Lizzie, My Love

by Sara Bennett - Lizzie, My Love

  He began to kiss her almost desperately, and she responded warmly and naturally, hugging him against her as she would never have dared to do had not the brandy weakened her reserve.

  “Perhaps it’s better this way,” he said, as if to himself. He had begun to take off his jacket and shirt. “I don’t want to frighten you, or hurt you, Lizzie, but usually you’re so damned jumpy...”

  A warning bell rang in her head. She shook it to try and clear it, and had to cling to the bed-end again as she almost fell over.

  “What about all the others?” she managed at last, in a far away voice.

  “What about them?” he repeated softly, his black eyes even darker in the shadows of his handsome face.

  She watched him stepping lightly towards her, like some big, dangerous cat. Broad shoulders and chest, heavily muscled, trimming down to his waist and hips. Strong legs. He was quite beautiful, and she had to swallow to regain her voice.

  “Well...” she clung to the brass bed-end. “I can’t possibly measure up to them, can I? I’ve not had the... the experience.” She glared at him, daring him to comment.

  His face was soft with tenderness. “Lizzie, my little love, I want you just as you are. Can’t you see that?”

  Absurdly, she knew she was lost then, but kept fighting, going down that third time. “I mean, I’m not even pretty, and you’re used to pretty girls. At least, I suppose you are. And I’m thin and awkward and... how could you want to marry me?”

  He held out his arms, and she went into them so hard she knocked his breath out with a huff. It seemed to her, afterwards, that it was all part of the dream.

  His mouth closed on hers, warm and sweet, and she let her arms slide about his waist, feeling flesh warm and smooth. And strong. He held her so tightly, and yet so gently, it was like being the captive of a friendly storm. And then he had lifted her high against his chest, and was carrying her towards the absurd bed.

  His palms came to rest either side of her face, and he looked into her eyes. “Oh Lizzie,” he said, and bending kissed her lips gently, then passionately.

  His mouth teased and touched, and though she twisted away, she held him closer with her arms. His hands stroked and unwound her from her nightgown and found her secrets. Near the end, she was in such a fever of excitement and emotion, she felt completely wanton. Eyes brilliant, hair tumbling riotously about her on the pillows. She gazed up to where he was poised above her.

  Perspiration dampened his upper lip, his dark hair fell over his brow, his eyes shone soft and dark. He had never been so handsome to her as he stooped and with extraordinary gentleness, made her his, meeting her trembling cry with a kiss.

  “Zek,” she managed, much later, lying still in the curve of his arm, her body pressed trustingly to his.

  “Lizzie.”

  He turned his cheek to her brow, his hand stroking her arm. He sounded weary, and she thought it took him an effort to act naturally. His face too was strained, and she wondered suddenly if it had been as wonderful an experience for him as it had been for her.

  Her lashes swept down to hide her eyes.

  “Sleep my love,” he whispered, bending to kiss her lips. “Sleep.”

  And surprisingly, she slept.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE woke alone, and lay a moment wondering if her head was going to come off, or whether it already had. The light from the shutters was like daggers, and she squeezed her eyes shut with a soft groan. It was half an hour before she dared try to get up, and then it took much effort and much groaning before she was dressed. She kept remembering bits and pieces of the night before, and hardly dared to allow the thoughts to come filtering through.

  Zek’s astonished face, and his kisses, and other things which made her turn pink and white by turns. And something more she hardly dared even to consider was real. Zek asking her to marry him.

  She was sitting on the bed, trying to gather enough courage to go out into the house when a knock sounded like an avalanche on her door. She went white, and staggered up, crying for them to stop. Mary peeped in, her face carefully devoid of emotion.

  “Mr. Gray wishes to see you, Miss Banister, in his office.”

  “Thank you, Mary,” she smiled wanly. “I’ll be there directly.”

  She made her way by slow degrees to the office, knocking softly on the panels. His voice was too loud, but she gritted her teeth and entered, feeling like a schoolgirl called up before the headmaster.

