Beauty for Ashes

Beauty for Ashes
Dorothy Clark

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my husband, Ralph—

because he’s my Justin.

Thanks, honey, for being my hero, now and always.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue

Chapter One

New York

March, 1820

E lizabeth stopped outside the door of her father’s study to gather her courage. She was certain his summons was about her refusal to accept Reginald Burton-Smythe’s offer of marriage, and equally certain he would be very angry. There was simply no help for it. She couldn’t abide Mr. Burton-Smythe. His mere presence made her skin crawl. And no one, not even her father, could force her to speak words of acceptance to him.

Elizabeth pressed her hands to her abdomen, drew a slow, deep breath to ease the sudden, painful spasm in her stomach and opened the door—delay would only increase her father’s ire. She stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her. The room smelled of smoke, after-dinner port and cigars. The combination did little to help the state of her stomach. “You wished to see me, Father?”

Ezra Frazier looked up, placed the paper he was reading on his desk and motioned her forward. “I understand from Burton-Smythe you refused his hand. Is that the right of it?”

His tone of voice did not bode well for her. Fear moistened her palms. Elizabeth pressed them to the soft velvet fabric of her long skirt. “Yes, Father, it is.”

His features tightened. “Tomorrow when he comes calling, you will ask his forgiveness and tell him you accept.” He lifted the paper from his desk and resumed reading.

She was dismissed. As easily as that her life was ruined—any hope for future happiness destroyed. Anger overrode the fear clamped around Elizabeth’s chest. She squared her shoulders and forced words out of her constricted throat. “I’m sorry, Father, I cannot…I will not…accept Mr. Burton-Smythe’s offer of marriage.”

Shock spread across her father’s face. The vein at his right temple pulsed. He rose to his feet. “You dare to defy me?”

The soft, icy tone of his voice made Elizabeth shiver in spite of the anger heating her blood. She searched for words to turn away his wrath. “It is not out of defiance I speak, Father. Rather, it is revulsion and fear of Mr. Burton-Smythe that gives me voice.”

“Make me no puling excuses, Elizabeth!” The flames of the fire glittered in her father’s cold, steel-gray eyes as he looked at her. “The betrothal agreement has been signed. When you wed Burton-Smythe the warehouse property he owns on South Street comes to me. My fortune will double—and more yet. I’ll not lose my gain because of your mewling fear.”

“But, Father, I—”

“Silence! I’ll hear no more excuses. I’ve long sought that property and it will be mine. Now go to your room and prepare yourself to accept Mr. Burton-Smythe tomorrow. The banns will be read on Sunday.”

Elizabeth’s stomach churned. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to cause you distress, Father—but I will not wed Mr. Burton-Smythe.”

The vein at her father’s temple swelled. He placed his hands on his desk and leaned toward her. “Do not stand stubborn in this matter, Elizabeth—there are ways to ensure your compliance. It would be well if you yield gracefully–but yield you will.”

Elizabeth stared into her father’s eyes and knew further protest was useless. He would not listen to her. Greed was his master, and she nothing more than chattel to him. It had always been thus. She swallowed back the bile rising into her throat, lifted her long skirts and walked to the door.

“Elizabeth.”

She paused. Took a breath. “Yes, Father?”

“I’ll hear no complaints from Burton-Smythe. When you are wed—be as other wives and suffer your fate in silence.”

Elizabeth shuddered and shook off the memory. She would not think of that meeting with her father two nights ago, or of the events that followed. Yesterday was a horror that must be forgotten. It robbed her of strength. She would think only of today. What would happen today?

Moisture filmed her eyes. Elizabeth blinked it away and stared at the carriage waiting on the cobblestone street below. He was going to do it. Oh, God, help me. Please help me!

The front door of the house opened and her father stepped out onto the stoop. Elizabeth yanked open the double sashes of her bedroom window. “Father, stop! I beg you—please don’t do this to me!”

Ezra Frazier halted.

Hope, born of desperation, trapped the breath in Elizabeth’s lungs. She braced herself on the sill and leaned forward, willing her father to heed her plea. He removed his top hat and tilted his head back until their gazes met. “Close the window, Elizabeth.”

Everything in her went still. The chill of displeasure in her father’s eyes was colder than the March air blowing in around her. A shiver slithered down her spine. Cold knots formed in her stomach. That was it then. He was going to meet with Reginald Burton-Smythe to complete the wedding arrangements, and nothing she could say or do would change his mind. He had coveted that waterfront property for too long to let it slip through his grasping fingers now.

Elizabeth straightened, clenching her hands into fists at her sides as she watched her father walk down the marble steps, cross the sidewalk, and climb into the waiting carriage. Money was her father’s god. His business properties all he cared about. He ruled over them and his household with an iron hand, showing no one love or mercy—and always he had his way. But not this time. No, not this time. This was about the rest of her life. And she would die before she would give herself to the man who had attacked her last night.

The driver cracked his whip.

Elizabeth flinched as if the lash had been laid against her own flesh. A sick emptiness replaced her vestige of last hope. She closed and latched the window sashes, then, lifted her chin and strode to her wardrobe. The sharp beat of the horse’s hoofs against the cobblestone street rang in her ears as she fastened her cloak around her shoulders. The rumble of the carriage wheels spurred her resolve. She dragged the large drawstring bag she had made during her sleepless night from its hiding place, put the possessions she had chosen to take with her inside, then pulled from her pocket the note she had written.

Father and Mother,

I cannot marry Mr. Burton-Smythe. I could not endure it. As you intend to force that union upon me, you leave me no choice. I must go.

Elizabeth

Her stomach churned. She swallowed hard, drew another steadying breath, and placed the note on her bed. It was done. She was ready to go. All she needed now was her money, and the key.

Elizabeth snatched up the few coins hidden in her sewing box, dropped them into her reticule, then stepped to her dresser. Her hands trembled as she unscrewed the base of the pewter candlestick and dumped the key hidden there onto her upturned palm. She curled her fingers tightly around the small, cold metal shaft. Thank God for Miss Essie. Oh, thank God her governess had hidden the key all those years ago!

A rush of tears stung her swollen, burning eyes. She blinked them away, pulled on her kid gloves, then hurried to her bedroom door and pressed her ear against the flat center panel, listening for any sound of movement in the hallway beyond. She heard nothing.

Heartened by the silence, Elizabeth leaned down and fitted the key into the lock. The click of the bolt sliding back was loud in the silence. For a long moment she waited, then, grasping the knob firmly she turned it ever so slowly and eased the door open a crack.

There was no one in sight.

The air trapped in her lungs expelled in a burst of relief. She stepped into the hallway, locked her door, then tiptoed along the corridor to the top of the staircase. Footsteps sounded in the entrance hall below.

Elizabeth jolted to a stop. She whirled about and darted to the side of the stairs, pressing her body back against the wall where she would be hidden from view. Whoever it is, don’t let them come upstairs! Please, God, don’t let them come upstairs! Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs as the footsteps began to climb.

“Alice!”

Elizabeth gasped and squeezed more tightly against the wall at the sound of her mother’s voice.

“I want no one upstairs until Mr. Frazier returns! Go tidy the drawing room.”

The maid’s footsteps retreated. Doors closed.

Elizabeth sagged against the wall, then immediately righted herself and moved to the banister to peek down into the room below. It was empty. Thank heaven! If her mother should discover her— She jerked her mind from the debilitating thought, took a firm grip on the handrail and started down the stairs.

There was a loud creak.

Elizabeth’s heart leaped into her throat. She froze in place—waited. No one came to investigate. After a few moments, she tightened her grip on the railing and crept forward, her mouth dry as she tested each step, her long skirts sliding from tread to tread with a sibilant whisper that to her ears sounded like a roar. When she reached the solid floor of the entrance hall her heart was pounding so violently she felt giddy. She inched her way to the front door, eased it open and slid outside. The frigid air stung her face.

Elizabeth pulled her fur-lined hood in place, tucked the drawstring bag out of sight beneath her cloak, then rushed down the marble steps to the sidewalk and hurried away.

“Justin, do sit down! I hate it when you prowl about like a cat. Or should I say a nervous bridegroom?”

Justin Davidson Randolph turned and looked down into his sister’s upturned face—into long, heavily lashed blue eyes so like his own. “If that was an attempt at levity, Laina, it failed miserably. I suggest you save your humor for a more appropriate time.”

“But humor is appropriate at a farce.”

The barb hit its mark. Justin frowned. “Be careful, Laina. You go too far.”

“No, Justin, you go too far. ‘Widower’ and ‘Interested’ indeed! It’s like a child’s game.”

The muscle along his jaw twitched. Justin took a calming breath. “Laina Brighton, marriage hasn’t changed you at all. You can be a most provoking woman. I assure you it’s no game. I called myself ‘Widower’ to protect my identity from the women who answered my Article of Intent.”

“Which proves you know the character of the women you are dealing with! Including ‘Interested.’”

“Laina—” He put a wealth of warning in the growled name.

“I’m sorry, Justin. I don’t want to quarrel with you. But this plan of yours is ludicrous. I know you’ve been hurt. Terribly hurt. And I don’t blame you for feeling bitter. But please don’t do this to yourself. One rotten apple—”

His disgusted snort cut her off. “One?”

“All right, two. But Rebecca and Margaret were selfish, schem—”

“Laina, that’s all past. Please—don’t speak their names ever again!” The muscle at his jaw twitched again. Justin rubbed the spot, trying to ease the tightness away.

“Very well. I’ll not mention them again—except to say they are not worth what you are doing to yourself.”

He shouldn’t have told her. Maybe if he didn’t answer she’d give up. Justin shook his head and moved away to stare down into the fire. It didn’t work. She followed him. His back muscles tensed at the light touch of her hand on his jacket.

