She sat up, pulling the blanket with her, and stared at the beardless face that was again familiar to her. It bothered her that she found that face attractive, handsome in fact.
He caught her looking at his reflection in the mirror, and said without preamble, "When was the last time you had a man, Elizabeth?" His question took her by surprise, and for the span of several seconds she said nothing, just sat staring at his face in the mirror. His eyes holding hers, he said, "It's a simple enough question, gypsy girl." He went back to shaving while waiting for her response.
Elizabeth edged backwards, pressing the blanket tighter to her chest, wondering how long he'd humiliate her, yet determined to defend her virtue, compromised though it was. "I've never been with a man in the way you mean. You're the first and last man to kiss me or touch me the way you do."
Damon caught her eyes in the mirror. "You must take me for a cretin. You know your way around a man's body, how to send all the right signals. When you kissed me the night I found you dancing, it was the kiss of an experienced woman skilled in the art of seducing a man. If it had not been for the commotion of the gypsies you would have welcomed me into your body."
Elizabeth felt her face grow hot, not from embarrassment, but from raw fury brought on by his boorish description of something she'd revered over the years, a kind of initiation into womanhood. After he'd kissed her in his bedchamber, she'd been haunted by that kiss, and when they kissed again the night she danced, and his hand moved up her leg, and his lips moved down her chest, everything became a blur of hidden delights and sensual pleasures. "I didn't know what I was doing. It was an impulsive move I can't explain, other than I was a naive fool who was beginning to care for you, and who had idealistic notions of being your—" she stopped short, her fantasy of being his wife seeming ludicrous now that she was wed to him, knowing the kind of man he really was.
"My mistress?" Damon let out an ironic huff. "If you'd stayed around you would have been. I was so consumed with passion for you I would have given you anything you wanted, your own bungalow, a buggy and a pair of fine horses, priceless jewels, anything a prized mistress would demand to keep her warming my bed."
Elizabeth blinked several times, lowered her eyes from his and said just above a whisper, "Not your mistress. Your wife. Like I said, I was a naive fool who was beginning to fall... to have... feelings for you."
Damon resumed shaving. "Those feelings didn't stop you from stealing my opal and making my life a living hell."
"That's because I was living my own hell, but I doubt you'd know what it's like to live by your wits, to hate the life you're living because it made you feel cheap, and dirty, and worthless."
A long silence hung.
When he didn't respond, Elizabeth said, "You seem at a loss for words. Is it so surprising to learn I detested living the life of a gypsy?"
"You never gave any sign you hated it." Damon's mind raced back to a time when he'd seen sparks dancing in her eyes as she talked about whimsical nymphs and clever undines and lithe spirits whirling in the flames of the campfire, and the joy he'd felt having her in his presence. "You talked with enthusiasm about living in your wagon and hearing the rain on the roof and the wind in the trees and the frogs croaking."
"That part I loved," Elizabeth admitted, "but the rest... The gypsies despised me because I was half-gorgio, an untouchable among untouchables, and you blue bloods saw me only as worthy of being a man‘s mistress, never a wife, which was why my father guarded my Hindu heritage. I'm sure he didn't tell you about it. That alone would have been reason for any suitor to demand a higher bride price because they'd be getting inferior goods. Yet, my father also made certain I went to finishing school so I'd become a properly educated misfit."
Damon felt like she'd just stuck her ivory-handled knife in his gut because her assessment was so accurate. England's fops and dandies would be appalled if they knew Elizabeth Sheffield was half-Hindu. Yet, the night he saw her slender body snaking and twisting with passionate intensity to the strains of distant violins, he'd been enchanted by her, his beautiful exotic bird that shouldn't be captured and tamed. But now she was poised and polished and made into someone who didn't fit into either world, and he'd confirmed that by assuring her she was nothing more to him than a woman to warm his bed.
