Undone - Virginia Henley

by Virginia Henley

  Elizabeth danced with each and every male guest, including the new bridegroom. "Maria is the luckiest lady in London to have your devotion, George."

  "I'm taking her to Paris for our honeymoon. I hope she enjoys the sights."

  _Poor, dear George_ -- _it will be one long shopping spree_. She kissed his cheek and said with genuine affection, "I am so glad my sister married you, my lord."

  Coventry unwittingly returned her to her husband's side after their dance, but Elizabeth had perfected a serene smile that hid her emotions from everyone.

  Hamilton interrupted a conversation between the king's son, Cumberland, and John Campbell. "I know how much Elizabeth loves to dance. Could I ask you to partner her, John, since I seldom dance myself?" He felt a surge of power as he dangled his beautiful wife before his rival.

  "It would be my pleasure, James."

  Elizabeth placed her hand in Campbell's without demur, and he led her into the dance. She felt as if the very air crackled and sparked between them. _You devil! What in hellfire are you doing here_? "Welcome to Hamilton House, Lord Sundridge."

  _You tempt me to madness_! His dark eyes devoured her. "Thank you. May I say that you dance superbly, Your Grace."

  She smiled her acknowledgment of his compliment. "My dancing master had a devil of a time. When I came out of the Irish bog, all I could manage was a clog dance."

  John's eyes danced with sardonic amusement. "From actress to duchess in a few short months. You are to be congratulated."

  "Such compliments will turn my head, you smooth-tongued knave."

  The moment she said it she blushed furiously. She had no doubt her words had evoked how he had made love to her with his mouth. Desperately, she changed the subject. "For an uncouth, uncivilized Highlander your dancing skills are remarkable."

  "Second only to my skills at seduction." _Curse you, Elizabeth, I want to make love to you right here in public_!

  "That is doubtless the result of much practice."

  "Nightly practice." Now it was his words that conjured pictures in their heated imaginations. The ache that had begun in his groin reached all the way to his heart. His arms throbbed to lift her and carry her off into the night. Then the throbbing spread to other vulnerable parts of his body.

  As Elizabeth swayed and turned, the rhythm of the music insinuated itself inside her, filling her with a longing to be held in John's arms forever. The physical need to have him touch her was sweet torture, but the emotional need was far deeper. Her desire to belong to him, and him alone, was an overwhelming agony.

  When the music stopped, their eyes and their hands clung possessively for half a dozen heartbeats. John could not bear to return her to Hamilton, so he enfolded her hand in his and took her over to her friend Charlie, who was watching the dancers from a comfortable chair at the side of the ballroom.

  Charlie saw the haunted look in Elizabeth's eyes and said something outrageous to break the spell. "Will you allow me to sit in your presence, now that you outrank me?"

  John kissed Charlie's hand. "She outranks us both."

  Elizabeth's laughter rang out, though her throat was choking with unshed tears.

  The dancing lasted until dawn, when Maria finally decided she was tired of the role of blushing bride. A gallant Coventry carried her to their carriage that would take them to the ship sailing on the morning tide to France. Elizabeth stood dutifully at her husband's side until their last guest departed. Hamilton reeked of brandy, and she noted with distaste that he was completely unsteady as he attempted to climb the stairs.

  It was six o'clock before she fell into bed exhausted. In three short hours Kate Agnew awoke her when the portrait painter arrived. She stood posing, stifling yawns, until the hour of noon when Hamilton invariably came on the scene. When he did not come, she asked Kate to see that Sir Joshua Reynolds was served lunch, then she went in search of Morton, the duke's valet.

  "He is indisposed, Your Grace. Dr. Bower is with him, but their raised voices indicate an altercation," Morton confided.

  Elizabeth felt torn. It was her duty to see her husband if he was ailing, but fear of him held her at bay. With great daring she decided to go down to the entrance hall and speak with the doctor before he departed. Instinctively she believed she would get more from him than she would from Hamilton.

  It seemed a long wait, but eventually she saw the medical man descend the stairs. "Dr. Bower? I am Elizabeth Douglas."

