by Lori Foster
“Yorkshire, my home.”
That seemed to shock her more than their marriage. He caught a glimpse of her glistening eyes before she lowered her head and ran from the room.
Elizabeth shook with suppressed tears, but she could not cower in her room. She sat on the stairs in the hall, watching the door behind which her father and that man—John Malory—planned her life without even considering her.
Malory had ordered her from the room, and her father had let him! What could they be saying? Was her father ready to ship her off with an impoverished baron into the wilds of Yorkshire? Could he truly be that angry with her?
He was, she thought bleakly, and shivered at the contempt she’d seen on her father’s face. She had gotten herself into this mess, all because she’d tried to make Lord Wyndham jealous.
And now he’d never ask to marry her.
When the door opened, she rose quickly to her feet. John Malory closed the door behind him, and he was alone. He walked across the hall, unaware of her presence, his face pensive and distracted. Where was his triumph? Surely he only concealed it well.
He saw her and stopped. She had forgotten how imposing he was, how even in his plain garments he seemed larger than her father’s overpowering hall.
“Did you wish to speak with me, Elizabeth?”
“I have nothing to say to you,” she said in a low voice, hating the quiver he would certainly hear.
He only inclined his head, as if she wasn’t even worth arguing with. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.
He walked past her and out the door.
She quickly wiped her wet lashes, then marched to her father’s door and knocked.
There was a long silence before he told her to come in. He was sitting at his desk but staring out the windows to their sprawling garden along the Thames. He didn’t look at her; he didn’t speak.
Every feeling of unworthiness she’d ever had crowded into her head. When her mother returned from the country, Elizabeth would have to explain it all again. And her mother might ask exactly what she had done in that garden.
She was every bit the stupid girl they thought she was.
“Father?”
To her horror, her voice broke, and the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. She wanted her father to hold her, to tell her everything would be all right. But he’d never been that kind of father, and he certainly wouldn’t start now.
He cleared his throat but still didn’t look at her. “I’ll have the license sometime tomorrow. The marriage will take place the next day.”
“But Father, surely there is something else we can do. All he wants is my money!”
“Then why did he tell me to keep it for one year, until he’d proven himself?”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Finally, she asked, “What about the marriage contract?”
Her father picked up a quill and bent over his desk. “At least he’s willing to marry you. Perhaps you should have thought of money before you brazenly kissed him. Now please leave, so I can decide how to tell your mother of your disgrace.”
Elizabeth held back her sobs until she was alone in her own room. My God, not only was she to marry a man who expected her to live far from London, but he was impoverished, too. As if marrying her was supposed to make up for that! How could her father allow this to happen?
How had she allowed this to happen? she wondered dully.
CHAPTER 3
At the church, John married Elizabeth, who was pale and red-eyed and wouldn’t look at him as she trembled through the whole ceremony.
He didn’t like feeling sympathy for her. Every young girl expected to have a wonderful wedding someday, and hers was attended by few people. Her three brothers were away, and her parents stared at the ground, rather than at her. He’d been introduced to her mother earlier that morning, and the woman had looked him up and down and promptly burst into tears. It seemed that Elizabeth had disgraced not only herself but also her entire family.
John was having an increasingly difficult time understanding this. He was marrying her, after all.
He had wanted a strong woman who would work at his side and be able to oversee his castle when he had to travel to his other holdings. But he couldn’t imagine Elizabeth Stanwood having those capabilities. He thought of his brother William’s wife, Martha, and how capable she was. Everyone admired her and came to her with their problems and illnesses. She made time for her five children and plenty of time for her husband, if William’s satisfied smile was any indication.
A feeling of grief hung heavy about John’s heart. He had allowed himself to be swayed by a pretty face and comely body, and he’d have to pay the price.
At the end of the ceremony, Elizabeth presented her cheek to be kissed, and he knew with grim certainty that it would be an awkward wedding night.
Elizabeth spent her wedding day in a daze. She barely remembered the ceremony, so confused and heartsick were her thoughts. The wedding feast was small and tense, and as she sat beside her new husband, she could only think how … plainly dressed he was. And poor.
She shuddered and looked about the immense dining chamber of her parents’ home. Would she ever see any of this again? Would his entire home fit in this room?
Whenever she felt like crying, she looked at her mother, who was doing all her crying for her. That was all she’d done since she’d arrived the previous night, making Elizabeth feel miserable and guilty.
She had only her maids to lead her up to her bedchamber, since none of her friends had been allowed to attend the wedding. She knew her father was telling society that she and Malory were a love match, in such a hurry to marry that a proper wedding couldn’t be planned.
As her maids dressed her in a sheer night rail and turned down the bed, Elizabeth clutched her stomach and thought she’d be sick. She knew she was expected to lie with her husband, but the passion of their evening in the garden had fled. At least her anger was returning, she thought, watching as the maids scampered from the chamber and left her alone.