He wondered now if she was the chaste maiden she held herself to be. Being caught between two worlds, not accepted by either, she might be as she claimed. And he'd humiliated her by forcing her to strip to her underclothing. But he still had questions that warranted answers before he'd allow himself to fall into another of her traps. "If you hated that life so much why didn't you return to England and your father? He would have taken you back."
Elizabeth pressed the covers against her chest like a shield. "After he lied by telling me my mother was dead, the thought of returning to him was more abhorrent than living with gypsies." She pinned him with eyes glistening with tears. "And I hate being called gypsy girl!"
For the first time since he'd learned who Elizabeth Sheffield was, Damon had a desire to take her in his arms and comfort her as a husband would console a despondent wife. Until now he'd been so filled with bitterness over what she'd done, he'd directed that anger towards lusting after her and having her in his bed to do with what he pleased. He still wanted that, but only if she wanted it too. Knowing any attempt to retract his hurtful words would fall on deaf ears, he dismissed the idea and said, "Your father lied to protect you from the truth."
Elizabeth looked at him with a start. "Then you know about my mother?"
"I know your father sent her away."
"Do you know why?"
"No, but maybe in time I could find out."
"In time?" Elizabeth let out a rueful laugh. "In three months I'll be out of this marriage and you'll be out of my life so whatever happened when I was eight years old, that was so horrifying I've blocked it from my mind, won't matter a rat's rear end to anyone but me."
Damon was keenly aware that something grisly had taken place at Shanti Bhavan before he bought the place, though he'd never been able to glean from the servants what it was, and after those servants left, he no longer cared. Now his old curiosity had returned, but he wasn't so sure it involved Elizabeth. "What makes you think you were caught up in whatever happened? You were a child and you could have blocked out everything when you learned your mother died."
"I know something terrible happened and I know it involved me, and that's one of the main reasons I'm going through this sham of a marriage, so I can try to recover my lost memories, not because I care whether you get your opal back. Nor do I feel remorse over taking from you something that was stolen in the first place. It's your fault you purchased stolen goods from a crooked gem dealer. You should be going after him, not me. But I'll get your opal back if the gypsies have it because I'll also get the deed to Shanti Bhavan, and as a woman with property, I won't have to be subservient to any man, ever again."
Damon waited, and when she added nothing more, he said, "I'll leave now. You can have your privacy." He slipped into his clothes and left.
CHAPTER 8
Damon didn't return to their stateroom that day, but after having missed both breakfast and lunch, Elizabeth decided to venture to the dining room for dinner. If possible, she'd sit alone. She had no idea where Damon spent the day, or if he let it be known that he was a married man, so the less interaction she had with the other passengers, the better.
After dressing in a plain, poplin traveling dress fashioned in a shade of burgundy, with pleated puff sleeves and tiny tucks down the front of the fitted bodice—a relatively unadorned dress she hoped would not draw attention—she made her way to the dining room.
She didn't wear the diamond-encircled sapphire wedding ring Damon had given her as part of the marriage arrangement, but she kept it in her reticule in case she needed to play the role of bride. It was a role that would make use of the acting skills she'd acquired while living with the gypsies, skills she'd us
ed to mislead a merchant into offering her fresh vegetables for her three hungry children, and to hoodwink a traveling salesman into giving her tonic for her ailing baby, and to dupe a lord at the horse fair into buying a dyed black horse.
To her dismay, the maître d' seated her at a table with four other passengers, two sets of married couples, it appeared. The vacant chair beside her demanded an explanation, which she had no intention of providing. After cordial greetings that confirmed the couples' marital and highborn status, the middle-aged woman directly across from her smiled, and said, "I'm sorry dear, but I did not get your name."
Elizabeth looked around the table and realized all eyes were on her, waiting. Offering a tentative smile, she said, "Elizabeth."
"Have you a husband aboard, or are you venturing to India to find one?" the woman asked, tagging her as one of the many 'fishing fleet' women aboard for that exact reason.