  He was standing by the window, and she blinked as he turned. He was smiling, however, his eyes reading her face correctly. “Feeling a little out of sorts, Lizzie?” he murmured.

  “You look very pleased with yourself,” she retorted sharply, and was sorry for it when her head began to pound.

  He came and took her hands. “Lizzie, do you remember last night?”

  She went pink, and bit her lip. “I don’t know. I think...”

  He laughed softly, making her go pinker than ever. “Exactly. And apart from that, you agreed to marry me.”

  “I...” She shook her head, but his grip on her hands tightened. “Zek, are you sure? I mean...”

  Can you be faithful, or don’t you intend to try? she wanted to ask him. I love you, and if you break my heart I doubt I could bear it, she wanted to cry. But she said neither, standing mute with her head throbbing.

  “You said you were unhappy,” he cut in rather sharply. “I didn’t realize the prospect of marriage to me would be equally depressing.”

  “Oh no!”

  He was frowning, however, his eyes searching her face. “Surely it would be no worse than your present situation? And besides... since we’ve already anticipated the ceremony—and I don’t take virgins for sport my girl, let me tell you!—we have no choice.”

  She hung her head, realizing then what she had not realized last night. He was marrying her because she had told him they thought her his mistress. Last night he had gone to Angelica and explained matters to her, and then returned to tell Lizzie his decision. No argument of hers could have moved him. He did not love her, He never had. She had offered her body and he being what he was had taken it. She could not blame him for that. But the facts hurt. They hurt a good deal. “I will marry you,” she said dully. “Of course I will. I must.”

  His smile was without humor, and he nodded briefly, releasing her fingers. “Go and put on your best dress then, and pack a few things in a bag. We’ll go in to Bathurst as soon as possible.”

  She turned and went out, dragging her feet. She dressed carefully, brushed her hair, and packed her bag. It seemed incredible that this should be happening, and she moved as if it were a dream. Mary, eyes popping, came to help, saying that Mr. Gray had told her the good news, and they worked in silence.

  “I hope you’re very happy, Miss Banister,” she said at last, when they were done. Lizzie nodded, smiled with an effort, and went outside.

  He had the gig waiting. Lizzie let him help her up into it, glancing aside at the rather stern profile. They drove for a time in utter silence.

  “What did Angelica say?” she managed at last.

  His knuckles went white on the reins. “This is nothing to do with her.”

  It was everything to do with her, Lizzie thought. If Angelica had been free there would have been no question of him having to marry Lizzie. Good God, perhaps Angelica approved of all this. Why not? She could picture them together, Angelica laughing and purring, “It’ll make no difference to us, though, darling!” And Zek’s brown hands stroking her fair hair, his low laughter, “God, no! How could I compare Lizzie, poor plain Lizzie, with you!”

  She shuddered, drawing his attention back to her. He turned his eyes on her face, raking her stiff, straight figure.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  He eyed her a moment in mockery. ‘You hardly look a blushing bride.”

  “Should I?”

  “Don’t be sarcastic, Lizzie, it doesn’t suit you. I’m sorry
there is no time for a big wedding, but in the circumstances...”

  “I understand.”

  Who would want to show off such a bride as she, when Zek Gray had made himself famous because of dalliances with beauties like Angelica Bailey?

  They paused for a noon rest at the same tavern, but Lizzie managed to avoid the girl’s eyes and stayed close with Zek while he drank his ale and she her water. She felt better for the time spent in the shade—her head seemed to have resumed its normal size—and managed to make some conversation on the rest of the journey, which he answered cursorily. But at least she made the effort.

  Bathurst looked almost familiar to her, as they came down from the surrounding hills into the town. Zek seemed pleased to be there too, and smiled as he swung her down at the York Hotel.

  “I’ll go and see about a license,” he told her, when they had taken two rooms. “Dinner is in about an hour.”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought it best if we wait until we’re actually married before asking for the bridal suite.”

