Читать книгу Beauty for Ashes - Dorothy Clark - Страница 12

T he hour was late when they arrived at their lodging place for the evening. Large, fluffy snowflakes fell from the dark night sky, each one touched by the shimmering radiance of silver moonlight that caused them to sparkle like diamonds. With careless largesse they piled their lustrous splendor against fences and walls, clustered in glittering brilliance on trees, buildings, and bushes. Elizabeth gave a soft exclamation of pleasure at the beauty of it all as Justin opened the door and stepped down from the carriage. Steeling herself against his touch, she took his politely offered hand, stretched her foot forward and ducked through the door.

“What is that?”

Elizabeth jerked to a stop on the carriage step and dropped her gaze from the beauty of the snow-covered landscape to Justin’s dark, scowling face. He was staring at the cream-colored satin slipper no longer hidden by her long skirts. “My shoe?”

“That may be a shoe in a ballroom—in this snow it is a piece of nonsense!”

Elizabeth winced at the disgust in his voice and pulled her foot back to hide the offending shoe under her skirt.

“Put your arms around my neck.”

“Wh-what?”

“Put your arms around my neck! You cannot walk through this snow in those shoes. I shall have to carry you.”

“No!”

Justin’s brows shot skyward.

“I—I mean—please don’t bother.” Elizabeth shrank back against the carriage as he stepped closer. His grip tightened on her hand. “Please. You mustn’t…” She tried, frantically, to pull her hand free from his grasp. “I can walk. I don’t mind. I— Oh!” She gasped as Justin scooped her into his arms. “Put me down!” She pushed against his chest, twisting her body away and kicking her legs trying to get free. His arms tightened. “Are you mad? Stop struggling! You’ll make me drop you.”

The snarled words penetrated Elizabeth’s fear and she became suddenly aware of her actions. A new, terrible fright assailed her. Was she mad? Was that why she was acting this way? She forced herself to relax in his arms.

“That’s better.” He adjusted his grip and headed for the inn. “I’ll thank you to remember you are supposed to be my loving bride—and to conduct yourself accordingly. I do not appreciate being made to look a fool.”

Elizabeth bit her lip and nodded.

The snow crunched under Justin’s feet. Fleecy piles of it formed on his broad shoulders and filled the pocket made by her folded body. Its beauty was lost to Elizabeth. She concentrated all her attention on fighting the terror that was building in intensity at the feel of Justin’s arms holding her. Just when she thought she could bear it no longer his foot thudded against the door. She glanced up, and drew breath to ask him to put her down just as the door opened. His arms tightened, pulling her more closely against his hard chest. She bit back a scream.

“Hey, Mr. Randolph!” A young towheaded boy pushed the door wide and stepped aside for them to enter. “We was beginnin’ to wonder would you make it, what with the storm an’ all.” He slammed the door shut, then turned a frankly curious gaze on Elizabeth as the candlelight, flickering from the draft, steadied and poured its warm light over her. “That your bride?”

Justin glanced at her and his face went taut. “Yes, Lem. This is my bride. Is the room ready?”

“Yes, sir! She’s all cleaned up an’ fit to shine—just like you asked.” The boy turned and headed toward a door on the other side of the smoky, patron-filled room. “Dan’l brung your carriage, Mr. Randolph.” The towhead looked over his shoulder with pleading eyes. “Can I ride on the box when you’re fixin’ to leave?”

Justin nodded. “As far as the lightning-blasted oak. Now, go tell your father I want some hot mulled cider and tea brought to the room immediately.” He shouldered open the door in front of them, stepped into a tiny room and gave a swift, backward kick that closed the door with a loud bang. Elizabeth jerked. He gave her a disgusted glance and headed for the bed. “This is getting to be a habit. Tell me, Elizabeth, do you ever walk into an inn, or is this a pleasure I may look forward to from now on?”

“Oh!” Elizabeth pushed uselessly against his chest to free herself. “I asked you not to carry me! I told you I—” She bit off the words as a sharp rap sounded on the door. “Put me down!”