“Justin, forget this plan. Give yourself another chance. Give those chil—”

She stopped as he pivoted about to face her. “No more arguments, Laina. Granted, Rebecca and Margaret were less than admirable women. Is that not all the more reason to do what I am doing?” He lifted his lips in a cynical smile. “You can’t deny I’ve not done well choosing with my heart. It seems to have an abominable lack of good taste.”

Tears welled into her eyes at his words. She glared up at him. “I hate this change in you, Justin. You’ve turned into this cold, remote, untouchable stranger. I want you to stop this foolishness! I want my warm, gentle, loving brother back. You’re going to destroy your life.”

“Don’t cry, Lainy.” The old childhood name slipped softly from Justin’s lips. He drew his older sister into his arms and held her close. “I know a marriage of convenience is not ideal. But at least it will be an honest relationship.”

He held up a hand to forestall her comment as she jerked backward out of his arms and drew breath to speak. “Yes, an honest relationship, even if it will be based purely on greed. At least this time the avarice will be out in the open.”

Justin frowned, and turned away to put on his coat. Laina was right, he had changed—his voice sounded as cold and hard as his heart felt. He lifted her wool, fur-trimmed coat off the chair and held it for her. “We’ve talked enough. It’s time to go.”

He straightened the coat’s overcape about her shoulders, handed her the matching coal-scuttle bonnet and opened the drawing room door, stepping back to let her precede him into the entrance hall. “The Haversham Coach House is some distance from here. Surely you’d not have me keep my bride waiting?” His attempt to ease the tension between them with the light remark failed. He winced inwardly as Laina’s eyes flashed with anger. There was an audible snap from the bonnet’s satin chin ribbons as she yanked them into place and tied them.

“She can wait till the stars fall from the sky for all I care! And don’t call her your bride in my presence. I’ll never accept her as such.”

Justin’s heart gave a painful wrench as Laina snatched her fur muff from the seat of the chair and swept past him. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t let her dissuade him from the path he had chosen. He had been made a fool of twice. He didn’t intend that it should ever happen again. But he needed a suitable wife—a mother for the children.

Justin set his jaw in grim determination, grabbed his felt top hat from the chair and followed Laina out her front door and down the brick steps to the waiting cabriolet he had hired.

Ora Scraggs gripped the sideboard of the wagon as it made its lumbering, lurching progress down the road toward New York. March 28, 1820—her wedding day. At least it would have been if it weren’t for that addlebrained, dim-witted coach driver. The grip of her hand on the edge of the board seat tightened as she glared down at the long, jagged tear in the skirt of the red wool traveling outfit she had stolen from her mistress. A pox on him! A pox on the driver and his whole family! If he hadn’t been going so fast he might have missed that deep hole, the wheel wouldn’t have broken and—

Oh, what was the use? Why mull it over? The accident had happened. She was beaten. And she had planned so carefully! From the moment she’d overheard her mistress and her friends reading and laughing about that Article of Intent, she’d been figuring her every move. Now, the splendid, genteel entrance she had planned for her arrival at the Haversham Coach House in the hired coach and fancy stolen clothes was ruined. The time of her marriage appointment with “Widower” long past. Now she had to think up a new scheme, find another rich man to diddle. And she would! Her plan to have “Widower’s” money might be denied her by today’s accident, but she was clever. She would think of something. There were a lot of rich gentlemen in New York. And meanwhile…

Ora cast a speculative glance at the farmer driving the wagon and her lips curved upward in a self-satisfied smirk. It was a bit of luck he had happened by and offered her a ride after the accident. She could cozy up to him until after he sold his grain in New York tonight—until he had all that lovely money she could steal. But she’d best get at it—it was already twilight. She smiled and slid closer to him.

Chapter Two

“O h!” Elizabeth stumbled over an exposed root, falling to her hands and knees on the hard-packed earth. The jar of her landing sent pain radiating throughout her bruised, exhausted body. She felt the jolt at every spot where Reginald’s angry blows had landed.

She struggled to her feet, brushed the dry dirt from her cloak, then reached for the drawstring bag. Sharp pain shot through the tired muscles along her spine as her abused body protested. She eased herself erect and walked on, stinging darts prickling her cold, aching, satin-slipper-clad feet with every step. If only her father hadn’t taken her shoes and boots!

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and set her mind against her discomfort. Ever since she ran away this morning she had been walking, searching for a way out of town, but soon she would be able to rest at the coach house that kind old man with the oyster barrow had told her of. It was only a little farther.

Rapid footsteps sounded behind her. Elizabeth started. Was that one of the servants Reginald had out searching for her? She’d managed to elude one of them earlier when she’d overheard him asking about her at The Black Horse Inn—but if she was caught out here in the open…

Panic seized her. She glanced toward the shadows at the side of the road but it was too late to hide. She swung the cloth bag in front of her, covered it with her cloak, then pulled her hood farther forward, ducking her head so her face would be fully hidden from view. Fear propelled her forward as the footsteps behind her grew louder; drew nearer. It took all of her inner strength not to look over her shoulder—not to drop the bag and run.

Please, God, don’t let it be one of Reginald’s lackeys! Please, God.

The footsteps picked up speed, then veered away down a narrow alley on her left. Elizabeth stopped. Dull fists of pain pounded at her temples. She set the bag on the ground at her feet and lifted her trembling hands to rub the pain away. A cat, prowling in the shadows, leaped to the top of a fence and yowled. Her frayed nerves jolted.

Oh, Lord, help me! I must find this Haversham Coach House, Lord. I must find a way out of town before—

What if she hadn’t enough money to hire a carriage? Elizabeth drove her hand into her reticule, then stood staring at the few coins on her palm as the throbbing in her temples increased. She’d had no time to plan—to think of anything beyond escape—and now it was too late.

She frowned, then drew her weary body fully erect. She had no time for such discouraging thoughts. The coins clinked together dully as she dropped them back into her reticule. She was free of Reginald Burton-Smythe, that was what mattered. She would simply go as far as her funds would take her.

“But first, I must find this Haversham Coach House.”

The sound of her voice startled her. Elizabeth glanced quickly up and down the street, but there was no one to overhear. She was all alone in the fading twilight. The thought brought a feeling of desolation so unexpected and powerful she gasped. She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, picked up the cloth bag, and walked on.

Justin pushed aside the remains of his half-eaten meal and looked up at “Judge,” the man who had been a surrogate father to Laina and him since their own father’s death in 1812. “Well, Judge, it seems I owe you an apology for wasting your time. Considering the lateness of the hour I can only surmise that ‘Interested’ lost her interest, and has changed her mind about marrying ‘Widower.’ It seems I cannot even buy loyalty from a woman.”

“Justin!”

“Don’t sound so shocked, Laina.” He slid his gaze to his sister’s face. “I’m simply stating the truth.” He flung his napkin down on the scarred wood table and surged to his feet. “I’ll have the carriages brought round.”

“Not so fast, my boy.”

Justin glanced down at the age-spotted hand gripping his arm, then lifted his gaze to the judge’s face. “What is it?”

The elderly man dipped his head in the direction of the entrance. “As much as I wish it were not so—I believe that may be your intended bride.”

Justin turned. A woman in a blue wool, fur-trimmed cloak stood just inside the door looking about.

“Are you still determined to go through with this ridiculous marriage?”

The judge sounded less than enthusiastic. Justin nodded. “I am. As long as my conditions are met.”

The judge sighed. “Very well. I have said all that I can say.” He rose slowly to his feet.

Justin moved to join him.

The older man shook his gray head in negation. “You wait here. I want to talk privately with this woman to assure myself she fully understands the conditions of this preposterous union. Unless I do, I will have no part of it.”

Justin frowned. “You leave me no choice.”

“As was my intent.” The judge gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder and walked away.

“How may I serve you, madam?”

Elizabeth fastened a wary gaze on the proprietor. “You may tell me if a gentleman has been making inquiries about—that is, if anyone has inquired—”

“I believe I’m the one to answer that question.”

Elizabeth jumped and spun about. A portly, prosperous-looking older man of medium height gave her a brief nod. “I am here on behalf of the gentleman you were asking about. I am Judge William Braden.”

Judge? The law! Reginald had set the law on her to force her to honor the betrothal contract her father had signed! Elizabeth darted a panicked glance at the door beyond the judge, gauging the distance to freedom. It was too close to him. She’d never get the door open before he seized her. She looked back at the elderly man, who was still talking.

“The gentleman you were asking after has engaged my services to handle the legalities of this…er…situation. And, as the matter is of a delicate nature, we have arranged use of a private room. If you will come with me?”

Elizabeth cringed as the man picked up the bag that had fallen from her suddenly nerveless fingers, then grasped her elbow. Her stomach roiled. He’d found her. Reginald had hired a judge and—Reginald. She gazed frantically about as the judge ushered her into a small room. There was no one waiting there.

Relief stole the strength from her legs. She collapsed onto a hard wood chair, watching as the judge closed the door. There was no bolt. She might yet make good her escape. Oh, if only she weren’t so weary! If only she could think!

Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin as the judge came to stand in front of her. One thing she knew. She would not go back. Jail would be better than marriage to Reginald Burton-Smythe.

“To begin, let me say that I do not approve of the action being taken by my client.”

The judge’s deep, authoritative voice cut across Elizabeth’s dark thoughts. Her heart leaped with hope. If he didn’t approve, would he help her escape?

“However, such actions are perfectly legal.”

The abrupt words plunged her back into despair.

“As for you, I want to be certain, in my own mind, that you fully understand the seriousness of what you are doing before this…this escapade goes any further. In light of that, I feel it best if I review the circumstances of your position. After I have done so we can discuss any consequences that might depend from it.”

