Beauty for Ashes. Dorothy Clark
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.
Chapter Eight
D awn was beginning to lighten the sky. Justin stared at the dull gray outside the window for a moment, then sat up and yanked on his boots. He was tired and ill-humored. He had spent most of the night wrestling with emotions and dreams he had thought dead and buried, and, in the end, was forced to acknowledge he had made a grave mistake. The longings were still there. They had simply been buried under the debris of his disastrous marriage to Margaret. He still wanted someone to love, to share his life with, to love him. Now, through his own machinations, he had a sterile relationship with a greedy little liar. How much of a fool could one man be! He gave a snort of disgust and brushed viciously at his clothes.
Elizabeth awoke at the sound of Justin’s movement. Immediately, the events of yesterday flooded her mind—especially last night’s angry scene. The memory made her feel ill. She took a deep, quiet breath and lay perfectly still watching him from under lowered lashes. Her conscience pricked her when he stooped and began to roll the carriage rugs spread on the floor at his feet. So that was where he had slept. She winced inwardly and drew breath to speak, but before she could begin her apology he made a sound of disgust and straightened. Her shoes were in his hand. He was scowling. Suddenly, he lifted his head and looked her way.
Elizabeth closed her already slitted eyes. The apology could wait! She held her breath and strained her ears to detect his slightest