Beauty for Ashes. Dorothy Clark
have a sense of humor.” The laughter lent warmth to his voice. “A quick mind, and a sense of humor. I find that a pleasing combination.”
“Thank you.” The sudden praise was disconcerting—she did not want any personal observations from this man. Still…it pleased her that she had made him laugh when he seemed so cold and somber. Elizabeth pushed the window curtain open a tiny crack and watched the large, fluffy, white snowflakes dance their way to the ground. Perhaps she had something to offer this strange relationship after all. The thought was comforting to dwell on.
Chapter Seven
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