by Lori Foster
“You should remove that farthingale,” John said shortly. “You don’t need it on this journey.”
“It’s the only one I have left, and who knows if I’ll ever be able to purchase another one.”
She eyed him speculatively, and he suddenly knew her intent.
“Are you worrying that I might not be able to keep clothing on your back?”
“I don’t know the status of your wealth, after all.”
“Family and home are more important than money.”
“People who don’t have money say that,” she said tartly. “Exactly how much do you have?”
He angrily strung the bow he’d bartered for that afternoon. “Enough to keep any reasonable person happy—but probably not enough for you.”
There was a strained silence between them, until Elizabeth said softly, “What are you doing?”
“Seeing to your food.”
“But didn’t we purchase—”
“There was no meat. Unless you’d like to live on biscuits and dried apples and—” He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, turned, and shot the arrow.
She gave a little squeak of surprise. “Whatever did you do that for?” she demanded.
“Supper.”
Elizabeth’s growling stomach suffered a moment of nausea as she watched John pick up the dead rabbit. She was used to seeing her food already prepared, not dead, fuzzy, and … bloody. When he tossed it at her feet, she jumped back.
“You skin it while I—”
“No!” She knew her voice had an edge of hysteria to it, and she cursed herself for being a fool. But it was dark, and the wind whistled through the trees, and she was alone with him, and she was so hungry. Suddenly everything seemed overwhelming and miserable.
“Do you mean to say you don’t know how to prepare a simple meal?” he asked quietly.
She stiffened. “We had servants for that! Whyever would I have learned such a thing? And if I had married anyone else—” She broke off at the cold gleam in his eye as he advanced toward her.
“Well?” he demanded. “Aren’t you going to finish explaining what you’re thinking?”
He seemed as tall as the trees as she arched her neck to look up at him. She was alone with him—a stranger she’d known mere days, who now controlled her fate.
CHAPTER 5
Elizabeth took a calming breath and forced her fears away. After all, even if she’d married Lord Wyndham, she would have been at his mercy. And what did she know about him, either? “All I was going to say was that if I had married anyone else, I would still be in London, with servants.”
John shook his head and picked up the dead rabbit. “And you never would have known what new and wonderful things you would be learning.”
“Skinning a rabbit?”
He gave a half-smile, and again his gaze drifted down her body, lingering on her breasts until she felt naked. “I can think of things you will enjoy learning even more.”
She bit her lip and refused to answer—but refused to look away as well. Even his smile made her feel strange inside.
“Come, then, while there’s still light. I’ll show you how to prepare roasted rabbit.”
Elizabeth soon understood why there were servants to do such a messy task. She forced herself to watch while John skinned the rabbit but closed her eyes and winced when he cut off the head. Only when the carcass was mounted on a stick, roasting over the fire, did she relax. Soon, the smell coming from it made her stomach begin a chorus of gurgling.
“You can sit down next to me, you know,” he said, pointing to a log he’d rolled from the woods. “But you’ll have to get rid of that farthingale.”
With a sniff of superiority, she settled gracefully onto the log, her skirts spread around her. She pretended that her gown wasn’t dirty and beginning to smell like the horse.
John shook his head. “Well done. So that’s what you’ve been taught, eh?”
She ignored his taunting. When the meal was ready, she was so hungry that even the prospect of eating with her fingers didn’t dismay her. The meat tasted so good it could have been prepared in the queen’s kitchens. Between them, they devoured the entire rabbit.
In the darkness, she sat drowsily before the fire, watching John finish the last of the meat. “Do you think the thieves have followed us?”
He glanced at her. “No. After all, they took everything we had. Are you still frightened?”
She shook her head quickly, then glanced up as the hoot of an owl echoed through the dark forest. When he put a gentle hand on her arm, she pulled away, troubled by how his consideration made her feel.
“I need to clean up,” she mumbled, holding her hands out before her.
“Greasy?” he asked.
The laughter in his voice offended her. How dare he be jovial, when they’d lost everything? She took a deep breath to berate him, but he rose and knelt before her. In the darkness his hair and eyes blended mysteriously into the shadows, and she shivered, too fascinated to move.
He took her hands in his and turned them palms up. He placed a kiss in one palm, and a delicious budding of heat uncurled inside her.
And then he licked her, and she gave a little jump and tried to pull away, but he didn’t let go. Somehow her voice had deserted her.
He glanced up at her from beneath the fall of his hair. “You taste good,” he rumbled in a low murmur, then sucked one of her fingers right into his mouth.
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped in shock, and she couldn’t seem to swallow or take a deep-enough breath. He must certainly feel the shaking that began in her hands and spread throughout her whole body. He licked and sucked each of her fingers slowly, completely, until she thought she would dissolve from the pleasure of it. There was a hot ache between her thighs that nothing could appease but his touch.
And then she remembered his promise to seduce her. When he pressed her hands against his cheeks and she felt his warm, stubbled skin, she knew this had to stop. Pulling away, she stood up, forcing him to fall back onto his hands.
