't now."

She reached up and cupped his cheek. Julian closed his eyes and pressed her hand, enjoying the sensation of her touch on his skin.

"Why do you defend me so, with no care for yourself or what it means to your standing?"

"Even if I only knew you as Bronwyn's goddaughter, I would defend you against all these injustices. Fuck my standing in this community. I would defend you as a prince or a pauper," he promised. "It is my love for you that means more than any wealth. I won't see you cower away, Delilah. That is not the woman I fell in love with."

"So, you admit it then, you love me," she said, and a slow smile crossed her lips.

"From the day I met you and you pulled the pins from your hair." Julian felt his heart swell at her smile. "You don't have to love me yet. I am sure of my feelings, but you haven't ever had to traverse such a relationship."

"I care for you," Delilah said firmly. "I will say the words when I truly understand them."

"As you should. Did I mention I love the practicality of how you think?" He kissed her. "Now come settle into bed, and I'll lie with you to keep the nightmares away."

"Is that all?" she asked hesitantly as she lay down on her bed. "No more?"

Julian turned the lamp down, settled beside her on the bed, tucked her into his arm, and kissed her temple. "I vowed to you, nothing will happen until you say yes to it, love. It will be torture for me, but I am a man of my word and can control my needs."

"Very well." Delilah snuggled closer with her ass nestled against his groin.

He gritted his teeth against the need that caused his cock to ache. "Less movement, love, a man can only take so much."

"Good night, Julian," she whispered in the dark.

He laced his fingers with hers. "Sleep well, love."

"I will now that I'm in your arms."

Her soft admission made him grin in the dark before he closed his eyes and submersed himself into the sensations of holding her in his arms. Soon they would be joined as man and wife, and there would be nothing to keep them apart. That knowledge alone was worth the disapproving gaze of Bronwyn the next morning when he descended the stairs.

He kissed the grand duchess's cheek as he passed by going toward the door. "I was protecting my wife from the dark dreams that plague her."

"I have learned that the Blackshire men do as they please, when they please, because they are stubborn as mules," she said with a sigh.

"And with that, I shall tell my father you send your regards," he replied without turning around.

Her laughter followed him outside, into a sunlit day, and he lifted his face to the rays beaming down. Julian hoped the day of their marriage would herald sunshine just like this. His wife deserved the sun to shine down on her on the day of her wedding. She was a sunflower, and he would take her back to the place where her roots were planted.

DELILAH'S WEDDING DAY dawned bright and clear as Juno pulled back the blinds to reveal a cloudless blue sky. Her stomach clenched nervously knowing that in a few hours she would be the wife of Duke Julian Blackshire. While she was apprehensive, she was also excited. She would be married and, on The Sun Catcher, very soon, riding the seas back to the shores of her home. There was nothing she would miss, except her godmother, who already looked pensive and sad. The time was winding down for Delilah to leave, and she would be alone in the mansion once again. She could take comfort in the fact that Julian's father seemed to be enamored with the grand duchess and she would have someone to love her. It was perfectly fated, because both had children who were leaving London, and they would need each other to lean on.

"If I promised you children, would you come to the islands, Aunt Bibbie?" Delilah asked as she nibbled a bite of toast with her godmother as they shared breakfast together.

"I would be on the next ship to follow you if you're with child within a few months," the grand duchess said without hesitation.

"At least you gave me a few months," Delilah replied dryly.

Aunt Bibbie waved her hand airily. "Those are the months while you're waiting to give birth. Darling, I so hope you are with child from your honeymoon night or on that ship back to Barbados."

"There might not be a honeymoon night, not quite yet," she admitted. "Julian has offered me all the time I need to get accustomed to the intimacy men and women share."

"Time to do what?" Aunt Bibbie scoffed. "Talk yourself into being more afraid? Delilah, Julian has done nothing but show you his true self. The Blackshire men are honorable to a fault. He would throw himself in the Thames before harming you."

"I know that, and it's not that I'm worried about." Delilah hesitated. "I don't know what to do to please a man past what I have read in your books. And what if it's painful? What if he doesn't like it and sees me as defective in some way?"

Aunt Bibbie shook her head and made a soft, sympathetic sound in her throat. "While I will always marvel at your intelligence, sometimes, Delilah, you overthink every little thing. Coupling between a man and a woman is often based on instincts alone."

"The books in your library don't speak about instinct." Delilah frowned. "Neither do any of mine, come to think of it."