  He looked at her keenly to see if talk of her beauty was exaggerated. Concluding that it was not, he decided to warn the duchess. "Your husband is a stubborn man, Your Grace. He has a liver condition that is exacerbated by imbibing too much liquor. My advice to you is to keep the decanters under lock and key, and to tread softly. He is all liverish spleen at the moment and ready to savage anyone who dares to point out the truth."

  "I'm so sorry that he is a difficult patient, Dr. Bower."

  "Don't apologize for him, my dear. The bills for my services always compensate me for his boorish behavior."

  After lunch, Elizabeth posed for three more hours, hoping the portrait would soon be finished. When Reynolds told her it should be completed by the end of the week, she felt relieved. Lack of sleep had sapped her energy and when he left she removed the cape and gown and intended to lie down. Before she could do so, however, Bridget swept into her private suite with an armful of newspapers.

  "The wedding was written up in all the society pages. It was beyond question _the_ social event of the season! Every paper speaks of Maria's beauty and describes every detail of her gown. Most of them were extremely generous to you too, Elizabeth, praising your success as a hostess, but of course flattery is to be expected for the wife of a duke. That inveterate gossip, Horace Walpole, lays it on a bit too thick; he goes on and on about you: 'In the past the image of a duchess has always been dumpy, dowdy, and dull. The Duchess of Hamilton has changed all this with her exquisite face and form, which are incomparable. Her wit, intelligence, and charm earn her the right to truly be called Her Grace.'"

  "That's nice," Elizabeth said absently, thinking she would be able to retire early because Hamilton was under the weather.

  "All you can do is yawn! I'm sorry if the newspapers bore you, Miss Ingratitude, but you have me to thank for all this, you know!"

  "_Ne obliviscaris_, I do not forget," she said softly.

  Bridget was mollified. She did not hear the quiet threat in Elizabeth's voice. "The morning post brought four invitations, and you received another half dozen this afternoon. They are pouring in in reciprocation for the wedding of course. I have a new gown for Countess Orford's entertainment tonight. What will you wear?"

  "I'm not going. I've decided to go to bed early."

  "Are you unwell? Perhaps you're with child already!"

  _Could it be possible_? Her spirits soared; a child to love would bring her a chance for happiness. _But who would be the father_? She immediately dismissed the terrifying question. "No, Mother, I am not with child."

  "Hamilton may want an heir, but not this soon, I warrant. He enjoys having you on his arm, showing off your beautiful face and form. 'Tis the sole reason he married you. He won't be best pleased if you turn fat and frumpy within a month of your wedding."

  Elizabeth's spirits fell. _It would be best if I'm not with child_! The last thing she wanted was to incur Hamilton's wrath.

  "I saw the look of disgust on his face when he saw Charlotte Cavendish flaunting her pregnancy like a fat little sow."

  "Charlie looks beautiful! Don't be hateful." It was one of the few times she had dared to speak sharply to her mother. She bit her lip, knowing Bridget would find a way to retaliate, but she didn't care. She would defend Charlotte with her last breath.

  Bridget went straight to Kate Agnew with the information that Elizabeth was refusing to go to the Orfords' entertainment being held at Devonshire House. Then Kate told Hamilton. Within the hour he strode into her rooms with a smug-faced Kate at his heels. He looked slight
ly jaundiced but ready to do battle with a disobedient wife. He eyed the silk robe she had slipped over her petticoat. "Why haven't you begun to dress?"

  "I thought I would go to bed early, Your Grace. I'm tired."

  "Tired? You are only seventeen, how can you possibly be tired?"

  _I'm tired of being a duchess_. She licked dry lips. "I danced until dawn then stood posing for my portrait for seven hours."

  "Such hardships," he mocked. "Get dressed immediately."

  Kate went to the wardrobe, took out a sapphire blue gown with a white scalloped underskirt, then brought a corset.

  Elizabeth did not remove her robe. "When I learned you were ill, I assumed we wouldn't be going to the Orfords' tonight."

  "Ill? Have you been spying on me?" The yellow tinge of his skin turned a mottled red; he took a threatening step toward her.