He gave her a bemused smile. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m going to wash in the stream,” she said, hating the unfamiliar sound of her voice.
“Elizabeth, you shouldn’t wander off by yourself!” he called, and laughed as she practically ran from him.
Away from the fire it was dark and cooler. She slowed to let her eyes adjust to the shadows of the uneven ground and the sloping bank of the river. As the sound of gurgling water drew her, she fell to her knees and plunged her aching hands in, as if she could scrub away the memory of his mouth on her skin.
She sat back on her heels and looked out at the rippling water, with the moon reflecting off it and dancing in her eyes. She was afraid of John, afraid of herself—more than she was afraid of the wild forest. Every moment of her life with him was filled with things she didn’t know how to do, new ways to disappoint him and herself. If he cared at all for her, wouldn’t he be helping her? Wouldn’t he stop teasing her?
If only she had the courage to triumph in this intimate battle between them. Maybe she could prove to herself that she had control of at least a small portion of her life.
When she turned back, he was sprawled leisurely on the far side of the fire, propping his head on one arm, watching her.
Elizabeth climbed up the bank of the stream, marched to her side of the fire, and glared at the hard ground.
“It’s more comfortable over here,” he said softly.
Defiantly holding his gaze, she reached up beneath her skirt and untied her farthingale, then stepped out and set it aside.
He grinned. “Warmer, too.”
“As if I need that,” she said stiffly. “I’ll be writing a letter home to my father. If you’re thinking to prove yourself worthy of my dowry, I’m sure this will not help your cause.”
Though he still smiled, it no longer reached his eyes. “The fact that I saved your life will be looked on poorly by your father?”
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br /> She lay down on her back and looked up at the sky, lit with pinpricks of light. “No, just the fact that you’re forcing me to travel under such circumstances. It is beneath me.”
John’s voice no longer sounded amused. “I find your arrogance pathetic, Elizabeth. ‘Tis a shame that no one saw fit before now to teach you to withstand life’s problems with more grace.”
She bit her lip and felt a rush of tears sting her eyes. Rolling onto her side, she faced away from the fire, away from her husband.
It had taken John a long time to fall asleep, and he had hoped that somehow a new day would make things miraculously better. Instead, at dawn a heavy rain began. He shook Elizabeth awake roughly, unable to shake away his anger at her. She sat up wearily and watched him saddle the horses while water dripped through her hair.
“Is there anything to eat?” she asked coolly.
“Dried apples and cheese in the saddlebag.” He didn’t look at her.
She heaved a sigh. “When will we be there?”
He patted the horse’s neck absently, in his mind seeing not the animal’s brown coat, but his estate and the centuries-old castle that dominated the land for miles in every direction. That was still two days distant. He could almost see the two of them arriving miserable with each other, Elizabeth as angry as any fishwife. Just the thought of his brother’s sympathy and his mother’s disappointment was enough to set his teeth on edge. How could he introduce his wife to his family? How could he explain his foolishness?
But by evening he and Elizabeth would be able to reach his hunting lodge, and a respite there would give John a chance to think.
The rain had not let up by nightfall, and if anything, the humidity seemed worse. When he steered the horses off the road and onto a small woodland path, Elizabeth finally broke her day-long sullen silence.
“What is this? Where are we going?”
Though her face was pale and dripped with rain and her hair tumbled in muddy disarray down her back, he still could summon no sympathy.
“Our home.” Before he could say it was only a hunting lodge, he watched her face go ashen, and she actually seemed to brace herself as if preparing for squalor. His outrage fouled his mood even further and he bit off any explanations. Let her think what she’d like.
In the gloom of approaching night, the small stone-and-timber lodge looked forlorn, abandoned. John glanced at Elizabeth, whose wide eyes stared about her.
“Is there … a village?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Neighbors?” Her voice sounded softer.
“If there were, I’m sure not the kind you’re used to.”
“But … you’re a baron. Doesn’t living like this bother you?”
“No.” Part of him felt guilty for misleading her, but here he could have one last chance to know and understand her. It would be a test, a way to be certain she could really be his wife—in every way—without the prying eyes of his family and his servants. The lie suddenly felt a little better.
She bit her lip, then murmured, “Well, shall we get out of the rain?”
They left the horses to graze while they entered the lodge. John watched Elizabeth closely as she took in the dust and gloom and shadows. There was a table and benches, two chairs before the hearth, cupboards and trunks, and a bed in the corner near the hearth. He saw her swallow.
“Is this … the only chamber?”
He nodded. When she said nothing else, he was relieved enough to smile at her. “Let me open the shutters so you can see it by the last of the day’s light.”
But although the gloom lifted as he threw back the shutters from four windows, the light only showed how much dust had accumulated since he’d been here last spring. He glanced back at Elizabeth and found her staring at the floor, trembling.
“I’ll make a fire before I put the horses in the barn.”
“Must you? It’s so hot.”
“We need to heat water and cook food, don’t we?” he asked gently. “Now watch how I do this, because the fire might go out someday while I’m gone.”
“But what if I can’t do it?”
