Beauty for Ashes. Dorothy Clark
see. And to what do you attribute this…unusual…swoon?”
His dark, penetrating gaze made her want to squirm—and his cold, arrogant tone made her want to rise to her feet and walk away. She did neither. “I am without an explanation, Mr. Randolph. However, as I said earlier, I do not wish you to think me weak or sickly, for I am neither.”
He made an abrupt gesture of dismissal with his hand and Elizabeth had the distinct impression he did not believe a word she had said. She drew breath to emphasize her point just as the door to the common room opened and a tall, thin man in a long, black great coat entered. The words she had been about to utter flew from her mind. The man slammed the door shut, stomped mud from his feet and swept his hat from his head. Bald! He was bald. It wasn’t Reginald. Elizabeth sagged back against the chair.
“…your gratitude is unnecessary.”
Mr. Randolph’s cool voice caught her attention. She turned her gaze back to the stranger she had married.
“Our agreement states that I will provide for your needs—as my wife, that is due you. I am both willing, and able, to live up to the responsibilities placed upon me by this marriage. However, we shall delay discussion of these things until we are in the privacy of the carriage. For now, it is enough for you to know we must play the part of love-smitten newlyweds.” His gaze hardened. “As I said earlier, I am known here. And I will have no doubt, or stigma, attached to this marriage.” The coldness in his low-pitched voice belied the attitude of adoration her new husband exhibited as he leaned across the table toward her. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Oh, yes. Quite clear. You wish me to portray a loving bride so our relationship will appear to be as other marriages.”
“Precisely!” He leaned back in his chair. “You do understand, however, that you are to perform so only when we are in the company of others. When we are alone, there will be no intimacy between us.” He studied her closely. “You do understand that?”
“Oh, yes. That is the basis of our…arrangement.”
“Excellent! I’m pleased to learn you are not an empty-headed piece of froth.” He ignored her startled gasp and continued. “Now, I dislike formality. Please call me by my given name—Justin.”
“Very well.”
“And, of course, I shall call you Elizabeth. That is your name, is it not?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly he leaned toward her and smiled. Elizabeth blinked, taken aback by the transformation in his face. A warning look leaped into his eyes. “Here is Mary, with our meal, dearest. I hope the food will strengthen you. You so frightened me last night.”
So that was what had brought about the sudden change. What an actor! The man’s voice was fairly throbbing with emotion. Well, Mr. Justin Randolph would not find her performance wanting! Elizabeth glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes as a young woman set plates of hot stew before them. “There’s no need for alarm, dearest, I’m quite recovered.”
Her voice could have melted butter. She smiled with satisfaction, then grimaced at the hunger pang that cramped her stomach as the delicious aroma of the stew wafted upward. It had been more than a full day since her last meal.
“Pray begin, beloved. You had no meal last evening, and you are too slight to go so long without sustenance.”
Now that had sounded almost sincere! The thoughtfulness surprised her. Elizabeth smiled and reached for her fork.
Justin stared. She had incredible eyes. They were the deepest, darkest blue he had ever seen. Something stirred at the fringe of his mind as he gazed into their depths, but when he grasped for the thought it disappeared into nothingness, as insubstantial as the wisps of steam rising from their food. He frowned and shifted his weight in his chair, uncomfortably aware that his emotions as well as his mind were stirring. Firmly he forced them to stillness. He was no longer a young, romantic fool to lose his head over a beautiful face. And she was beautiful—there was no denying that. His gaze swept over her finely molded nose, across her lovely high cheekbones, and down to her full, rose-colored lips. They were still curved in that warm, grateful smile and exposed small, even, white teeth to his view. Only the discolored, swollen jaw marred her features’ perfection. The sight of the bruise jarred him back to his senses. He scowled, picked up his fork and began to eat.
Chapter Six
I t was raining when they left the inn. A howling wind whipped around the far corner of the building and tugged at Elizabeth’s cloak. She staggered beneath the force of it.
Justin stepped between her and the frigid, buffeting gusts. “Nasty day.”
“Yes.” The word was snatched from her mouth and carried away.
Justin opened the door of the hired cabriolet, braced it with his shoulder and handed her inside. A sudden blast of icy air slammed the door shut as he climbed in after her. At once the throaty roar of the wind was reduced to a muffled, moaning sigh. A curious sense of intimacy pervaded the inside of the shuddering carriage as the elements were closed out. He settled himself on the seat beside her as the carriage gave a lurch and rolled forward. “Well, we are on our way.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth arranged her cloak, and, under cover of the movement, slid closer to the outside of the carriage. “If I may ask, sir, what is our destination?”
“Philadelphia.” Justin lifted a rug from the pile he’d placed on his lap and unfolded it. “Have you been to our fair city?” He leaned over and spread the fur robe across Elizabeth’s lap.
“N-no. I haven’t had the p-pleasure.”
Justin frowned and looked up from covering his own lap. “Your face is pale and you’re shivering. Are you taking a chill?”
“No. I’m f-fine.” Elizabeth stared down at her hands trying to will them to stillness. It didn’t work. She gave up and tucked them out of sight under the rug. Philadelphia. Reginald would never find her there. She was safe! She glanced up to find Justin Randolph looking expectantly at her. “I beg your pardon, sir. I fear I was wool-gathering. Did you say something?”
“I said—I dislike having my bride address me as sir.” He gave her a level look. “You did agree to call me by my given name.”
“So I did.” She managed a shaky smile. “Please forgive me. I forgot.”
“Forgot what? My name? That you agreed? Or that we are married?”
“That I agreed.” Elizabeth couldn’t keep the touch of asperity out of her voice. Justin Randolph had an irritating habit of ignoring small politenesses, such as apologies. “I could hardly forget about our…our…”
“Marriage?”
“Yes.” Why couldn’t she say the word? Embarrassed color warmed Elizabeth’s cheeks. She stopped shivering.
“Perhaps, under the circumstances, Elizabeth, it would not be outside the realm of propriety for me to tell you that your blush is most becoming.”
“Thank you.” Fear coiled in her stomach. Maybe she wasn’t safe! She stared at Justin, taken aback by the personal remark, then leaned forward to tuck the lap robe more closely around her cold feet. Tears stung her eyes at the memory of her father taking her boots and shoes with him when he left her room. She blinked the tears away, straightened, and leaned her head back against the padded seat. That was in the past—it was the present she must concern herself with now. She stared at a small, repaired rent in the fabric of the carriage wall opposite her as she considered the circumstances that had been thrust upon her. Everything was so strange and troublesome. On the one hand, every mile they traveled brought tremendous relief for it was a mile farther away from the danger and painful memories she desired to leave behind. But it was also a mile closer to the new life she was beginning as wife to this man—as his partner in this marriage of convenience.
Elizabeth