Consequences? Shock streaked along Elizabeth’s nerves. Perhaps she would go to jail. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to hide their trembling.

“Shall I proceed?”

She gave a polite nod.

“Very well.” The judge clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “As you know, my client stands ready to marry the woman that meets the qualifications set forth in his published Article of Intent.” His voice sharpened. “My purpose, is to make certain those qualifications are understood and met. The first being, of course, that you agree to a marriage of convenience only.”

Elizabeth lifted her head and stared at the man standing before her. Whatever could he be talking about?

“Well? You do understand what is meant by a marriage of convenience, do you not?”

The words cracked through the air. Elizabeth jumped. “I believe I do.” Her cheeks warmed. “However, I’m not certain—”

“A marriage of convenience is one in which both parties agree to fulfill all the duties and responsibilities of a marriage except those of an intimate nature. It is a marriage that is never consummated.” The judge scowled down at her. “Now, do you understand?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth’s cheeks burned. She could not force herself to meet the judge’s direct gaze. She took a deep breath and focused her attention on his chin. Her pulse quickened as he reached for a chair, then sat facing her.

“You would agree to such a marriage? A marriage of convenience?”

“Yes, I would.” Elizabeth made her voice very firm. She didn’t understand why he should be asking her opinion, but after last night that sort of marriage sounded wonderful to her.

“Very well. My client has signed a legal document outlining such a stipulation. If all other particulars are met, his bride will be required to sign also.”

It was a mistake! The thought sizzled through Elizabeth’s mind, stiffening her back. It had to be a mistake. Reginald Burton-Smythe would never countenance such a situation or put his signature on something she’d see before a wedding. Last night proved that. Clearly, this matter had nothing to do with him—or her.

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath as the tightness in her chest released. She had only to explain the misunderstanding and she would be free to flee the city. “Sir, I believe you have made an— Oh!”

The judge reached out and pushed the hood back from her face. Elizabeth recoiled, turning her head so the bruising on her left cheek wouldn’t show.

The old man’s expression softened as her hood fell away. “How old are you, child?”

“E-eighteen.”

“Eighteen. And you would be willing to enter into a relationship without intimacy for the rest of your life?”

“I would.” Elizabeth winced at the soreness in her shoulder as she reached up and pushed at the curls that had popped free of her hair combs. How unkempt she must look. She pulled her hood back in place. “I don’t care about intimacy. And I don’t want to…to be consummated. Ever! But I—”

“That is sufficient answer. I do not wish to hear intimate details.”

“But, sir, you don’t understan—”

“Not another word! We shall proceed.”

Elizabeth stared at him, taken aback by the sharp, censorial tone in his voice.

“What of children?”

“Children?”

“Yes, my client has young children. Babes really. Do you get on with them?”

“Of course. I love children. But, sir, truly I must explain—”

“No need. That is sufficient answer. And the last condition that must be met.” The judge locked his gaze on her eyes. “That leaves only the settlement to be arranged before I call in my client and perform the ceremony.”

“Ceremony!” Elizabeth leaped to her feet.

“Of course, ceremony. I told you this is to be a legally binding union.” The judge leaned back in his chair, studying her. “This will be a true marriage in all but intimacy.” His voice emphasized the point quietly. “I thought you understood that. If you did not—it’s not too late to refuse my client’s offer.”

Elizabeth’s mind reeled. He was offering her this strange marriage proposal from a man she had never met. Had never even seen! Why, such a deed was out of the question. And yet—he’d said it would be a legal marriage without consummation. She would be protected from Reginald and her parents by— No! She couldn’t possibly. Could she?

Elizabeth sank back down onto the chair. If she accepted this strange offer of a marriage of convenience she would be safe. She would be legally protected from Reginald Burton-Smythe by marriage. Safe! Her mind locked on the word.

“Do you wish to refuse my client’s offer?”

Elizabeth stared down at her trembling hands, then, aghast at what she was about to do, lifted her gaze to the judge’s face and shook her head. “No.”

“Very well. Then let us get on with the matter. There is still the settlement to discuss.”

“The settlement?”

“Yes. The generous provision my client agreed to bestow on the woman that met his qualifications. He wishes the matter settled before the ceremony, and has empowered me to discuss it with you to decide upon an amount that is mutually acceptable.”

Elizabeth gaped at him. This situation was becoming more and more confusing. She had heard of a bride’s dowry, but she had never heard of a groom’s settlement. She went very still as a glimmer of suspicion flickered through her mind. “Tell me, sir, is this ‘groom’s settlement’ customary?”

A look of disgust passed fleetingly across the judge’s distinguished features. “No, it is not. My client is making the settlement as a token of his good faith.”

“I see.” A sick, sinking feeling hit the pit of Elizabeth’s stomach. It all made sense now. The judge’s client—whoever he was—was buying a wife. And they thought she was that woman.

Elizabeth swallowed hard, bowing her head and fighting back tears of shame. She would have to allow the misconception to continue, but at least she could refuse the man’s money. She lifted her head. “If this is not customary, sir, but is merely a gesture of your client’s good faith, then I shall accept it as such—as a gesture.”

“Of course. And the amount?”

She shook her head. “You mistake me, Judge Braden. There will be no amount. Your client has made a gesture which I have accepted. The money is not necessary. The offer of it is sufficient to establish good faith.”

The judge’s features went slack with shock. Elizabeth sat up a little straighter. “I understand that your client had no knowledge of the manner of person with whom he would be dealing. But—” Her voice broke. Tears of humiliation flooded her eyes. She lifted her chin and spoke with quiet dignity. “But I do not wish to feel purchased.”

Her words faded away. There was dead silence in the room. It was broken by the sound of the judge’s chair scraping backward on the floor as he rose to his feet. He inclined his head.

“My dear, I pray you will accept my apology on behalf of my client and myself. It was not our intent to insult you.” He straightened and smiled down at her. “You are correct in your assumption. We had no idea of the manner of person with whom we would be dealing. You are a very pleasant surprise.”

Elizabeth managed a shaky smile. “I pray your client may find me so.”

The judge smiled and crossed to a small writing desk by the window. Elizabeth watched with trepidation as he removed some papers from his waistcoat pocket, spread them out, then selected a quill and dipped it into the ink pot. “Your full name, my dear?”

She took a deep breath. “Elizabeth Shannon Frazier.”

The judge’s hand froze in midair. He swivelled his head around, giving her a piercing look. “Did you say Frazier?”

Did he know her father? A spasm of fear closed Elizabeth’s throat. She gave him a tremulous smile and nodded. For a long moment he studied her, then, to her immense relief, he turned, inscribed her name on one of the papers and reached for another.

She began to breathe again.

“What is he doing in there?” Justin drummed his long fingers on the table. “If he thinks he is going to keep me from—”

“Oh, hush!” Laina threw him a withering look and banged the teapot down onto the table. “I’m weary of hearing about this. What you’re doing is wrong! You are a coward, my brother. You’re willing to risk your money, but not your heart. Well, you’re welcome to do so. But remember—if you can buy her, she will not be worth the price!” She slammed his cup down in front of him. Tea sloshed over the rim into the saucer and splashed onto the table.

Justin grimaced and reached for his napkin to mop it up. “Laina, I know you feel strongly about what I am doing, but—”

“But you are determined to ruin your life. I know that, Justin. I know, also, that you are far too stubborn to listen to me.” Laina’s face tightened. Her gaze shifted to a point somewhere over his right shoulder. “The judge is beckoning.”

“Finally!” Justin dropped his napkin onto the table and rose, stepping over to assist his sister from her chair. She laid her hand on his arm.

“Justin, I’m asking you one last time—I’m begging you—for your own sake, do not do this! It’s not too late to change your mind. Give this woman whatever amount of money she and the judge have agreed upon and send her on her way. You can well afford to—”

“Buy an open, honest relationship based on greed.” Justin heard the cold harshness in his voice and made an effort to soften it. “We’ve discussed this already, Laina.”

“So we have.” She drew herself up to her full height. “Very well, since you are determined to play the fool, Justin, do it quickly. I’m at the end of my patience!”

With a swish of her long skirts, Laina whirled about. Her boot heels clicked angrily against the wide plank floor as she walked across the common room.

Justin took a deep breath and followed her. He hesitated for a moment in the doorway of the little room as he caught sight of the hooded, cloak-draped figure of his intended bride standing in front of the judge, then, squaring his shoulders, he stepped into the dimly lit room and walked forward to take his place at her side.

Chapter Three

E lizabeth sat alone in the cabriolet absently twirling the gold band upon her finger. What had she done? She was married! To a total stranger! There had been no introduction, no exchange of pleasantries, nothing but the speaking of the vows.

A nervous giggle escaped her as she looked down at the ring. He had certainly been prepared. A careful man, her husband. Husband! Oh, my! She clamped her teeth down firmly on her lower lip as it started to tremble. Crying would help nothing; the deed was done.

The thought made her ill. Elizabeth took a deep breath and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the padded seat. Had she lost her wits placing her life in the hands of a complete stranger? She didn’t even know what the man looked like! She had been so nervous, frightened and ashamed during the brief ceremony, she had not once dared lift her head to look at him. Another nervous giggle burst forth. Perhaps that was just as well. Perhaps he was homely as a toad! Oh, what did it matter? She didn’t care if he was the ugliest man in the world if he would take her away from here—if he would take her to a place where her parents or Reginald Burton-Smythe would never find her.

Approaching footsteps startled Elizabeth to attention. The why didn’t matter, as long as he was honorable and kept his word. But if—

“Oh, God, this thing that I’ve done… There was no other way. I have to escape Reginald Burton-Smythe. Please, don’t let this man be like him. Oh, God, please don’t let him be like Reginald Burton-Smythe!”