“As you wish.” Justin released his grip.

Elizabeth let out a startled squeal as she dropped to the center of the bed.

“Come in!”

She struggled to a sitting position as the door opened. The sweet odor of clean, fresh hay from the newly filled mattress rose in a cloud around her. It did little to reduce her vexation over Justin’s cavalier treatment—nor did his amused glance. She lifted her chin and glared at him.

Justin grinned and stepped to the end of the bed to take the hot cider the innkeeper was carrying. “Ah! Just the thing to chase away the chill.”

“Yeah.” The man slid his gaze to Elizabeth’s flushed face and his thick lips split his beard in a sly smirk. “Along with other things.”

Justin stiffened. “You forget yourself, Johnson—and to whom you are speaking.”

The innkeeper flushed a dull red and lifted an angry gaze to Justin’s face. “An’ you—” He stopped abruptly as he met Justin’s steady, icy gaze. He uncurled the fingers he had tightened into fists and looked away. “I meant no disrespect to you, or your wife.” The sullen words had barely left his mouth when there was a soft tap on the door and an Indian woman entered the room. He spun about. “You standin’ outside that door listenin’ to your betters?” He pointed toward a small table. “Set that down ’n’ git outta here!” He turned back to Justin as the woman moved to obey.

“Little Fawn’s brung your tea. Is there anythin’ else you’ll be wantin’?” He slid his gaze toward the bed.

“A meal.” Justin moved forward to block Elizabeth from the man’s view. “Venison stew will do.”

The innkeeper’s face tightened. “I’ll fetch it.”

“Little Fawn will bring the food.” Justin’s low voice was frigid. “You stay out of this room.”

The man opened his mouth to speak, looked into Justin’s cold, still eyes, and closed it again. With a muttered oath, he spun on his heel, gave the Indian woman a sharp shove toward the door, and stomped out of the room after her. Justin watched until the door latch clicked into place, then lifted the cider to his lips and took a swallow. “I’m sorry for that unpleasantness, Elizabeth. The man’s a lout.” He turned to face her, and frowned. She was shivering.

“You have taken a chill.” His voice held both disgust and sympathy. “I’ll get you some tea.”

“No! I mean…certainly not.” Elizabeth scrambled for the side of the bed, ready to fight, or flee, should he come near. “I’m perfectly capable of pouring for myself. It was only a—a temporary aberration.” She brushed a curl back behind her ear. “I repeat, sir, I am neither weak nor sickly. And I do not take a chill easily.”

Justin quirked his left eyebrow.

It was clear he did not believe her. Anger surged through Elizabeth, steadying her, driving away the fear engendered by Justin’s arms and the leering glances of the innkeeper. With what she hoped was a haughty glance, she turned her back on Justin, removed her cloak and walked to the table to pour herself a cup of tea.

Justin leaned against the mantel and watched Elizabeth. She seemed fascinated by the Indian woman, who was shuffling about placing steaming plates of stew upon the table. For the first time she seemed unaware of him and he took advantage of the opportunity to study her closely. There was something about her—something that gnawed at the edge of his mind whenever he looked at her. What was it?

The thought eluded him. Justin turned away in disgust, then, abruptly, turned back again. He searched her face, taking note of the delicate bone structure, the exquisitely arched brows, the long, curling lashes that threw sooty shadows across her pink tinged cheeks. An ache began deep inside him and spread throughout his whole being. How lovely she was. How—

The door closed behind Little Fawn interrupting his thoughts. Just as well. The thought was a sour one. Justin looked down at the glass in his hand—the cider tasted sour, too. Everything was sour lately! He scowled and set the glass on the mantel. Silence filled the room.