“Then we’ll have to huddle together for warmth.”
Elizabeth tried hard to concentrate on what John showed her, but she found her gaze roaming the tiny room, no bigger than her own bedchamber in her father’s mansion. She was stunned that he expected the two of them to live forever in close quarters, with only each other for company.
But after a day of his angry silence, she felt relieved that he was smiling at her again. Without his good nature, everything seemed duller, more miserable, and she felt disgusted with herself that she already relied on his even temper and gentle humor.
When John suddenly stood up, she took a quick step backward.
“All right, let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” he said.
She wanted to protest, but she didn’t have the heart for it. He unlaced her gown at the back and pushed it down over her shoulders, where she clutched it against her chest.
“I can finish this myself. Thank you.”
He hesitated. “Elizabeth, you have many undergarments. In fact, I see a tie here that you can’t possibly reach.”
“John—”
But he’d already plucked it, and she took a deep, rib-expanding breath.
“You’ve been wearing a corset all this time?” He sounded incredulous.
“Of course,” she answered, absurdly angry at his ignorance.
“Elizabeth.”
His voice deepened, roughened, and she closed her eyes, wondering when she would get used to its effect on her. Her breath caught when he lowered her smock partway down her back.
“Your skin is rubbed raw right here.”
He touched the skin below her shoulder, and though there was a tiny sting, that was nothing next to the feel of his hands on her, the way he rubbed her bare shoulders.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” he murmured.
She felt his breath on her neck only a moment before he pressed his mouth there. He said her name over and over, parting her garments down her back, kissing everything he laid bare to her waist.
She swayed with numbing weakness, longing to fall into his arms and let him carry her to bed. She would be warm, protected, loved—
Her thoughts came to a reeling halt and she pulled away from him. Over her shoulder, she saw John rest his hand on the floor as if bracing himself, his head bent. Then with a sigh he arose.
“I’ll see to the horses. In one of the trunks there should be shirts and hose but, regrettably, no female garments. I’ll bring you some water from the well, so you can wash yourself.”
As he left, she groaned and covered her face with her hands. What was she thinking? He didn’t love her! He loved her money and only tried to seduce her so she wouldn’t tell her father all that had befallen her.
And she would never love him. How could she? He’d brought her to this dreary, dank, tiny cottage, where she’d spend the rest of her life without her family or friends.
She had a sudden image of sitting beside John at this table, with laughing children surrounding them.
Elizabeth groaned again. What was happening to her?
After John set water to heat over the fire, he found musty—but dry—linens for Elizabeth to wash with and shook his head ruefully when she asked if there was a tub. He took his time in the barn, giving her the privacy he knew she wanted. But it was physically painful not to be there when she removed her garments, when she stood naked before the fire. He could imagine the wet cloth sliding over her skin, leaving her glistening in the flickering light.
Suddenly it didn’t seem so terrible to want to keep her all to himself. Maybe … somehow she could come to accept their marriage, to love him.
He shook his head, cursing himself for a fool.
When he returned to the lodge, he found Elizabeth seated before the fire, one of his shirts dwarfing her, his hose drooping down her legs. He thought he might laugh but in
stead found himself admiring the long hair tumbling down to her waist. Even garbed so, she managed to look incredibly feminine, very appealing.
That night, he cooked their meal out of the dry stores he kept at the hunting lodge. He explained everything as he went, and he thought she tried hard to pay attention, but occasionally he saw her gazing about the room with an overwhelmed expression. He told himself to be patient.
John went outside once more to close the barn. When he returned, he found Elizabeth already in bed, the blankets pulled up to her neck as she faced the wall. Even in this unbearable heat, she felt the need to cover herself from his gaze. He stood over her, watching her breathe slowly, evenly—perfectly.
He heaved a great sigh and murmured, “Well, I hope she thought to shake the bugs out of the bedding.”
With a shriek she flung back the blankets and launched herself out of the bed. Laughing, he caught her against him. She was so unpredictable, his Elizabeth, surprising him by trying hard to follow his example with chores, then reacting exactly as he expected about insects. At least he would never be bored with her.
When she sputtered her outrage, he couldn’t help kissing her, holding her soft body against his, opening his mouth and slanting it across hers.
CHAPTER 6
When she turned her head away, John groaned with frustration. “What did you do that for?”
“Don’t think you can make me jump out of the bed only to lie back on it with you. I told you I won’t be forced.”
“Elizabeth,” he whispered, pressing kisses to her cheek. “How much longer do you think I can wait? I want to caress you, to make you wet for me—”
“Stop!” She shoved at his shoulders. “I—I can’t trust you! I don’t want”—she flung a hand out—“this!”
He let her go and she stumbled back.
“I don’t even know how we’ll survive!” she cried. “How can you feed us here in the depths of the forest without fields to plant?”
“I can take care of you!” he insisted, regretting the lies he had told. But he knew if he told her he was wealthy, he could never be certain whether her loyalty was to him—or to his money. “Why can’t you trust me? Do you think I would let my wife starve, or go about garbed in sackcloth?”