The carriage leaned to one side, then quickly righted itself as the driver climbed aboard. Elizabeth’s heart leaped into her throat choking off her whispered words. With horrified fascination she stared at the door handle as it dipped downward.

The door opened.

Her new husband tossed in a pile of lap robes, then climbed inside. For a moment, in the confined space, he loomed over her. Elizabeth shrank back against the seat, biting down hard on her lower lip to stop the scream clawing at her throat as her heart pumped wildly and her lungs forgot to breathe. From somewhere beyond the edge of a swirling darkness she heard him speak to her, and then there was nothing—nothing at all.

The horses’ hooves clattered against the frost-hardened ground. The cabriolet lurched and rolled ahead. His bride jerked and sagged forward. “Madam?” No answer. Justin raised his voice. “Madam, I brought lap robes for your comfort.” Still no answer. The woman was a sound sleeper. An unexpected blessing—there’d be no need for small talk on the journey to their night’s lodging place.

Justin leaned forward to ease the slumped form of his new wife into the corner where she would have more protection from the bumps and jolts of the ride. The papers in his waistcoat pocket crackled. He curved his lips into a tight smile and gave his pocket a satisfied pat. There it was, his future, all safely planned out and committed to parchment. The marriage certificate, the bonded marriage agreement, and the financial settlement.

He frowned and reached for a lap rug. There had been no time to read the papers. What had he paid for her? Whatever the amount–and he had no doubt it was considerable–it was worth it. There would be no unpleasant surprises for him this time. He tucked the fur rug around his new wife. “If you were thinking of playing games with my money, madam, you would be wise not to try. I’m more than a match for a scheming female now.”

Laina could not bear to watch the departure of her brother and the woman he had married. She turned her back on the hired cabriolet and faced the judge. “Well, he did it.” She made no attempt to hide her angry astonishment. “He actually carried out that foolish plan and married a woman that would—would—” She bit off the rest of the irate words, curled her hands into fists and buried her face against the old man’s shoulder.

“There, there, my dear.” Judge Braden absently patted Laina’s back as he stared after the departing cabriolet. “Don’t despair, matters may well work out for the best.” He chuckled softly. “Yes, indeed, matters may well turn out for the best.”

“Judge!” Laina jerked her head back to look up at him. “I thought you loved Justin. How can you stand here and…and… Oh, words fail me!” She gave the elderly man a look that would have shriveled a lesser man and headed for his carriage.

“Laina, wait!” With a last, quick glance at the departing cabriolet, the judge hurried after her. “Let me explain, Laina. I— Here, let me do that.” He removed her fingers from the handle and pulled open the carriage door. She refused his hand and climbed inside. The judge sighed and got in beside her.

The carriage lurched forward, then dipped and swayed as it crossed the courtyard and entered the rutted road. Laina jerked to one side, then held herself stiff and aloof, refusing to allow the motion to cause her body to come into contact with the judge.

“Laina, my dear, you are going to be terribly weary by the time you reach home if you do not relax. Besides, anger does not become you. Some women may look beautiful when they are angry—though I, personally, have never met one—but you…” The judge’s infectious chuckle floated through the darkness to her. “You just turn red!”

Laina laughed in spite of herself. “Trying to get back into my good graces with flattery, Judge?” She relaxed back against the cushioned seat and glanced toward his dark form. “Very well, I forgive you. But all the same, I am hurt by your laughter.”

“I know, my dear. But if you will permit me to explain, you will understand.” The judge shook out a lap robe, spread it over her legs, then shook out another for himself. “Tell me, Laina, why did Justin devise this plan for a marriage of convenience?”

“Why? You know why. Or perhaps— Oh, Judge. Surely you weren’t bamboozled by all those reasonable excuses Justin offered. Surely you knew…” She dismissed the excuses with one disparaging flick of her hand. “He was looking for a way to protect himself from further hurt and disappointment.”

“Precisely! Your summation is correct, my dear. Justin needed a mother for those two children—but his main motive is to be safe from emotional entanglement. And, my dear Laina, your brother has never been farther removed from safety!”

Laina stiffened, and stared toward the judge. He was actually chortling with glee! “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“No.” The judge choked back his laughter. “It’s only that I’ve been holding that back since the ceremony. Oh, Laina! That young lady—and I do mean lady, for there is breeding in every inch of her—is lovely. Absolutely lovely.”

“No!”

“Yes.” The judge wiped at his watering eyes. “Didn’t you think it strange there was so little light in the room for the ceremony? I snuffed all but one candle! I was afraid if Justin had a good look at her he would refuse to marry her and try again with someone less appealing. The boy’s only human after all.”

“Why you wily, old— Is that why you had Thomas spirit her from the room so quickly? I thought you simply could not bear the sight of her any longer. I know I couldn’t.”

“No, no. Believe me, I found her lovely of face and character.”

“Character?” Laina all but snorted. “I expected better of you, Judge.” She threw a cool look his direction. “You are far too experienced to have your head turned by a pretty face. A woman of character does not blatantly sell herself.”

“She refused the money.”

“Refused it?” Laina gaped through the darkness at the judge’s dark form. “She refused the settlement?”

“Indeed she did. And with such dignity and grace I felt the worst sort of bounder for having offered it!”

Laina burst into laughter.

“You find that amusing?”

“Amusing? No, not really.” Laina yanked her hand out of her muff and grabbed for the hold strap as the carriage bounced over a deep rut in the road. “It’s only that, for all your age and experience, you are still a man.”

“And what does that mean?”

He sounded a little huffy. She smiled. The judge did not take kindly to truth he perceived as criticism. “It means you are sweet…and protective…and, sometimes, manipulated by cunning women with pretty faces.” She put a teasing note in her voice. “I should know.”

“That is different!”

Now he sounded defensive. “It may be.” Laina made her tone placating.

The judge crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat. “She refused the money.”

He obviously thought that was a strong point in the woman’s favor. Laina sighed and leaned down to tuck the lap robe more closely about her boots. “That was quite clever of her. What better way to get into Justin’s good graces? Any fool would know the generous settlement he offered is but a small portion of his wealth. And if she can make him trust her…” Laina straightened up and tucked her hands back into her muff. “Well—we both know what can happen.” There was bitterness, fear and undeniable logic in her words.

The judge sighed heavily. “We must pray, Laina. We must continue to pray for Justin.”

She shot a look his direction, then turned and stared straight ahead. “You pray if you wish, Judge, but I will not.” Her voice was sharp with hurt and anger. “I prayed that God would keep Justin from ruining his life by marrying another low, greedy, scheming female and look what has happened. He’s married to that—that strumpet!” She withdrew her hand from the muff and wiped sudden tears from her eyes. “God does not answer prayer. And I won’t waste my time again!”

Chapter Four

T he cabriolet swept smartly into the courtyard of the Wetherstone Inn and rolled to a halt opposite the entrance. At last! Justin stretched the travel stiffness from his body, tossed his lap robe aside, and glanced at his bride—she was still sleeping. “Madam, wake up—we have arrived at our destination.” The carriage swayed as the driver climbed from his seat. The horses snorted. “Madam?” There was no response.

Justin grasped his wife’s shoulder and shook her lightly. Her head, hidden by the fur-lined hood, lolled forward onto her chest. A scowl creased his forehead. No one slept that soundly. The woman must be ill. Footsteps signaled the driver’s approach. A blast of cold air hit him as the door was opened.

Justin scooped his new wife’s limp body into his arms, climbed from the carriage and hurried toward the inn. With one booted foot he gave the door a solid, satisfying kick.

“Breams? Josiah Breams! Open the door!”

There was a protesting squeak of cold hinges. The door opened.

“Good evening, sir. We’ve been expecting you and your— Good heavens, sir!” The proprietor of the inn stared down at the cloak-draped body hanging across Justin’s arms. “Has there been an accident, sir? Is your wife injured?”

“No, there’s been no accident—she’s taken ill.” Justin pushed past the portly proprietor and headed for the stairs. “Have you prepared the room?”

“Oh, yes, sir.” The little man closed the door and scurried forward, hurrying to get ahead of Justin’s long-legged strides. “It’s all exactly as you asked.” He puffed his way up the long flight of stairs, using the banister to pull himself upward. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased. I laid the fire and—”

“Save your air. You’ll have an apoplectic fit.” Justin followed the puffing, panting little man down the hall to a small, corner room.

“Yes, sir.” The corpulent proprietor gasped out the words and opened the bedroom door. Justin brushed past the little man’s protruding paunch and headed for the bed.

“There!” He deposited Elizabeth on the quilt-covered mattress and turned toward the proprietor who was busily poking up the fire. “I’ll do that. You go get your wife to—What is it?” His eyes narrowed as he peered down at Josiah’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“My wife’s not here.”

“Not here? Then who is going to tend my wife?”

“Perhaps I might be of some assistance.”

Justin pivoted. A tall, thin man with dark, penetrating eyes and brown hair stood in the open doorway. There was a black leather bag in his hand. “And who might you be?”

“Thaddeous Allen…at your service.” The man gave a small, polite bow of his head. “I am a physician with the Pennsylvania Hospital.”

“Come in, Dr. Allen, come in!” Justin crossed the room in three long strides and waved the doctor inside. “I would be most grateful if you would tend my wife. She has collapsed, and I am at a loss as to what to do for her.”

“Yes. I witnessed your arrival. You seemed in need of aid, so I went for my bag.”

“In need of aid?” Justin’s left brow lifted. “You are a man of great tact, Doctor. I freely admit my helpless state.”