Elizabeth shifted uneasily. She suspected word was already out that Lord Damon Ravencroft had taken a wife, and the woman was intent on learning if the female in the unadorned burgundy dress sitting across from her was Lady Ravencroft. Realizing she had little choice but to admit to the inevitable, she said, "I have recently married. My husband is Lord Ravencroft." Uncertain where this interrogation was leading, she covertly withdrew the ring from her reticule and slipped it on her finger, the weight of it more like a manacle than a symbol of love.
When everyone sat silently staring at her, Elizabeth surmised that they were trying to digest the juicy bit of gossip they'd just been given. Three years ago she'd heard enough tittle-tattle from the servants at Shanti Bhavan to conclude that Damon was considered a notorious rake, a gem dealer of questionable integrity, and a threat to the husbands and fathers of the many women who derived a bizarre pleasure out of the danger associated with being in the company of a man with Damon's mysterious background.
The younger woman, who Elizabeth presumed was the daughter of the middle-aged woman, their sharp noses and high foreheads placing them clearly from the same stock, said to Elizabeth, "I wasn't aware that Lord Ravencroft had been in England."
Elizabeth studied the woman more closely. From the look of puzzlement on her face, it was obvious that the woman, like the others in her insular little circle of gossipers in Calcutta's British society, had been fooled royally by Prince Rao Singh. "Lord Ravencroft was in London taking care of business matters," she replied.
The older woman, who'd been eyeing her with the sharp stare of a hawk, said to her, "Lady Ravencroft, is your husband not joining you for dinner this evening?"
"I'm not sure," Elizabeth replied. "When we awakened this morning I told him my stomach was queasy, so he left me in our stateroom to rest. I suspect he's in the gaming room."
The younger woman leaned toward her. "You say your stomach was queasy this morning? How long have you been married?"
Elizabeth looked from one woman to the other, realizing the stomach queasiness she'd intended to be taken as seasickness had been interpreted as morning sickness instead. She was tempted to tell them it was none of their business when she and Damon married, but decided it would add fuel to a fire that was already building, so she replied, "We were married yesterday."
The older woman looked at her, incredulous. "The first day of your honeymoon, and your husband left you to go gaming?"
"He left at my request. I awakened with a touch of motion sickness from the rocking vessel, and since there was nothing he could do for me, and I wished to be undisturbed until it passed, I suggested he go gaming."
The women exchanged knowing glances. Then the elder of the two reached across the table and patted Elizabeth's hand. "We quite understand, my dear, but you've managed to land Lord Ravencroft with the oldest trick known."
Elizabeth bristled. "If you are implying that I'm carrying Lord Ravencroft's child, you're greatly mistaken."
The woman laughed lightly. "No, my dear, that's the second oldest trick in trapping a husband of means. I venture to say, when your husband learns he's not to be a father, but was deceived into believing that was the case, he will not be happy. But then, perhaps that's the only way to land a man such as Lord Ravencroft. He is a dodgy devil."
Elizabeth stood, looked from one woman to the other, and said, "Excuse me, but I believe I'll find another table." She turned to leave, and to her shock, saw Damon in the entry to the dining room. The sight of him, clean-shaved and standing tall in a cutaway jacket, made her breath catch, much as it had the first time she laid eyes on him at the horse fair. Back then, he'd been pointed out to her from a distance, but when she'd paused in front of him to display the horses, and he winked and smiled, her heart started racing so fast she thought she might faint.
He caught sight of her and started across the dining room. After giving the others at the table a brief nod of acknowledgment, he took Elizabeth by the arm and turned away. "I want to talk to you." His voice was low, his hand firm on her elbow, letting her know that breaking and running was not an option. He guided her to a table for two and seated her, then sat opposite.
Elizabeth glared across the table. After her humiliating encounter with the women she was in no mood to be reprimanded by him for any reason. "Before you start in, I have something to say. I don't care if you take a mistress aboard this ship or when we get to Shanti Bhavan, as long as you're discrete and maintain the woman out of sight so gossip doesn't find its way back to England and to my father. Now, go ahead and say whatever it is you want. You cannot strip me of any more pride because I have none."