"It would be the shortest book in history." Aunt Bibbie took a sip of her morning champagne. "Trust yourself and how you feel—the end."

Delilah changed the subject. "Aunt Bibbie, you might want to pace yourself with the champagne. The wedding is at three."

"It's a day of celebration," she laughed but then waved her hand. "Fine, fine, no more until the reception gala later. By the time we return from the wedding, the house will be festive, and the champagne will flow!"

"As it does every day," Delilah murmured and gave her godmother the brightest smile when she glanced in her direction. Aunt Bibbie had unusually good selective hearing when she wanted to.

The morning passed quickly, and soon Delilah was in her suite of rooms being prepared to get into her wedding dress, which had layers upon layers of fabric. Looking at the stunning hand-beaded work on the bust and down the front, she admitted silently that she adored her dress, down to the stunning embroidered lace of the veil and train. She hoped that she didn't faint dead away because of the heat and being in a tight corset along with layers of petticoats.

Then there would be the ride to the abbey, and the roads would have people on each side of them. Delilah completely believed that it was more of them watching in fascination of Duke Blackshire marrying a brown-skinned woman, even though they always came out in droves for any type of opulent event surrounding the royal family.

"You look completely and utterly ravishing." Her godmother dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief hidden in her glove.

Delilah took her hand, squeezed, and the sudden urge to speak her truth overtook her. It all felt so final, like she was leaving Aunt Bibbie forever, and emotion clogged her throat.

"Thank you, Aunt Bibbie. I don't think that I say that enough to you. I love you as a daughter does a mother."

"What's this?" Her godmother's eyes misted. "You know I absolutely adore you."

They all lent a hand to help the rest of her dress into the carriage before the wedding procession began its slow crawl toward the abbey. Delilah would be riding in a white carriage with two attendants, while her godmother would be in a second. Guards walked beside the carriages, and there were others on horseback from the Blackshire household, which would be her name in just a few short hours. The road went from smooth to cobblestones, and the little bumps and jerks from the carriage did nothing to settle her already nervous stomach.

"Here." Juno pulled a small flask from her little pouch purse and handed it to her.

Delilah frowned. "Why are you carrying a flask? I knew my godmother would corrupt you."

Juno laughed. "I'm not in any way corrupted, but the duchess said you might need this to settle your stomach. You look a little pale and nauseous."

"I am a bit of both," Delilah admitted and took a sip from the flask. It burned its way from her throat to her belly, replacing the butterflies with a warmth that soothed her nerves.

The abbey came into view as the carriage made a slow turn. Once they reached it, the procession of carriages stopped, much to the delight of the gathered crowd. No one was allowed to pass the manicured lawn, but Delilah could see them all clamoring forward to get a look at her stepping from the carriage in her finery. One of the coachmen, dressed in a uniform of royal blue and white with gold double-breasted buttons running down each side of the jacket, opened her door. Her godmother stood there beaming brightly, trying to outshine the sun with her happiness.

One of the clergymen stepped forward and spoke politely. "Duke Blackshire is already inside at the altar, Your Highness."

"Very good." The grand duchess nodded approvingly. "Let's get you walking down that aisle."

Between the grand duchess, Juno, and her other lady-in-waiting, they got both Delilah and the wedding dress free of the carriage's confines before stretching out her long train. There was a cheer, but one detractor booed loudly.

"Darkie whore!"

Those two words made her godmother's head whip around toward the crowd with a steel-cold glare. "Say those words again and I will have your ability to speak removed!"

Everyone and everything went silent as that gaze traveled slowly along the crowd, making people look away uncomfortably. This was how well-known the grand duchess's temper was. Even Delilah gulped at the look on her face. She breathed a sigh of relief when her godmother returned to the task of diligently fixing the dress.

Finally, Delilah stood at the top step, with the train of her gown cascading down, as the doors to the abbey opened slowly to reveal that every pew was filled to capacity. She knew none of these people except for her small circle of friends. Her Aunt Bibbie and Julian were responsible for this gathering. Maybe it was to prove to the world that she was married to him legitimately. The organ music began to play loudly and startled her as it echoed around the massive room.

Delilah's eyes met Julian's where he stood by the altar with Cameron by his side. Both wore tailored black suits with gray tucked ascots. A smile spread across his face as she took the slow steps toward him and the future that beckoned. Finally, she stood beside him, and Betsy stood to take her bouquet so Julian could link hands with her as the music faded away.

"You look simply divine," he said huskily.

"Thank you," Delilah answered. She didn't look away from his deep gaze, instead immersing herself in the knowledge that the love in his eyes was for her.