“Then, if you will permit me?” The doctor’s gaze slid past Justin to Elizabeth’s still form as Josiah Breams left the room. At Justin’s answering nod he crossed to the bed and placed his black bag on the nightstand. “Tell me, Mr. Randolph, when did your wife collapse?”

“You know me, Doctor?”

“Indeed. All of Philadelphia knows of Justin Randolph—especially those of us who have occasion to visit the waterfront.”

Justin dipped his head. “You’re too kind, Doctor. Now, about my wife…” He scowled at the inert form on the bed. “Perhaps collapse was too strong a word. She fell asleep while traveling and I was unable to rouse her upon our arrival.”

“I see. I have one more question before I proceed. Is your wife with child?”

“With child? Of course not. We—” He stopped, staring at the doctor in sudden, stunned silence. How could he know? It was certainly possible. With child! Justin gave a short bark of laughter. So much for his clever plan. He had been tricked again. Made a fool of by a…a—

By sheer dint of will, Justin forced down the anger surging through him. “I cannot answer that question, Doctor. But, if you should find that to be the cause of her collapse, I would be most grateful if you would inform me at once. You see, we were married this evening.”

There was a knock on the door. Justin whipped around and yanked it open. “What is it?”

“I’ve returned, sir. Josiah sent me. He said your bride’s taken ill and you had need of me.” The proprietor’s wife glanced toward the bed.

“I do indeed.” Justin stepped to one side allowing the woman entrance. His gaze swept to Thaddeous Allen. “Daisy will assist you in anything you require, Doctor. I shall be downstairs, awaiting your diagnosis.” With a curt bow of his head he left the room.

The doctor whistled softly as the door clicked shut. “That is one angry man.”

“He has a right. Likely he didn’t plan on a weddin’ night like this.” Daisy Breams trudged to the bed and began to undo the fastenings on Elizabeth’s cloak. “Likely she didn’t either.” She pushed the cloak off the young woman’s shoulders and the hood fell away. “Here now, what’s this?”

The doctor stepped closer. There was a large purple bruise swelling the left side of Justin Randolph’s bride’s face. He grabbed a spill from the box on the mantel, lit the candle on the nightstand, then slid it closer to the bed, studying the discoloration. He frowned and stepped back out of the way. “Remove her gown, Daisy. But proceed carefully—I expect she has other injuries.”

Justin sat alone at a table in the common room of the inn. His face felt as if it were carved of stone. Every few seconds he lifted the fingers of his right hand slightly, then dropped them back. The measured thumps were the only sound in the room, save for the crackle of the fire and an occasional snore from one of the patrons that had disdained the use of a bed upstairs and fallen asleep sprawled in his chair, or across a table.

The fire belched a puff of smoke into the quiet room that spread itself across the low, beamed ceiling adding its acrid smell to that of hot candle wax, potent libations, stale food and unwashed bodies.

Justin frowned and waved the smoke away. How had such an obvious thing escaped his attention? His offer was the perfect answer for a woman who had gotten herself into a compromising situation and had no way out. And he—fool that he was—not only had he offered such a woman the perfect solution to her dilemma, he had paid her to accept it! What an idiot he was, thinking he could buy honesty. He had put his trust in the larcenous streak he had fallen prey to with the other women in his life, and now this!

Women are not even honorable in their dishonor. The incongruous thought brought a bitter smile to Justin’s lips. One thing was certain. There would be no friendship with this lying, scheming woman. He wasn’t that big a fool.

He lifted his hand, raked his fingers through his hair, then resumed his intermittent thudding. He had acquaintances who used their money to purchase love—or what passed for love in their eyes—from both wife and mistress. And with his wealth he had any number of women eager to marry or serve him in that manner, but something inside him shriveled at the thought. He wanted no part of it. He’d had his fill of phony affection turned on to coax a gift, or money, from him. A marriage of convenience had seemed the perfect answer.

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Justin’s mouth. At least in that he was right. This woman didn’t have to pretend to love him. All he required of her was that she sign a paper, take her settlement, and follow the rules of the agreement. But to do so while carrying another man’s child! A scowl knit his brows together. This was worse than Margaret. At least Margaret had told him about the baby she carried before their marriage. Of course he had already been well and fairly caught, playing knight in shining armor to her helpless maiden.

Helpless maiden? “Hah!” The bark of scornful laughter burst from Justin’s throat. He grasped the glass beside his hand and drank the contents swiftly, hoping to rid himself of the flat, metallic taste of bitterness in his mouth. He stared down at the glass, wanting to smash it. It was empty—like his life. His hand tightened.

“Mr. Randolph? I have finished my examination of your wife.”

Justin set the glass on the table and looked up at the doctor. “And?”

“Let me begin by saying that I spoke in haste earlier, not knowing of your very recent marriage. I had no wish to malign your wife’s character. It is a simple fact of my profession that most often when I am confronted by a married woman in a swoon, the diagnosis is that she is with child.”

“I see. And am I to understand by this explanation, Doctor, that you have eliminated that possibility as far as my wife is concerned?”

“Not entirely. But, in light of the situation, I believe my assumption was wrong.”

“Ah!” Justin’s left brow raised. “I am astonished at your naiveté, Doctor. I would not expect a man of your profession to rule out the possibility of a woman carrying a child on the basis of her marital status.”

“Your wife’s marital state has nothing to do with my diagnosis, Mr. Randolph. I am hardly naive, sir.” The doctor’s voice hardened. “Neither am I easily fooled.”

“Fooled?” Justin’s eyes narrowed. “You mean she was shamming?”

“No. Her unconscious state is real enough. I meant your…confusion…as to its cause may not be.”

Justin rose to his feet. “Would you care to explain that statement, Doctor?”

Thaddeous Allen glanced quickly around the room—everyone was sleeping. “Your wife’s unconscious state is the result of extreme physical and emotional fatigue brought on by very rough handling.”

Justin’s brows shot skyward. “Rough handling?”

The man slumped over the table next to them snorted, lifted his head, gave them a bleary-eyed look and dropped his head back down onto his arms. His heavy snoring resumed. Justin lowered his voice. “What ‘rough handling,’ Doctor? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your wife’s condition. Someone has handled her very roughly indeed. She is considerably bruised. I’m certain her collapse is a mental, physical and emotional result of the mistreatment she—”

Justin didn’t wait for him to finish. He strode across the room and started upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

Justin shoved open the bedroom door, crossed the room and grasped the bedcovers, flinging them back from his bride’s prostrate form. His brows lowered in a dark scowl as he swept his gaze over her. The evidence of the claimed mistreatment was there—dark, ugly bruises marred the flesh of her upper arms, and a raw, jagged scratch ran from the slender column of her throat to the top of her shift. The vivid red color of the wound stood out in startling contrast to the creamy perfection of her skin.

Justin’s jaw tightened. He flicked his gaze upward to his wife’s face and, though it was turned away into the shadows, a discolored swelling along the clean, firm line of her jaw was visible to him.

“Those bruises were made by a man’s hands, Mr. Randolph. A large man’s hands.”

Justin glanced at the doctor who had followed him into the room, then leaned forward and pulled the covers back over Elizabeth’s slender form. “I am a large man, Doctor.” He turned and faced the physician. “Be done with innuendo—do you accuse me?”

For a moment the two men studied each other and then the doctor shook his head. “No, Mr. Randolph, I do not.” His voice was noticeably warmer. “I confess that was my first thought, but, having witnessed your reactions, I am now convinced it was not you that harmed your wife.” He stepped forward and nodded toward the still figure on the bed. “There is further evidence of mistreatment. Her right wrist is swollen and discolored, and there is a nasty lump on the back of her head.”

He picked up his black bag and started for the door. “Her right knee is badly bruised also, but I do not believe the injury is serious.” He reached for the doorknob.

“Doctor, wait!”

Thaddeous Allen stopped and turned to look at Justin.

“You haven’t told me what is to be done for her.”

“Only that.” The physician gestured toward the bed. “She needs rest. In these situations of cruel treatment I have often found there is great stress placed on the nerves and emotions. Unfortunately, we know little about such things.” He glanced over at his patient and then returned his gaze to Justin’s hard, set face.

“It has been my experience, Mr. Randolph, that when a person is subjected to treatment such as your wife has obviously suffered, it leaves a bruise on the soul that takes much longer to heal than the physical ones. You may need to give her a good deal of love and understanding to bring that healing about.”

The doctor shifted his black bag to his other hand and pulled the door open. “Good evening, Mr. Randolph. May God grant your wife a speedy recovery.” The door closed with a soft click behind him.

Justin stared at the closed door. Love and understanding, indeed! He turned and looked down at the slight rise in the coverlet that was caused by Elizabeth’s body. One bruised, creamy-white shoulder was exposed to the cool night air. He walked to the bed, pulled the coverlet over her shoulder and gently tucked it under her swollen jaw. What had happened to her? Why had—? Abruptly, he chopped off the thought, spun on his heel and strode to the door. He had been ensnared by compassion once—he would not allow it to happen again. Never again!

The fire flared brightly in the draft as Justin yanked the door open and stepped into the hallway. It flickered wildly as he slammed the door closed again, then settled to a steady burn that warmed the room with soft golden light and lent radiance to the pale face of the young woman lying comatose on the bed as his angry footsteps faded away.

Chapter Five

E lizabeth awakened to the sound of raindrops against the windowpane. A dull ache permeated her whole being, and the thought came to her that she was ill—that she had some dreadful disease. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes and rolled down her face, making damp spots on the pillow. She lifted her hands to wipe the tears away and a sudden, sharp pain stung her left jaw as something solid bumped against it. There was a gold band on her finger. Her brow furrowed. She had no gold ring. She— Reginald!