  "Spying? No! When the doctor came to see you--"

  "Who the devil told you about the doctor?" He swung around and his accusing eyes fell on Kate. "Get out!" He was in a blazing temper now. "Lying and gossiping servants--I won't have it! And I won't have a wife who stands there and defies my wishes!" He reached out one powerful hand and tore the silk robe from her.

  Elizabeth crossed her arms over her body in a defensive gesture, but he grabbed her and picked up the corset from the bed where Kate had dropped it. He pulled it over her head, then yanked it about her midsection and tugged cruelly on the laces.

  She cried out in pain as her breasts were trapped and squeezed inside the corset. She pushed the boned garment down beneath her breasts with trembling fingers. "You are hurting me," she gasped.

  "Take a deep breath, damn you!"

  Elizabeth drew in her breath. He pulled the laces so tightly she screamed. Then she heard his grunt of satisfaction.

  "Now finish dressing. Don't make me hurt you again."

  At Devonshire House Elizabeth pinned a smile to her face and pretended she was enjoying herself. Under Hamilton's watchful eye, it was difficult to have a private word with Charlie, but finally she managed it. "After dancing until dawn, all I wanted to do was go to bed and sleep."

  "Me too," Charlie admitted, "but Rachel is my sister-in-law now, and since she and Orford were entertaining at Devonshire House, I could hardly send my regrets. Because of my condition I've suddenly become so lethargic. I want to sleep for a month!"

  _Lethargic exactly describes the way I feel_. "What other symptoms do you have, Charlie?"

  "My breasts are tender and extremely sensitive, but they're also larger--and Will finds them very attractive."

  Elizabeth smiled but winced inwardly. Her breasts were sore, but surely that was because Hamilton had been so rough with her?

  "Do you suspect you might be having a baby, Elizabeth?"

  "No, no," she denied quickly, but secretly she believed she was indeed with child, and hope and fear were at war in her heart.

  For the first two hours of the ball she hoped that John Campbell would not attend, but as midnight approached she began to long for the sight of him. She wanted to look into his eyes, hear his deep voice. She ached for his touch, if only in the dance.

  John Campbell too had been at war with himself. He knew he should avoid Devonshire House tonight, but as the hour advanced Elizabeth drew him like a lodestone. Even after he arrived he had no intentions of dancing with her, but the golden thread that bound them drew them inexorably toward each other.

  As the music swirled about them, his eyes fell on the sapphires glittering at her throat. "Hamilton indulges your love of jewels."

  _Your beauty needs no jewels to enhance it, Elizabeth._

  "How very fortunate I am that he enjoys flaunting his wealth." _They mean nothing to me_.

  He wanted to snatch Hamilton's jewels from her throat and scatter them across the ballroom floor. "He enjoys flaunting you, Elizabeth. 'Tis the reason he married you."

  Her laugh was brittle. "I'm not naive enough to suppose he married me for love, or my elegant manors."

  The corner of his mouth lifted. "No, you have the manners of an Irish wildcat, though you keep your claws sheathed." _Sheath me_.

  He longed to thread his fingers into her glorious golden hair and draw her mouth to his. His body ached to make love to her. What a bloody fool he had been. He should have made her his wife when he had the chance. Now all he had were regrets.

  Suddenly she couldn't breathe. His closeness made her dizzy and she was afraid she might faint. She gasped for air.

  "Are you all right?" His deep voice was intense.

  She gave him a slumberous glance. _I want you to pick me up and carry me home. I want you to undress me, lift me into bed, and hold me close against your heart_. "For a moment I thought you had stolen my senses, then I remembered my tight corset."

  His eyes lowered to her lush breasts that swelled from her low-cut gown. He was mad with jealousy that another had marital rights to touch her beautiful body and make love to her every night. His jaw clenched. _Cock-teasing little bitch_.

  At four in the morning Hamilton decided to leave. He and old Devonshire had engaged in an unspoken drinking contest as they played cards. It finally ended when the duke fell asleep in his cups with a snore. Only then did Hamilton take Elizabeth home.

  She found Emma waiting in her chamber. "Where is Kate Agnew?"

  "Hamilton gave her the sack and asked me to be your maid."

  "Oh, thank God, Emma! The woman has watched me like a spider every moment since I arrived in this house."