Elizabeth took a sip of her tea and risked a quick glance at Justin from under her lowered lashes. He looked as grouchy as a bear with a sore tooth! Why didn’t he say something? With a hand that was not quite steady she placed her empty cup back on its saucer. Maybe he was waiting for her to say something. But what? She groped around for a suitable topic of conversation but her mind seemed to have turned to mush. “Thank you, Miss Pettigrew.” She muttered the disgusted words under her breath and reached for the pewter pot to pour herself another cup of tea.

“I beg your pardon.”

Elizabeth jerked her gaze to Justin’s face.

“Did I hear correctly? Did you say, ‘Thank you, Miss Pettigrew’?”

“No.” There went that eyebrow again. The man must have the hearing of a cat! Elizabeth felt her face flush. “That is—yes. But not really.”

“Well, which is it?” Justin gave her a cool look. “It can’t be both.”

Elizabeth put the teapot down. “I did make the remark. I suddenly thought of Miss Pettigrew, and her name…slipped out.” She gave him look for look, though her cheeks were burning. “I said, no, because the remark was not meant for your ears.” There! That should put Mr. Justin Randolph in his place.

Elizabeth rose to her feet and made a small business of brushing at some imaginary lint on her skirt while she composed herself. She had no intention of telling him why she had suddenly thought of— A deep-throated chuckle froze her in midmotion.

“Miss Pettigrew. Yes, of course—Miss Pettigrew! I understand now.” Justin’s chuckle turned to full-blown laughter.

Elizabeth gaped at him. “You know of her?”

“Oh, yes indeed.” He grinned down at her. “Miss Pettigrew was the bane of my sister Laina’s school years. Let me see now…how did that go? Oh, yes.” He squared his shoulders and held his hands rigidly at his sides. “‘Miss Pettigrew’s Academy for Young Ladies. Proper deportment and appropriate conversation for all occasions.’” He relaxed his stance and chuckled. “Did I get it right?”

“Yes!” Elizabeth fairly snapped the answer. It wasn’t that amusing!

“And you feel that Miss Pettigrew was somewhat…er…lax in covering this particular situation in her teaching. Is that it?”

Elizabeth stuck her chin into the air at his teasing tone and turned to the table. “I think remiss would be a better word! I certainly could not recall one gambit from her ‘Appropriate Conversation’ class…though I tried.”

Justin laughed and walked over to hold her chair. “Do not judge Miss Pettigrew too harshly, Elizabeth. After all, this is an unusual occasion. And she did come to your conversational rescue in the end.”

The starch went out of Elizabeth. Her lips twitched, then curved into a smile. “She truly did—though certainly not in the way that she intended.” She tilted her head back and looked up at Justin. He turned away and seated himself.

“No, not in the way that she intended.” Justin picked up his fork, stabbed a piece of venison and lifted it in mock salute. “Nonetheless…to Miss Pettigrew.” He looked across the table at Elizabeth. “May she forgive us for the black eye.”

Elizabeth laughed, picked up her fork and joined him in the foolish toast. “To Miss Pettigrew…may she never know!”

The meal was a simple one, the room rough, but their conversation, once the ice had been broken, was interesting and lively. Justin suddenly realized, halfway through the meal, that he was enjoying himself. He found Elizabeth intelligent and sensitive, with a quick humor that caught him off guard and made him burst into laughter. It felt good. It had been a long time since he had laughed. And he liked her demeanor—liked! The word exploded through his mind. Liked! How could he so forget himself? He knew better than to allow Elizabeth’s personal charm to blind him to her true nature. He knew—

The knock at the door interrupted his dark thoughts. He laid down his fork, grateful for the intrusion. “Yes?”

“Your bags, sir.”

“A moment.” Justin walked to the door and slid back the bolt. His groom stood just outside, outlined by the smoky candlelight of the common room.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening, Daniel.” Justin’s gaze dropped to the bags the man was holding. “Put the bags there—against the wall.” He waved his hand to indicate a spot on the floor. “And fetch the carriage robes, we’ll have need of them.” The groom nodded and turned away. “And, Daniel—” The groom looked back. “See that the carriage is ready to go at first light. We have a great distance to travel tomorrow and I want no delays.”