Elizabeth jolted fully awake. Was she married to Reginald? A wave of sickening fear drove her lethargy away. She threw the covers aside and lunged to her feet, then halted as pain streaked through her body and the room started to spin. She groped wildly in the air for support and her hands closed on soft, warm flesh. A startled scream rose in her throat.

“Here now—you got up too quick-like.” Small, work-roughened hands eased her gently back down onto the bed and smoothed her petticoats around her legs. “There. You’ll soon feel better. The dizziness will pass. It’s only ’cause you stood so fast.” The softness of a blanket brushed her chin as it was tucked around her shoulders. Elizabeth’s eyes prickled with hot tears. How could she escape with someone watching her? She drew a deep breath to quell the nausea that had accompanied the dizziness, and opened her eyes. They focused on a round face topped by gray hair. She’d never seen the woman before. “Where am I?”

“You’re at the Wetherstone Inn. My husband owns it.” The woman smiled. “An’ a proper fright you gave him last night when Mr. Randolph come carryin’ you in. He thought there’d been an accident.”

Wetherstone Inn? Mr. Randolph? Who—? Oh! Elizabeth bolted to a sitting position. The judge! And that strange marriage proposal. Yes. Yes! She had married a man named Randolph last night to escape Reginald and—and what? Her heart fluttered wildly. She shut her eyes trying to remember. What had happened after the ceremony? Why was she here? And where was this Mr. Randolph now? She could vaguely remember him climbing into the carriage and then…then nothing. “Oooh!”

“What is it, dear? Are you feelin’ poorly?” The woman gently brushed a clinging tendril of hair from Elizabeth’s temple. “You lay back an’ rest. I’ll go fetch Mr. Randolph an’—”

“No!” The woman glanced at her sharply and Elizabeth made a valiant effort to control her sudden panic. “I—I mean, that won’t be necessary. I’m fine. Truly I am. The dizziness has passed. It’s only that I can’t seem to remember…”

“Remember?” The woman snorted the word. “My stars, child, how would you remember? You were fainted dead away! Josiah said when he opened the door you were hangin’ across your husband’s arms like a limp rag doll. An’ your Mr. Randolph, well—” the woman’s lips twitched with amusement “—Josiah says he was shoutin’ an’ stormin’ an’ hollerin’ for Josiah to help him. Hah!” The snort was louder this time, and filled with lofty disdain. “As if Josiah ever knew what to do about a woman.” The woman chuckled gleefully. “Oh, I wished I’d a been there! Josiah says Mr. Randolph was in a proper broil. There ain’t nothin’ so helpless as a man with a sick woman on his hands.”

“Oh, my! Whatever must Mr. Randolph think of me?” With a flurry of arms, legs and ruffled petticoats, Elizabeth jumped from the bed. “I must see him immediately! I have to explain. I—” She stopped dead still. What would she say? What could she say?

“Now, now. There’s no need to work yourself to a dither about last night.” The woman retrieved Elizabeth’s soft, satin slippers from under the bed and held them out to her. “You’d best put your shoes on, lest you catch a chill. There’s no need to sicken yourself over the matter. Your husband ain’t the first man to be disappointed on his weddin’ night, an’ he ain’t likely to be the last.”

Oh! Oh, my! She hadn’t even thought about that! Hot blood surged into Elizabeth’s cheeks. She looked away from the woman’s knowing gaze, accepted the offered shoes, then grabbed her dress from off the back of a chair where someone had tossed it. Had it been this woman who had removed it from her unconscious body—or Mr. Randolph? The thought made the nausea worse. Elizabeth clasped the dress and shoes to her chest like a shield and forced herself to concentrate. Why was she here with the proprietor’s wife? Where was her…her husband? And what was going to happen to her?

She closed her eyes for a moment to gain composure, then opened them and smiled at the short, stout woman who was watching her closely. Her eyes widened and she gave a startled little yelp as pain darted along her facial muscles. She lifted her hand to cup her throbbing jaw and her gaze fell on her upper arm. It was covered with ugly purple marks. “Well, I look a sight. I—I had a fall.” A tremor slid through her body at the memory of crashing to the floor when Reginald struck her.

Disbelief flashed in the woman’s eyes, her face softened. “I’ll bring you the tub I have tucked away in the kitchen an’ you can have yourself a proper soak. It will help with the soreness.” She headed for the door.

“Wait!” Panic overrode Elizabeth’s embarrassment. She took a deep breath as the woman looked her way. “Why was I left here alone? Where is Mr. Randolph?”

“Alone? Well bless my soul, child! You wasn’t left here alone. Your husband set me to watchin’ over you ’cause you was took ill, is all. He’s waitin’ on you down in the common room. You’re to join him there as soon as you’re able.” She pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway. “He’ll be at the table in front of the fire. He always sits starin’ at the fire.” The door closed behind her.

An odd sort of quivering began in Elizabeth’s knees and spread throughout her body. She dropped into the chair behind her and stared at the door. What had she done? How could she explain to this Mr. Randolph that she had been forced by circumstances to accept his offer of marriage? She couldn’t tell him about the betrothal agreement her father had signed—or about Reginald Burton-Smythe’s attack—or running away. He might send her back.

Elizabeth’s stomach roiled. She took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. This time the nausea wouldn’t be denied. She dropped the dress and shoes she still clutched in her hands and leaped for the washbowl. She reached it just in time.

She felt better—at least physically. The proprietor’s wife had been right; the warm bathwater had taken a little of the stiffness and soreness away. Elizabeth dropped her hairbrush into her open bag, leaned closer to the mirror and pushed her ivory hair comb into the piled-up mass of her still-damp hair. A few rebellious curls popped free and fell onto her smooth forehead. Why, just this once, couldn’t her hair behave? Elizabeth scowled, tucked the offending curls back under the confined tresses, then pulled a creamy length of lace from her bag and draped it around her throat to hide the ragged scratch left by Reginald’s attack. With the sleeves of her dress hiding the bruises on her arms, that took care of everything but her face. There was nothing she could do to hide that reminder of Reginald’s cruelty.

Elizabeth shuddered, closed her bag and stared down at the large gold ring resting on the table beside it. When she put that ring on her finger she would be ready—there would be no further reason to delay her meeting with Mr. Randolph. A fit of trembling seized her. Before she lost all courage, she snatched up the ring, slid it onto her finger and hurried from the small bedroom.

Dear heaven! She could not identify her own husband! Elizabeth bit back a nervous giggle and gripped the banister for support as she skimmed her gaze over the men in the common room. One of them, seated at a table in front of the fireplace at the far end of the room with his back toward her, seemed to be staring into the flames. Was that he?

Any inclination toward laughter, nervous or otherwise, left Elizabeth in a rush. The man’s long legs, crossed at the ankles, stretched out toward the fire, and one broad, long-fingered hand rested on the table. Her heart fluttered as she noted the powerful look of that hand. She suppressed a sudden, intense desire to turn and run away, descended the last step, and crossed the room.

“Mr. Randolph?”

“Dearest!”

Elizabeth froze as, with one fluid motion, the man leaped to his feet, spun about, grasped her upper arms and drew her close. Shock held her motionless. But only for an instant. She began to struggle. “Unhand me, sir!”

The grip on her arms tightened. “Stop fighting! Breams is watching.”

The words were snarled under the man’s breath as he pinioned her to his broad chest. Elizabeth struggled harder, the feel of the man’s powerful hands upon her driving all coherent thought from her mind. Fear writhed like a living thing in the pit of her stomach. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her head began to spin and she felt herself falling toward the deep, dark vortex of a whirling darkness. Terror gripped her. She forgot the man and fought the smothering darkness. When it receded, there was the firm, hard, security of a wooden chair beneath her. She drew a long, shuddering breath.

“Are you all right?”

The words were curt, abrupt, and full of distaste—but there was an underlying note of concern in Mr. Randolph’s deep voice that made Elizabeth nod her head. It wasn’t much of a nod, for her head was still spinning, but apparently it satisfied him for he removed his hand from her shoulder and moved away to seat himself on the other side of the table. Her breath came more easily when he had gone.

“You’re certain you’re all right?” His voice now held an impatient note of inquisition. “You look quite pale.”

“I—I’m fine. If I might have a moment…” Elizabeth closed her lips firmly to prevent the sobs that were clawing at her throat from breaking free. She had nearly swooned again! What was wrong with her? Tears welled up behind her closed eyes. She swallowed painfully, fighting them back.

“It seems I startled you. I apologize for that, but I had to keep you from ruining my plan. You see, I am known here. And, as these people know only that we are newly married—not that we are newly met—they would naturally expect our meeting, after the disaster of last night, to be a loving one.”

Elizabeth clamped her jaws tightly together, using the pain it caused to stifle a sudden, strong impulse to laugh. Their meeting had certainly fallen far short of such expectations! Her lips twitched.

“You find our situation amusing?”

A shiver of fear slithered down her spine at his cold tone. “No, I do not, Mr. Randolph. I only—” The laughter bubbled up and burst from Elizabeth’s throat. She couldn’t stop it. Horrified, she buried her face in her hands while the uncontrollable hilarity poured from her.

The table jerked and her new husband’s chair scraped against the floor. “Your nerves are overwrought. I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself.”

The whispered words hit Elizabeth like a splash of cold water. The laughter died. She jerked her head up and stared at Mr. Randolph’s rapidly retreating back. Of course she was overwrought! Who wouldn’t be, in her situation? Still…Elizabeth’s spurt of anger dissolved into worry. Why had she swooned? Was she ill? Something was wrong with her. She blinked away tears, leaned back against the turned wood spindles of the chair she occupied and stared down at the fire on the hearth. So much had happened so quickly. So much had changed! Surely it was natural that she should be—

“The arrangements are made. Mary will be bringing our meal promptly. Please comport yourself as a loving bride while she is near.” The whispered order startled Elizabeth as much as Mr. Randolph’s quiet return. She jumped and looked up at him. An expression of extreme distaste crossed his features as their gazes met for the first time. “You’re beautiful!”