  His eyes were wicked, but she avoided them. When he had gone, she rid herself of a curious, bright-eyed Mrs. O’Driscoll, and lay down on the bed to try and sleep. She felt quite drained with emotion at the mere thought of a wedding. Perhaps she was a romantic after all? But the idea of such a bloodless contract horrified her. She couldn’t help but remember Jane’s glowing face and the joy that filled the air. How could she contemplate marrying Zek when he didn’t love her? It seemed somehow wrong, and yet... she wanted him. Foolish perhaps, but she loved him so much she no longer cared what his feelings were. At least he would be hers, and she may be allowed to share him with Angelica.

  Over dinner he told her, “I can get a license in the morning and we can be married at two.”

  “So quickly?”

  His smile mocked her shocked expression. “Of course. I can pull some weight when I want to, Lizzie.”

  “Oh.”

  “In the morning you can buy yourself a new dress. Here.” He put some money beside her hand. She stared at it. “Take it,” he said impatiently. “I want my bride to look like a bride, even if she doesn’t feel like one.”

  She took the money, and looking up into his eyes saw his smile. It was as if in doing so she had given up her last reservation to what he had already decided was to be her fate.

  She found a dress. Blue silk, with white ruching. She bought a bonnet to match, and new slippers—dainty things peeping out from under the wide, buckram-stiffened hem. She bought new under things too, silk and satin, so light and feminine Lizzie blushed at the sight of them, and her hands shook while she dressed.

  She was ready long before two, and sat waiting, feeling her heart thudding with apprehension and excitement. She kept glancing in the mirror by the bed, touching her big, fashionable sleeves, smoothing her gloves, and patting at the strands of hair she had somehow contrived to turn into ringlets bouncing against either side of her face.

  Her eyes shone like gold, and she stared at herself, hardly daring to believe it. Today she would marry Zek Gray, whom she loved. It seemed rather a pity that he didn’t love her.

  He came for her at last, and when she stood up to greet him his eyes took in her finery at a glance. He smiled, a little grimly she thought, but his eyes gleamed as he took her hand.

  “You do look like a bride, Lizzie.”

  He was handsome in formal black jacket and trousers, his shirt collar so white it dazzled her. His hair was brushed neatly too, and he wore a gold watch and chain in his waistcoat pocket. He looked every inch the devil-may-care rake. She put her hand in his, feeling his fingers close on hers. He smiled properly then, and bending slightly kissed her soft lips.

  “Is it so bad?” he whispered, but gave her no chance to answer as he urged her out of the door.

  The minister had agreed to marry them in his residence. His wife acted as a witness, and Zek had a friend, a red-coated soldier, as best man. The soldier, whose name was Captain Leigh Barrett, looked at Lizzie rather curiously, and she flushed at what she felt his thoughts to be—“Fancy old Zek marrying such a thing as that! What happened to Angelica?”

  The service was brief.

  Zek drew her into his arms at the end, kissing her lips softly. His whispered, “Oh Lizzie, I’ll try hard to make it all right,” didn’t help her confidence much, though she managed to smile back into his eyes.

  It was still early, and they had a drink with the minister, while Captain Barrett talked of the government, and Lizzie tried to still the trembling in her hands. Zek seemed relaxed, and laughed a lot afterwards, when they had dinner back at the York Hotel. Lizzie lingered over it as long as possible, but there finally came a time when there was nothing more to do but retire to their room.

  It was a new room, large and lavish. Lizzie saw that her things had been removed there. Her brush beside his, her one lonely bottle of perfume-water beside his cologne. It made it all more intimate, somehow. More real. Up until now she could tell herself it was a dream. But to see her things and his side by side turned it into reality.

  He was removing his coat. His glance was impatient. “Take off your bonnet, Lizzie! And your gloves! Or do you intend coming to bed in them?”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and began to undress.

  She turned her back, unbuttoning the gown, and didn’t hear him come over to her until his hands closed on her shoulders. “Lizzie,” he said, and she felt his lips on her nape, lingering. His arms slid about her waist, pulling her back against his big frame. He held her so tightly for a moment she couldn’t breathe. But when he turned her about there was none of the suppressed emotion she had thought she felt in him while she couldn’t see him. His smile was lightly mocking, and though his eyes blazed it was only desire she saw in them, not love.