“Yes, sir.”

Elizabeth laid down her fork and rose to her feet with words of protest frozen in her throat as the groom walked away. She stared at the bags the man had brought and her heart started an erratic beating that left her breathless. Two bags. But she had only one. She lifted her gaze to Justin and her mother’s words surged into her mind— “They are all alike…they are all alike…they are all alike.” Reginald Burton-Smythe’s leering face swam toward her out of an approaching darkness. She tugged at the lace around her throat, trying to get more air, then clutched blindly for the table as her knees began to buckle.

“Well, Elizabeth, you’ll by pleased to know—” Justin latched the door and turned back toward the table “—tomorrow’s ride will be— Elizabeth!” He leaped forward and caught her in his arms as her limp body slid toward the floor.

“Let me go!” The darkness receded as quickly as it had come and Elizabeth fought furiously against the grip of Justin’s powerful arms. Terror lent her strength. “I said, let me go!”

He lowered her onto the bed.

“No!” The anguished cry burst from Elizabeth’s mouth. She wrenched herself free of Justin’s relaxed grip, threw herself across the bed from him, and scrambled to her feet. “No!” She leaned against the wall behind her, quivering with fear.

“No?” Justin stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “No, what?”

“Th-this.” Elizabeth waved her trembling hand in a sweeping motion through the air over the bed.

“What are you—?” Justin’s eyes narrowed. “You think I have designs on you?”

“Yes.”

“Well you are mistaken, madam! Nothing could be farther from my mind!”

The roared words were full of contempt. Elizabeth flinched, but held her ground. “I am not mistaken, sir!” Anger replaced her fear. She lifted her hand and pointed toward the door. “That is your bag with mine!”

“Of course it is!” Justin glowered at her. “Is that the evidence on which you judge me guilty?” His voice lowered ominously. “Would you have me sleep in the carriage? Or perhaps the barn? Or common room?”

Elizabeth’s outrage left her in a rush. She eyed him suspiciously. “I—I don’t understand.”

“That is because one must think before one can understand. And you, madam, are not thinking! If you will do so for a moment, you will recall that this marriage is one of convenience. That we have both signed a legally binding document to that effect at my insistence. And that you, madam, have recourse to the law should I ever touch you.”

Cold dislike frosted his every word. Elizabeth swallowed hard. Everything he said was true. She cringed inwardly as he continued.

“You will also, no doubt recall—should you take a moment to think—that I told you earlier I have no desire for intimate contact with you when we are alone. This is, however, a public place, and again, I am known here. It is expected that newly married couples will share a conjugal bed. I have explained that I wish no stigma to attach itself to this marriage—that the truth of our relationship is to be our own private knowledge. With that in mind, perhaps you will be able to understand the necessity of my remaining in this room, not in your bed, for the night hours.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, madam? Is that all you have to say? Oh!”

Justin’s frigid glare made icicles seem like cozy flames. Elizabeth’s stomach started churning like a river in spate. She drew a deep breath to quell the nausea. “I—I beg your pardon.” She stared in horror at his furious face. “Please forgive me. I did not mean to impugn your honor. I forgot—”

“Forgot? Forgot!” Justin’s voice cracked through the air. “Then perhaps you will be able to remember this. After having known my former wife, I have no desire to be emotionally entangled, or romantically involved, with another woman. Any woman! You have my word as a gentleman that I will never—never—touch you, or try to bed you. You are—and you will remain—my wife in name only. I cannot say it more plainly than that!”

Before she could respond, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room.

Elizabeth lay on the bed with her cloak pulled closely around her for warmth and watched the firelight playing with the shadows on the rough wood ceiling above. What had she done? He was so angry! And rightfully so. All that he had said was true. Oh, if only she had thought, instead of reacting so violently to the sight of those bags. Yet, when she had remembered—

Elizabeth shuddered and closed her mind to the thought. She climbed from the bed and walked over to stand with her ear pressed to the door. For some minutes she stood listening to the indistinguishable murmur of voices from the other room, but she could not tell if Justin Randolph was there. What if he had gone? What if she had made him so angry he had left her? What would she do?