Anger was all she had left to feel, so she fed the flame by remembering Malory’s betrayal to her father. Why hadn’t he lied? The only reason could be money, no matter how her father thought otherwise.
And there was no point asking where they’d be living—or even how—because it would only make her more miserable. By not knowing, at least she could still hope.
John stood outside the bedchamber and told himself to go inside. He was holding a pouch with the wedding gift he’d brought from home, and he wondered if his new wife would throw it back at him.
With a heavy sigh, he gave a brisk knock and opened the door. Elizabeth stood at the window looking out at the last pink of sunset, but she whirled and faced him, her arms folded tightly across her chest. It only took him a moment to realize why. The rail she wore was made of the sheerest silk and lace; it clung to her hips and outlined even the indentation between her thighs. He stood there stupidly, knowing he was gaping at her yet unable to stop himself.
“They made me wear this,” she said.
He heard the mutiny and anger in her voice, and it broke the spell of desire she so easily wove around him.
“Then I’ll help you take the garment off if you’d like,” he said mildly. For just a moment, he’d somehow let himself believe she could be welcoming him.
Instead she glared at him. “Oh, yes, you’ve already proven how skillful you are at disrobing a woman. Had lots of practice, have you?”
“Not as much as I would have liked,” he said, forcing himself to smile. “But then you seemed quite at ease with letting a man disrobe you. Had lots of practice, have you?”
She advanced on him and pointed her finger at his face. “Never in my life has a man been so crude as to touch me as you did that night in the garden.”
“So you’ve succeeded in convincing all your suitors that you’re made of ice?” John’s voice was husky, and he’d barely gotten the words out coherently. Her breasts were
only hidden behind scraps of silk that outlined her nipples and revealed the shadowed valley in between. His erection became almost painful.
“My suitors were gentlemen,” she said, stalking away from him.
He almost choked at the sight of her backside, which he wanted to grab in two handfuls to haul her up against him. “I’ve brought you a wedding gift,” he managed to say.
She made no response, only sat down in a chair before a little table littered with her combs and perfumes. When he sat across from her, she slid back farther in her chair, as if she were afraid to touch him. And a little devil inside him made him lean even closer. He held out the pouch, and she reluctantly took it.
She opened the drawstring and withdrew a small hand mirror, its handle twined with silver and gold.
“It was my grandmother’s,” he said, glancing at the dressing table, with its fancier mirror.
Elizabeth set it on the table behind her, then looked up at him with wintry eyes. “Thank you for the gift.”
“Ah, good breeding wins out,” he said, trying to smile and make the best of their situation. He took one of her soft hands in his, but she pulled away and stood up. Her night rail brushed across his skin, and the scent of her perfume made him once more think of the secrets of her body he’d only begun to explore.
“I just have one question for you,” she said.
John turned in his chair, letting his arm dangle over the back, amused at her defiance. She was certainly not afraid of him, and for that he was grateful.
“All you needed to do was tell one small lie,” she said, her voice cold and steady. “Why didn’t you? What other reason could there be except for my dowry? You were obviously looking to marry, considering that you’d brought all the way from Yorkshire a gift for the lucky, chosen woman.”
The last was said with such sarcasm that he barely held back a smile, even though he knew she meant to offend him. “I told you I came to London to find a wife, and regardless of how low you think I am, I did not need to compromise a woman to get one to marry me. What happened between us was … unplanned, although certainly enjoyable.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I would have said nothing, but once the gallant Sir Ralph came forward—I take it he’s another of your spurned suitors—I was not about to lie. I could have easily gone home, my reputation intact, perhaps strengthened, and you would have been ruined.”
She stalked back toward him, and again her lovely body made thinking difficult. “Are you saying you told the truth to protect me?”
“Yes. For that and honor, of course.”
“Honor? Forcing a woman to marry you is honorable?”
“It was your father doing the forcing, and believe me, I was hardly overjoyed. But I could not leave you behind to suffer for what we’d done.”
“How noble of you,” she said sarcastically, blinking back tears. “But although I went outside with you that night, I had no idea what was involved, what you’d … what we’d—”
The tear that slipped down her cheek made him stand up and enfold her in his arms, though she remained unyielding.
“I didn’t know that,” he whispered into her ear. “And I’m sorry.”
Elizabeth stood in his warm embrace and listened to his apology. For just a moment, she almost believed he was sincere, but then against her belly, she felt the hard reminder of his desire.
She stumbled away from him. “Will you say anything to get me into bed?” she cried, dashing away her foolish tears.
“I can’t help how my body reacts to you.”
“Is that your only excuse for compromising me, marrying me—”
“Elizabeth—”
“No! I won’t do it! I don’t care what you expect from me, but this is one thing I control.”
She watched him come at her, and even though she backed up until her legs hit the bed, she refused to be afraid of him.
“Elizabeth, if you believe that, then you are lucky to be married to me.”
“Lucky!”
“Any other man would put you on your back, spread your legs—”
She winced at his crudity.