The abbey felt stifling even with the open windows, and fans moved elegantly in the hands of female guests in the pews. The cardinal stepped forward with a frown on his face.

"Smile, Father. This is a joyous occasion after all," Julian said in a mild voice.

"I do not approve. I am here because I serve the throne," the man of the cloth replied.

Julian gave him a direct stare. "Since I am a duke of Her Majesty and one of her favored relatives, I suggest you do your job with a sense of joy. Lest you begin your new lowered role in the clergy at one of the smaller churches in, let's say, a small isle off the coast in Scotland. The winters are rough there, or so I've been told."

It was not a thinly veiled, but an outright, threat, which made the cardinal gulp before opening his Bible to begin the prayer before the service. Julian winked at her, a sign of pure devilishness that made a soft giggle escape her. The cardinal, of course, frowned at their behavior as he spoke, but just like Julian didn't care, neither did she. How could he speak for God, who told the world to love one another? The cardinal chose to dislike her because of her skin color, and for that he held not one ounce of her respect.

Delilah dutifully spoke the words that would bind her to Julian, even as her stomach clenched, and her anxiety rose. She trusted him, but the idea of him changing after the marriage still terrified her. If he decided she couldn't leave, London would be her home. She would surely die there. From a broken heart.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride," the cardinal announced.

"Hello, wife," Julian murmured as his head descended toward hers.

She closed her eyes, and his lips touched hers, but as she sank into the sensation of his kiss, there was only a small handful of applause, more than likely by her friends and her godmother's allies. Why should I care? Delilah thought. Julian lifted his head to look at her with complete adoration in his eyes. She knew he cared for her. She felt in in her being. Perhaps when we're home, I will be able to breathe easier and enjoy it.

They walked down the aisle together, hand in hand, and out into the open courtyard. The crowd gathered seemed more amenable to their nuptials now it was all said and done. Together they stood outside the abbey waiting for the carriage that would take them back to the wedding reception at her godmother's mansion.

A man called to Julian. "Your Dukeship, sir—sir! I have the information you required."

Julian's face became a stern frown as he waved the man forward and the guards let him through. "On my wedding day?"

"You asked to know immediately, sir, when I found the culprit of the carriage incident," the man pointed out.

He tried to look presentable, by a face and neck scrubbed clean combined with what Delilah assumed were his best Sunday clothes. She lived on an island where only few could afford elegant finery, so she understood his manner of dress was the best this gentleman could do.

"We'll not talk about that in front of my wife. I'll see you—" Julian began.

Delilah put her hand on his arm. "He came all this way, so let him speak, and it does affect me."

Julian inclined his head. "Very well, what do you have for me?"

He wrung his cap in his hand. "Emma Smith, sir—she had Oliver Garrison steer the horse into your path and stab the poor animal in its hindquarters."

"I'll see him hang for this," Julian said in fierce anger.

"Julian, no. He was acting at her behest. I'm sure he's so besotted with her and would do anything she asks," Delilah replied. "Let me handle this."

He looked at her in surprise. "Are you sure, beloved?"

"If I am to be your duchess, I should be able to speak as to what will happen next," she said firmly. "I will take care of it once and for all with Emma Smith."

"Very well, just tell me what is needed of me." Julian kissed her hand.

Delilah was helped into the carriage, and then her new husband took his seat next to her. She saw Gwen on her way to her own mode of transportation.

"Gwen!" she called out, and when her friend turned to smile, Delilah bid her to come over with the wave of her gloved hand.

"Blessings on your marriage, Your Grace." Gwen gave a curtsy.

Delilah rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop that. I need you to do me a favor."

"Anything."

"Will you find Emma Smith and tell her I would like to speak with her?" Delilah said. "Tell her she will be escorted to my godmother's office when it is time."

Gwen frowned. "Are you sure? She is not a friend to you."

"I know, but I have a gift for her anyway, for something diabolical she has done that must be repaid in kind," she said lightly.

"And you must tell me after it's all done," Gwen said with a wicked grin. "I will gladly pass your message along,"

"Thank you, my friend," Delilah said gratefully and watched her walk away in her turquoise-blue dress. "Julian, when we get to the mansion, could you send word to have Oliver brought to the house? One of the staff can bring him to the office as well."

A slow smile spread across his face. "What are you up to, my beloved wife?"

"I'm going to make everyone happy," she replied.

Delilah sat back with a confident smile on her face. The evening would be interesting indeed.