The memory of the proprietor’s leering face caused the trembling to begin again. Elizabeth backed away from the door and went to sit on the edge of the bed. A burst of muffled laughter reached her through the door and, suddenly, the crushing weight of all she had been through pressed down upon her. Uncontrollable sobs shook her slender frame and hot tears poured from her eyes as she grieved for the mother and father she had never had. Always, they had kept her at a distance, treated her as an unwelcome intrusion in their lives. Yet, through it all she had clung to the hope that someday—

Elizabeth wrenched her mind from the thought and sank back onto the mattress. Not even to herself would she admit how desperately she had hoped that one day her parents might love her in return. That hope was dead. And so was the dream. Her “someday” dream. She sighed, pulled her cloak around her shivering body, and stared at the ceiling. The “someday” dream had been her comfort when the loneliness and pain of her parents’ rejection were too intense to be borne. It had given her hope. She had conceived it out of the unarticulated yearnings of innocence and youth, and fed it with her need for tenderness and laughter, gentleness and love. She had shared it with no one, carrying it deep inside where it could be nurtured and kept safe. Now it was gone—destroyed before it had been birthed—aborted by her mother’s words. All that was left was emptiness. Her dream would never have a face or a voice. Now she knew there was no one like her “someone.”

“They are all alike…they are all alike…they are all alike.” Sobs racked Elizabeth’s body as her mother’s voice chanted the litany of death in her mind and Reginald’s cruel face, distorted by lust, leered at her out of the darkness. With her last bit of strength she reached up and clutched the brooch that was fastened to the bodice of her gown, then, too exhausted to fight any longer, she closed her eyes, breathed a long tremulous sigh of surrender, and yielded to the oblivion of sleep.

A trace of tears was on Elizabeth’s face when Justin returned. His anger dissolved as he stood looking down at her. She was so young…so helpless…so…vulnerable. Compassion tugged at his heart. He spun on his heel and stalked to the fireplace. Sparks flew up the chimney as he added logs to the fire. He watched until the logs started to flame, then dusted his hands, picked up the bundle of lap rugs and spread them on the floor. He pulled a chair close, sat down and began removing his boots.

Elizabeth gave a small moan and turned over—her cloak fell open. Justin scowled, removed his other boot, then rose and strode to the bed. He lifted Elizabeth into his arms, tossed her cloak aside, pulled back the covers, laid her down and removed the cream-colored satin shoes from her feet. With a snort of disgust at their inadequacy, he tossed them to the floor, then pulled the covers over her and tucked them beneath her chin.

Elizabeth sighed, and lifted her hand to rest on the pillow beside her cheek. The too large, gold ring she wore almost slipped from her finger. Justin stared at it for a moment, then slid it back in place. A sudden acute sense of loss stabbed him. He had made a mockery of everything he most desired. This woman was his wife. His wife! And he didn’t even know her. He reached out and traced the path of tears on her face. Why had she been so frightened earlier? How had someone as lovely as she come to be in her present plight?

Elizabeth stirred. Her lips curved upward in a wistful smile and she turned her head toward his touch—her lips brushed softly against his hand. Justin inhaled sharply and jerked away. The muscle along his jaw twitched as his hands curled into fists. He’d almost fallen into the trap again! A dull throbbing pain took up residence in his head as he turned and stalked back to the fireplace. There would be no more questions. To wonder about someone was to be involved—and that road led to disappointment and pain. It was a road he’d sworn he would never travel again.

The fire snapped and crackled, its dancing fingers of light probing the darkness and highlighting Justin’s long, muscular legs, his lean hips, broad chest and powerful shoulders. He turned away from its warmth, pulled a robe over himself and stared into the shadows. The loneliness was on him again. He didn’t want to face the light.