The words were an accusation, not a compliment. Elizabeth stiffened with shock at his rudeness. “Thank you, Mr. Randolph. You make a pleasing appearance yourself.”

A small, mocking bow of her husband’s dark, handsome head acknowledged her cool, impeccably correct response. “No doubt others will comment on what a lovely couple we make.”

Elizabeth’s chin lifted at the undertone of dislike in his voice. She stared fully into his acrimonious gaze, then sighed heavily and clasped her hands on top of the table. She’d been nothing but trouble to the man—how else should he feel about her? “Mr. Randolph, I realize I have made a very poor beginning in our…er…relationship. And I offer you my sincere apology for all of the embarrassment and trouble I have caused you.” Her cheeks warmed. She looked down at the scarred tabletop. “I understand that I swooned last evening, and I am mortified, sir, that you were forced to carry me into the inn.”

She looked back up at him. “I wish you to know that I have never swooned before, and that I am not weak or sickly. Also, I want to apologize for my actions upon our meeting earlier. They were out of character for me. And, last, permit me to say that you were most gracious and kind to provide such thoughtful care for me last evening. I am truly grateful.”

“You are telling me that your fainting spell last evening was an unusual occurrence?”

He had completely ignored her apology! Elizabeth lifted her chin a notch higher. “Yes. Most unusual.”

“I 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 sighed. What would her role be? What would he expect of her? And what of the children the judge had mentioned? Would she be responsible for their care? Oh, dear Lord, help! I have no experience at rearing children. I—

“Elizabeth?”

She started and glanced over at Justin. “Yes?”

“If I may intrude upon your thoughts—we have many matters to discuss concerning our relationship.”

“Yes, of course.” The implied rebuke stung. Elizabeth lifted her chin. “But I assure you, Mr. Randolph, it is no intrusion. It is the very thing I was pondering.”

“How fortunate. Please be more specific.”

“Very well.” Elizabeth ignored his sarcastic, disbelieving tone. “I was wondering—as I am unfamiliar with relationships of this nature—what my position will be.”

“I suspect it will be as you expected.”

The coldness in his voice could have frozen a pond. There was open dislike in his eyes. Elizabeth relaxed a little.

“I am a wealthy man. And, as such, I hold positions of importance in the social and business communities. As my wife you will, of course, share in those positions.”

“I understand.” Elizabeth struggled to maintain her poise in the face of Justin Randolph’s seeming animosity. “I shall endeavor to be a credit to you—in society, and with your business associates.” She fingered the ring making a bulge in her kid glove. “And as to my position and duties in your home?”

“In my home, it will be as the paper you signed stated. You will perform as my wife, caring for my home and the children, fulfilling social obligations, seeing to my needs as any wife is expected to do, except—” the harshly spoken word made Elizabeth flinch “—for those of a personal nature. There will be no personal involvement between us. However—” He held up a hand as she started to speak. “I expect you to play to perfection the part of a loving bride and doting wife in front of others. The truth of our relationship is to remain confidential. You are to tell no one!” He gave her a cool, distant smile and Elizabeth cringed. It was not pleasant to be so completely and coldly rejected. “It will, of course, be to your advantage to play your role well. As the ‘loving’ and ‘loved’ wife of a wealthy man there is little that will be denied you. But—” his voice took on an ominous tone “—as the faithless wife of a wealthy and powerful man, there is little that could save you.”

A flame of resentment kindled in Elizabeth. How dare he speak to her as if she were a harlot! Yet, what else would a man think of a woman that married someone under these conditions? What else could he think? Elizabeth’s honesty smothered the flaring indignation as her thoughts raced on. She could not tell him what had happened—she could never tell anyone that—but she had to try to make him understand that she was not what he thought her to be. She drew a deep breath and plunged into speech.

“Mr. Randolph, I realize that you know nothing of me. You know nothing of my character, or of the—the circumstances that placed me here. I know, also, that you spoke out of that ignorance.” She lifted her head and met Justin Randolph’s shocked, angry gaze head-on. “I’m sorry I’ve made such a poor impression you felt it necessary to speak as you did. But I assure you, sir, you have no need to bribe—”

Justin’s straight brown eyebrows shot skyward, then lowered in a deep scowl.

Elizabeth faltered, gathered her courage and finished. “Or to threaten me. I am aware of the seriousness of the vows I made to you before God, and I intend to fulfill them all—within the conditions set forth in our agreement, of course.” She gave him a small, polite smile as cool and distant as the one he had given her. “It will be easier now that I know exactly what you require of me. I am determined, sir, that you shall not be sorry for our…our…alliance.”

A heavy silence descended when she finished speaking. Had she gone too far? She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Something flashed in the depths of Justin’s eyes, but before she could identify it, he dipped his dark, handsome head in a small, mocking bow.

“A very pretty speech, madam.” Sarcasm tainted his every word. His gaze locked on hers. “However, I put little faith in a woman’s words.”

“Nor I in a man’s, sir!” Tears sprang into Elizabeth’s eyes. She turned her head aside and blinked them away.

With child…with child…with child… The words rang through Justin’s head in time with the steady, rhythmic clop of the horse’s hoofs against the hard, cold earth. He raked his hand through his hair, then leaned back in his seat and studied the young woman he had married. So she had no faith in a man’s words. Obviously, the doctor was wrong. It sounded as if some man had sweet-talked her into an immoral liaison and then reneged on his word. It happened. His facial muscles tightened as he lowered his gaze to Elizabeth’s swollen, discolored jaw. Probably her father had lost his temper when he learned of her dishonor. Yes, that would explain the bruises. It would also explain why someone of her obvious breeding would be forced to marry under the conditions he had offered. He slid his gaze down the expensive cloak draping Elizabeth’s shoulders and rested it on the fur robe that covered her lap. There would be the need for haste if she was not to be branded a loose woman—if the child she carried was to have a name. He knit his brows in a deep frown. And then there was the money. There would be no chance for a good marriage in her future.

Justin closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He had been prepared to accept a woman that openly married him for his money and the comforts he could provide—but he had wanted honesty in return. What he had received was this deception! She was the same as the others. And he had made it so easy for her. He curved his lips in a small, cynical smile. Only a few little lies in the letter she had written in reply to his article and—

Justin jerked upright and stared hard at Elizabeth. That’s what had been nagging at him—her letter! There was something about her letter. But what?

Silence prevailed. The weather continued to deteriorate until the fur robe that covered Elizabeth’s lap could not keep out the biting, frigid air. Every lurch or jolt of the carriage caused shivers to run down her spine. Small gray clouds of warmth burst from her nostrils into the confined space of the carriage as she breathed. Her teeth began to chatter. Her feet burned with the cold. She wiggled her toes, biting back a moan at the prickles that shot through them. Thank heaven she was not still walking!

Justin pulled up the collar of his great coat, rubbed his hands together, and glanced over at Elizabeth. “I’m sorry for the discomfort. These hired carriages leave much to be desired. I hope you are not too uncomfortable.”

Elizabeth shook her head, then quickly readjusted her hood as the cold nipped at her ears. “In truth, I was thinking how fortunate I am to be in this carriage protected from the freezing rain and howling wind.” She gave him a small, grateful smile. If not for him she might well be out in the cold, wet storm. “You have provided everything possible for comfort, Mr. Ran—Justin.” She looked down at the smooth, dark fur that covered her lap to avoid his suddenly intent gaze. “And, of course, you are not responsible for the weather.”

“That’s true. Yet, I know some who would hold me accountable nonetheless. And they would feel no reluctance in telling me so—especially now.” He reached over and pulled aside the curtain covering the window at her side. “It’s beginning to snow.”

Elizabeth glanced out the window, then over at the dark, closed face of the man she had married. Would he ever relax that air of wary suspicion with which he regarded her? “I like snow.”

“As do I.” Justin let the curtain fall back in place, sacrificing the dim, gray light of the late afternoon to its scant protection from the cold air. “But not when I am traveling in the company of a young woman. Red noses are very unattractive.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth clapped a cold hand over her nose.

Justin laughed. “Not your nose, Elizabeth—mine! You have a most attractive nose—red, or otherwise.”

Elizabeth looked at him over the top of the covering hand. He had a nice laugh. It made him seem almost human! “I’m certain there is more gallantry than truth in that statement, sir. However, under the circumstances, I shall accept it at face value.”

“Face value?” Justin stared at her a moment, then, again, burst into laughter. “An excellent pun, Elizabeth—excellent!” He leaned back in his seat and studied her. “So, you 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 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.

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 movement over the pounding of her heart. Fabric rustled…footsteps crossed the floor…the door opened and closed.

Elizabeth popped her eyes open, threw off the covers, and ran to slide the bolt into place. Justin Randolph was still angry. And he had every right to be—she had treated him dreadfully. She sagged against the door and let her breath out in a long sigh. Yesterday had been a disaster and—And that was yesterday! This was today.

Elizabeth straightened her shoulders and pushed away from the door. She would make a new beginning starting right now. She picked up her bag and reached inside for her soap and towel as she hurried to the washstand. There would be no foolish incidents today!

The weather had turned bitterly cold. Justin lowered his head into the wind and hurried from the “necessary” toward the inn to wake Elizabeth. It was a miserable day to travel, but he had no desire to spend an entire day with her in that tiny room. At least at home he would not be forced to spend every moment in her company. He blew on his hands, rubbed them together and glanced over at the sudden activity in the barn. Daniel was leading the horses out to be harnessed. Good! Now, if Little Fawn had finished altering those moccasins they could be on their way before full light.