  ***

  Zek was whistling. The wind buffeted Lizzie’s bonnet and she clutched it with one hand as the gig bumped over the long road home. They had left Bathurst this morning after over a week spent sampling the delights of that town. It was a period she would never forget. Thinking of it now, she glanced at his face, her eyes almost glazed with love.

  Zek had spent the first days buying her a completely new wardrobe. She might protest in vain. He took no notice. “You’re delightful when you blush,” he mocked, when he presented her with his idea of what a woman’s night attire should consist of.

  There were gowns and blouses, coats and jackets, shoes and stockings, chemisettes and shifts, and other things which she thought, darkly, he shouldn’t know about. All so elegant and perfectly fitting. She had to visit the dressmaker too, and he laughed when she didn’t want him to sit and watch her being measured and fitted.

  “Lizzie,” he teased her, “you have an excellent figure. Why do you want to hide it under those awful drab rags?”

  “I’m too skinny, Zek, and...”

  He laughed softly, making her blush again. “You’re not skinny in the places that count.”

  He bought her jewelry too. Earrings and pendants and brooches all so finely-wrought and feminine she felt almost a changed woman just wearing them. Did he really think of her as being as dainty and lovely as his choice seemed to suggest? Or was he pretending she was Angelica, and buying what would suit her? But he didn’t seem to be pining for Angelica. Not noticeably, anyway. His eyes teased her, watching her delight in it all.

  “Money,” he mocked, when she protested about the expense. “You’re my wife, Lizzie. I like to see you in clothes I’ve bought you. Don’t you understand that yet? I want to dress you from head to toe. And speaking of head, I’ve told you a hundred times how much I hate seeing you with your lovely hair dragged back like a horse’s tail. Here...”

  “But Zek—”

  “But Zek!” he mocked, and when her hair was tumbling about her, he caught her up, kissing her breathless. That was one of the days she had really believed he felt some affection for her.

  He watched her like a hawk, too. It puzzl
ed her, that constant, possessive watchfulness he kept up where she was concerned. As though he expected her suddenly to turn into a butterfly and fly away.

  Sometimes, when she woke in the morning, he would be lying there awake, watching her. And though he yawned and smiled, as though he too had just awoken, she knew he had been awake for much longer.

  She began to wonder if he was regretting his marriage already, and beginning to hate her. His watchful look made her nervous, and frightened of what he might see. She knew that she loved him more than ever, more than was decent, in her opinion, brought up as she had been with fixed ideas on what marriage should properly entail. If she was just a momentary distraction, until he could get back to Angelica, it would just have to serve as a happy memory to color the rest of her unhappy life.

  They dined out with others only once. Captain Barrett came with his wife to the York. It was with a shock that Lizzie recognized the pretty brunette Zek had kissed ages ago, when they had stayed here, and she glanced at him in astonishment, tempered with a growing outrage. Had he actually gone so far as to seduce his friend’s wife?

  But Captain Barrett was friendly, and though the brunette seemed to enjoy flirting with Zek, while he laughed at her indulgently, Lizzie could see nothing sinister in their relationship.

  “I’ve known Zek forever,” said the brunette, whose name was Prudence though they called her by her nickname of ‘Kitten’.

  “Kitten and Leigh are old friends,” Zek murmured in his lazy voice. He caught Lizzie’s repressive look and let the laughter glow in his eyes as he raised his glass to her.

  Kitten snuggled up against him, wriggling, Lizzie thought privately, like a cat with fleas. Her mouth was blatantly pouting, but Zek only laughed. Leigh guffawed too, and poured himself another drink. Lizzie eyed him rather scornfully. No wonder his wife made up to other men, if her own husband was more interested in his drink.

  But after all Captain Barrett had another interest. Lizzie.

  Zek had ordered them a private room, and after they had dined there, they drank champagne among the rather awesomely opulent furnishings. Sheer luxury, Lizzie thought, big-eyed, looking about her. Who would have thought Lizzie Banister would ever be dining in such a place?