  Emma removed Elizabeth's jewels and gown. When she unlaced her corset, the young duchess staggered. "That damn thing was far too tight. You are dead on your feet, child. Into bed with you."

  Within minutes Elizabeth slipped into blissful sleep. Soon she tumbled headlong into a vivid dream:

  _She was dancing and all she wore was a long strand of jewels wound about her neck, her waist, and her hips. John lifted the huge blood-red ruby that nestled atop the golden curls between her legs and slowly began to unwind the string of glittering diamonds that was attached to it. Laughing, she spun faster and faster, giddy with the teasing, tempting, taunting game they played. She was naked save for the jewels about her neck, and John held the other end as if she were an animal on a leash. She growled seductively and unsheathed her claws. He laughed at her antics. "I always fancied an Irish wildcat in my bed." She crouched, then sprang upon him, nipping his throat with her sharp teeth. "It will take more than a Barbarian Highlander to tame me!"_

  _He licked his lips. "I have a secret weapon. .. remember?"_

  _She gazed at his mouth, mesmerized, and remembered how he had used it to make love to her the first time. "I will never forget_. Ne Obliviscaris, _John," she purred_.

  *Chapter Twenty-Three*

  The moment Elizabeth lifted her head from her pillow she was engulfed by nausea. She reached for the chamber pot and spewed up her heart. It instantly confirmed her suspicion that she was with child. Her emotions were hopelessly mixed. Her heart rejoiced, yet she dreaded Hamilton's reaction. Fear made her resolve to keep her secret as long as she could, for more than one reason.

  It was impossible to hide it from Emma, but they had an unspoken pact to keep the news to themselves. Elizabeth longed to tell her father, but she seldom saw him these days. Now that she was a wife they no longer had any private, precious moments together. She suspected that her mother had guessed her secret, for each night she made sure she was present when her daughter dressed for the evening. Bridget relentlessly tightened her corset, making sure Elizabeth's waist measured no more than seventeen narrow inches. And just as relentlessly, Emma surreptitiously loosened the corset strings to accommodate the Duchess of Hamilton's expanding waist.

  Elizabeth came to hate the social whirl that demanded two full hours of dressing each and every night. The duke's demand for perfection of her gown, makeup, and jewels amounted to an obsession, and she grew to loathe her position as Duchess of Hamilton. She began to dread the parties where she was
expected to dance until dawn, where she was forced to mask her unhappiness, hide her exhaustion, and conceal her pregnancy.

  Elizabeth began to dislike herself as well. The life she led was shallow, self-absorbed, and meaningless. After she was painted by Reynolds, the duke insisted that she sit for portraits by Francis Cotes, by Jean-Etienne Liotard, who had just done a portrait of Princess Augusta, and by Michael Dahl, who had painted the king.

  Dislike was too mild a word to describe what Elizabeth felt toward her mother. One evening when Bridget was particularly brutal, tightening her corset strings to reduce her thickening waist, Elizabeth rebelled. "You don't give a damn if you injure my child, so long as I look slim and ornamental on Hamilton's arm!"

  "So, it is true! You are breeding! You are nothing but a sly, secretive little bitch to keep such news from your mother! Does Hamilton know about the child?"

  "Not yet, Mother. I'd like to tell him in my own good time, but there's little hope of that when you report everything to him."

  "You are an unnatural daughter. I thank God for Maria who shows me love and gratitude for making her Countess of Coventry. I have missed her dreadfully, but she is finally returned after six weeks in France, and I cannot wait to see her tonight at Strawberry Hill."

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer that she would not vomit on the carriage ride to Horace Walpole's pretentious neo-Gothic castle in Twickenham. The only good thing about tonight was the fact that John Campbell was not likely to make the journey to Twickenham since he had scant patience for the likes of the effeminate gossip Walpole. Feeling guilty over the way she had spoken to her mother, Elizabeth apologized. "I'm sorry I kept the baby a secret, but I felt sure that you had already guessed. And I too am looking forward to seeing Maria."

  As always, Hamilton came to inspect her appearance before they departed. "Your gown is all wrong for tonight." His eyes narrowed as they swept over Bridget and Emma. "Who chose it?"