“—and take your maidenhead, as is a husband’s right. But perhaps this is your game. You are flaunting your body—”
“Flaunting!”
“—in hopes that I’ll force myself on you and prove myself some kind of monster in your eyes. Then you’d have something to complain to your father about.”
“I would scream before I let that happen!”
“Maybe they’ll think you’re screaming with pleasure.”
His voice had dropped into that low range that did something strange to her insides. She could only blink at him. Scream with pleasure? Women did that?
Then she remembered being in his arms, alone in the garden, his hands stroking, caressing—and the embarrassing sounds she’d made. Could she have eventually screamed? She blushed and turned away from him, only to find the bed spread out before her.
She stared at the turned-down coverlet and said very firmly, “The only way I will lie with you tonight is if you force me.”
Behind her he said nothing, and she risked looking over her shoulder. He watched her with those unfathomable dark eyes.
“I won’t allow this marriage to be annulled,” he said softly, dangerously. “I am willing to wait until your … sensibilities adjust, but I won’t promise not to persuade you.”
“Persuade!”
“Very easily, in fact. And I’m going to keep trying until you succumb.”
He reached out and although she flinched, she could do nothing else, because the bed was right behind her. He slid his warm fingers down her neck, then along the lace neckline of her night rail. Holding her breath, she prayed he could not tell how rapidly her heat was beating, how much her body was betraying her, melting beneath his caress. She was so weak, she would need little persuasion at all.
His thumb rubbed across her nipple, and she gave an involuntary shudder as a spasm of pleasure rocked her.
“You’re easy to gaze upon, Elizabeth, and you certainly look like you’d have no trouble producing my heirs.”
She licked her lips and watched his hand cup her breast and gently squeeze. In a weak voice, she tried again to dissuade him. “I have scars—big, ugly ones.”
“Well, it certainly was dark in that garden, so I might have missed it. Let me see.”
He flicked the night rail off her shoulder, and it bared her breast before she could catch the silk and cover herself.
“You promised not to force me,” she whispered, and her gaze caught and held his.
After a moment, he stepped back. “I won’t.”
“Then where will you sleep?”
He gave her a disbelieving look. “Right here.”
He unbelted his tunic and lifted it over his head to reveal a white shirt. As he untied his codpiece, she flung her hand up to her throat and sat back heavily on the bed, but thankfully he was wearing linen braies beneath. He dropped his boots and hose to the floor, and she noticed that his bare legs were hairy.
When he pulled the shirt over his head, she almost stopped breathing. His chest was broad and sculpted with muscle, scattered with brown hair that narrowed down over his stomach. The arms that had lifted her, held her, were even more impressive bare. If all men were made like him, it was a wonder women weren’t being compromised all the time.
“I have scars, too,” John said, a grin transforming his face. “Want to come and see?”
She shook her head quickly. “I can see just fine from here.”
Elizabeth knew she shouldn’t even be looking, that he’d lose much of his power if only she’d ignore him.
But … how to ignore a man whose presence, whose very maleness, made the room seem smaller around him? Even the few scars across his chest and arms were impressive.
“Did you not bring something to wear?” she asked.
“I don’t wear anything to bed, and certainly not on
my wedding night.”
He dropped the braies to the floor and stood before her naked. She couldn’t stop her eyes from widening as she looked at his … his large … manhood, which seemed to point accusingly at her. She was not so innocent that she didn’t know where that was supposed to go. But she had thought it would be … smaller. He walked toward her, and she couldn’t stop staring at it.
“I don’t suppose this persuaded you,” he said, so close to her she had to lean back on her hands not to touch it.
She looked up his body at his face, to find him no longer smiling.
“Certainly not,” she said, quite pleased when her voice didn’t shake.
He shook his head and crawled onto the bed beside her. “That’s a shame. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Is that a boast?”
“I don’t need to boast.” He stretched out his long body until his feet almost hung over the end. His manhood lay large and flat on his stomach.
“Aren’t you going to cover yourself?”
“No. It’s rather warm in here, isn’t it?”
She could hardly deny that, not when her skin felt moist and clammy. She was flustered and tense—and fascinated enough to want to stare at his body, even touch it. She stood up quickly before she could make a fool of herself.
“Lie down, Elizabeth.”
She looked wildly about the room, knowing he wouldn’t allow her to escape. He’d promised not to force her—but he hadn’t promised not to touch her. She shivered.
“Cold?” he asked, and she heard amusement in his voice. “I wouldn’t have thought so in this heat, but I promise I’ll keep you warm.”
She blew out all the candles, leaving the room in complete darkness. She should feel relieved not to have to stare at his nakedness, but she was left with the worry of what he might be doing.
After perching on the bed, she lay stiffly on her side, keeping as close to the edge as possible. When he didn’t move or say anything, she allowed herself to relax the tiniest bit.
His arm suddenly caught her and pulled her closer to him. She gave a little shriek, trying desperately to push him away.