Damon ignored her diatribe about having a mistress. "You'll have your privacy. I've secured a palette and a privacy screen, which will be brought to our stateroom. You'll have the bed, and I'll sleep on the palette. Afternoons and evenings I'll be in the gaming room, and the stateroom will be yours. Mornings, I'll sleep, and the stateroom will be mine. You can remain at that time if you wish, or go up and mingle. At high tea and dinner, we'll dine together and put up a front as a married couple. You don't need to worry about my touching you again."
Elizabeth said nothing. She knew precisely where she stood. Three years before he'd wanted her only as his mistress. Now, all he wanted was his opal, her dowry, and her father's influence in obtaining a pardon so he could annul their marriage, claim his inheritance, and take a wife whose parentage would make her suitable for bearing the heir of Lord Edmund Carlisle, Earl of Westwendham. And all she wanted was to be mistress and sole owner of Shanti Bhavan.
She looked beyond Damon to where the women sat, heads tipping together, with an occasional glance in their direction. She could only imagine their delight on arriving in Calcutta and being the first to spread word that Lord Damon Ravencroft had been trapped into marriage. But no matter. Once she was mistress of Shanti Bhavan and Damon was back in England, the gossip would cease. Oddly, that revelation brought her no joy.
***
True to his word, for the next two weeks Damon didn't touch Elizabeth, even when she stood behind the privacy screen while taking a sponge bath. But some intimacies could not be avoided. When she'd get up in the morning, wearing only her shift, and place the privacy screen in front of the 'throne,' she could not mask the sound it made while she relieved herself into the chamber pot. But the privacy screen meant nothing to Damon. If he wanted to bathe, he stripped off his clothes and proceeded to wash. If she were present he gave no indication it mattered. It also reaffirmed the gossip she'd heard about Prince Singh being very much a man.
Even though she tried to ignore Damon's presence, by the time the steamer entered the Suez Canal Elizabeth was familiar with every detail of her husband's virile male body. What she saw tormented her during the night while they lay in their separate beds, not touching, not talking, and she'd hear his heavy breathing and know he was fully awake. Those were the times she longed for the touch of the man who had a legal right to do so, and abstained.
The slow drift down the Suez Canal brought with it rising temperatures. By late afternoon each d
ay, the stateroom was stifling. When Damon still made no move to touch her, Elizabeth became less reticent to sit in her camisole and drawers to make up her face and do her hair. However, shortly before they were to arrive in Aden, the last port before reaching Bombay, while she was dressing for dinner, Damon entered the stateroom to find her standing in her drawers and camisole while trying in vain to engage the stiff front fastenings of a new corset.
Although her back was to him, in the mirror above the dressing table she saw his reflection. He said nothing, just stood watching as she attempted to insert a strap into a buckle with fingers so nervous and shaky she couldn't perform the simple task. To break the awkwardness, she said, "I'm ready to forego the Suez Canal and cross the desert in a palkee just to get there sooner. I forgot how incredibly hot it could get in this part of the world." A particularly stubborn strap refused to thread into the tiny buckle.
Damon walked up behind her and turned her around. Nudging her hands aside, he inserted the strap into the buckle and fastened it, then moved to the next buckle. As he made his way up the front while fastening each buckle, eyes focused on his task, his breath wafted against the swell of her breasts above the camisole when he said, "As mistress of Shanti Bhavan the heat will not be an issue. You'll have servants to operate the punkahs, iced drinks at the snap of your fingers, and ayahs to prepare a cool bath and help you dress."
The heels of Damon's hands against her ribs, and the heat of his breath wafting on her chest as he struggled with a mulish buckle, brought an unexpected shiver coursing through her. And deep inside she felt an awakening. "Is the staff the same as when I was there?" she asked, not because she was curious, but because she was trying to ignore the desire slowly building.
Twilight 0f Memory (Historical Regency Romance) Page 11