Justin blew on his hands again, tucked his chin into his collar and sprinted the remaining distance to the inn. Miserable weather! It was cold enough to freeze a hog’s squeal! With a last disgusted look at the leaden sky, he stomped the snow from his boots and went inside.

She was finished. Elizabeth pushed the ivory comb deep into the pile of curls on her head, dropped her hairbrush into her bag, then ran to the door and slid the bolt free. Now, she had only to don her cloak and shoes. When Mr. Justin Randolph returned he would find her calmly seated in a chair, ready and waiting. Oh, it was good to feel in control again!

Elizabeth smiled, dropped her bag on the floor beside the door and walked briskly to the end of the bed to get her shoes. They were not there. She checked the floor on first one side of the bed, and then the other—her shoes were nowhere in sight. How odd! She had seen Justin Randolph with them in his hands at this very spot. She stood for a moment nibbling thoughtfully at her soft lower lip, then bent and lifted one end of the neatly rolled bundle of carriage rugs at her feet. No shoes. She straightened and gave the rugs a vigorous shake. Nothing. Where were her shoes?

Elizabeth’s shoulders sagged. Justin Randolph was already annoyed with her, and if she delayed their departure again…well…she didn’t even want to contemplate that! She shook her head and quickly rolled the rugs, then turned to the chair and snatched up her cloak to search beneath it. Nothing. Where could her shoes be?

Elizabeth curled her hands into fists and rested them on her hips while she scanned the little room. There was simply no place else to look unless— “Aha!” With the cry of triumph, she dropped to her hands and knees and bent her elbows to peer into the area under the bed. It was too dark to see. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, ducked her head under the side rail and slid forward to grope around in the inky blackness for her shoes.

The latch clicked.

Elizabeth froze as the door opened, then shoved quickly backward as someone stepped inside. She couldn’t be caught under— Her head knocked sharply against the side rail. “Ouch!”

“Elizabeth!” Justin rushed forward.

She gave a nervous little gasp as he grasped her elbow and hauled her to her feet. “You startled me.”

“You surprised me, also. I hardly expected to find you crawling around under the bed.”

Elizabeth pulled her elbow out of his hold. “I was not crawling around.” Her cheeks turned warm as she realized the picture she must have presented to him. “I was only—” She stopped, stared up at him for a moment, then quickly looked down and brushed at the dust on her long skirt.

“Yes? You were only…?”

“Nothing. It’s unimportant.” Elizabeth turned on her heel and walked over to the chair. Determination stiffened her spine as she picked up her cloak and swirled it about her shoulders. She would not delay their departure. She absolutely refused to give Justin Randolph any more fuel with which to feed his flaming dislike of her! She would leave without her shoes.

“What are you doing?”

Elizabeth pulled her hood into place and gave him a cool smile. Here was her opportunity to salvage something of her pride—to repair her tattered dignity and make amends at the same time. “I should think my actions clear enough, sir. I’m preparing to leave.” She fastened the braided loops over the buttons on her cloak, adjusted the hood, then swept grandly toward the door.

“Elizabeth?”

“Yes?” Oh, how satisfyingly cool and aristocratic her voice sounded. That should favorably impress the arrogant Mr. Randolph!

“Have you forgotten something?”

“I don’t believe so.” She reached for the latch. “I assume your groom will fetch my bag.”

“Indeed. But what of these?”

Elizabeth’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach with a sickening thud at his tone of voice. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Her assumed dignity crumpled into a useless pile at her stocking-clad feet. Slowly—reluctantly—she turned to face Justin. Her shoes dangled from the first two fingers of his right hand.

“You had them!” Hot blood surged into Elizabeth’s cheeks. “You had them all the time, while I—I—” She clamped her lips together and glared at him. She would say no more.

“While you were leaving in your stocking feet?”

The scorn in Justin’s voice and eyes brought forth a surge of indignation. Elizabeth bit down on her bottom lip and remained silent.

“Have you no sense?”

She bit down harder.

In three quick steps Justin crossed the room to stand in front of her. The look in his eyes made her shiver. She squeezed back against the door to put as much space as possible between them.

“Why, Elizabeth?” He stepped closer. “Why would you do such a foolish thing?”

Fear knotted her stomach—her heart thundered in her ears.

“Answer me!”

“I didn’t want to displease you.” The words came out in a whisper.

“Displease me?”

Elizabeth flinched. “Yes. By delaying our departure.” She lifted her chin and looked him square in the eyes. She would not give in to the fear, not this time. “You told your groom you wanted to leave at first light. That you wanted no delays. I heard you.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t mean stocking footed!” His hand lifted.

Elizabeth gasped.

Justin froze with his long fingers buried in his hair. “What is it?” His eyes narrowed as he stared down at her. “You’ve gone white as a ghost. Are you ill? By heaven! Are you going to swoon again?”

Elizabeth rolled her head from side to side against the door.

Justin’s mouth tightened. He gave an angry snort and turned away.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and sagged against the door. She drew great drafts of air into her lungs until the trembling that had manifested itself throughout her body began to abate. She opened her eyes. Justin was standing by the washstand watching her. His face was as cold and still as a stone.

“Would you like some water?”

She shook her head.

He stared hard at her for a moment, then released his grip on the water pitcher and walked over to lean against the mantel. “Come away from the door, Elizabeth. We are not leaving this room until you tell me why you were going out in the snow without shoes.”

His voice made her shiver—and that made her angry. In spite of the weakness in her limbs, Elizabeth pushed away from the door and straightened to her full height. “I have told you. I did not want to displease you. I was unjust in my accusations last evening and I wanted to make amends.”

“By leaving without shoes.”

The cynicism in his voice brought the blood surging back into her face. “Yes, Mr. Randolph, by leaving without my shoes! I have caused you a great deal of trouble and embarrassment, and I am determined that I shall not do so again.” She sighed. “I knew you wanted to leave this morning without delay, so, when my shoes came up missing, I decided to leave without them.” She looked at the cold, disbelieving look in his eyes and wondered why she was bothering to explain. “You were already angry with me!”

His left eyebrow shot up.

Elizabeth swallowed her own irritation along with the little pride she had left. “Rightfully angry. And, as you said, the shoes were of little use in the snow.” She looked down at the satin slippers he still held in his hand. How could she blame him for not believing her? It did sound foolish when she put it into words.

Justin snorted. He threw her shoes to the floor, scooped something up off the bed and stalked back to her. “Put these on, Elizabeth. You should find them a comfortable fit—Little Fawn used your shoes to alter the size.”

He thrust a pair of moccasins into her trembling hands. His gaze dropped to the stocking-clad toes peeking out from under her long skirts, then lifted back to her face. “I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, Elizabeth, but be warned—it’ll not work with me!”

He reached for the door latch. She jumped aside. He frowned, and yanked open the door. “Be ready when Daniel comes for the bags.”

The door slammed shut behind him. Elizabeth cringed. So much for a day without foolish incidents! She stared hard at the closed door and compressed her lips into a thin line. She would never apologize to Justin Randolph again. Never!

Elizabeth clenched her hands—the moccasins squashed. Her tirade stopped short as she looked down at them. Justin Randolph was a most unpleasant man, yet he was surprisingly thoughtful. Suddenly, she giggled. Would that be unpleasantly thoughtful…or thoughtfully unpleasant? Her amusement died. Either way it was incongruous. The two simply didn’t go together—except in her new husband.

Elizabeth sighed, pushed the hood off her head and walked over to sit down in one of the two, crudely made slat-back chairs at the table. What could cause a person to have such divergent characteristics? She glanced down at the leather moccasins and shook her head. What did it matter? Whatever the reason, Justin Randolph was both—she would simply have to make the best of it.

She glanced over at her shoes on the floor in front of the fireplace where Justin had thrown them, gave another sigh, and went to retrieve them. She put them in her bag, then resumed her seat. Her lips twitched, then twitched again. What a picture she must have made crawling out from under the bed and striding haughtily toward the door in her stocking feet!

Elizabeth convulsed with laughter, then, suddenly, began to cry. He hated her. He hated her! She straightened and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. Serves you right for trying to play the grande dame! You looked like a big fool. Let that be a lesson to you!

She blinked rapidly, picked up the moccasins and ran the long, leather thongs that trailed from them through her fingers. What did Justin Randolph’s opinion of her matter? She didn’t want him to like her. Still, it would be nice if they could at least be pleasant to one another. She shook her head at the improbability of that ever occurring and leaned forward to pull the fur-lined moccasins onto her cold feet.

Chapter Nine

T he carriage ride seemed endless. Time dragged. Elizabeth glanced over at Justin, then turned and pulled the window curtain back to stare out at the snow-covered landscape. All of her efforts at polite conversation had met with cold, curt answers and she was not eager to be rebuffed again. The carriage shuddered as a gust of wind hit it. Hail began to pound the roof with icy fists, demanding entrance. The sound was a steady drumming that emphasized the silence.

Elizabeth dropped the curtain, wiggled her toes and smiled to herself at the warm, luxuriant feel of the soft fur that molded itself to her foot. Moccasins. Justin was right—they were comfortable. Yesterday her feet had been painfully cold, but now they were encased in a lovely warmth. Did he ever wear them? Is that why he had thought to provide them for her?

Elizabeth studied this stranger she had married from under her lowered lashes. Try as she would, she couldn’t imagine him in moccasins. His clothes were the latest fashion, the material and cut quietly stating wealth and good taste. Even in the matter of clothing his self-assurance was obvious—he disdained the popular use of breeches and wore trousers instead. Her gaze swept from his Hessian boots to the top of his dark head. His hair was cut so that it just brushed the top of his collar and fell in thick, springy waves about his temples and forehead. The style suited him.

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