Shanna stood bathed in light coming through an oriel. Her face, as she gazed out upon the rolling fields, held the smile of one confident of her goals in life. She had arrived early at the church, in a hired coach, for her carriage had to carry Pitney to the inn, more than an hour’s ride away, and there remain while he journeyed by another hired coach to London and back again with Ruark Beauchamp. But the Reverend and Mrs. Jacobs had been warm and hospitable, and Shanna had managed to endure the wait.
The plump wife of the good clergyman sat nearby, sipping tea while she observed Shanna. It was not often people of wealth tarried in their quiet village, much less within the humble rectory, and such rich garments Mrs. Jacobs had never seen in her whole life. A mauve cloak of silk moire, lined lavishly with soft, gray fox, lay across the arm of a chair, forgotten as if it were discarded. The woman could not even imagine the cost of the matching silk gown with its tiers of pinkish gray lace cascading down the front of the skirt between twin borders of silk ruching. Lace flounces adorned the sleeves where they ended at mid-arm. Pleated lace spread like a fan from a point at the tightly cinched waist upward to the demure display of creamy skin. A narrow mauve ribbon was tied about the slim column of the young woman’s throat, and the intricately woven coiffure, left unpowdered, was glorious in its own magnificent color. The effect of the golden strands amid the tawny would have challenged the best efforts of the most artful hairdresser.
Mrs. Jacobs sat much in awe of this beauty, for envy was not in her soul. Deep in her heart she was a romantic and took delight in what was to her the serious art of matchmaking. The groom, as she envisioned him in her mind’s eye, would have to be handsome and charming, for no common sort should have claim upon this bride.
Shanna leaned forward to gaze intently out the window, and her movement brought Mrs. Jacobs to her side.
“What is it, my dear?” the kindly woman inquired with eager interest. “Do they return?”
Mrs. Jacobs’s blue eyes searched the distant road, and, as she had guessed, a carriage was just topping the crest of the hill and would soon be arriving at the church.
Shanna, a multitude of explanations on the tip of her tongue, thought better of it and bit the words back. If she gave excuses for her husband-to-be, his faults would be all the more apparent. It was better to let the woman think love was blind in her case.
Shanna smoothed her hair, preparing herself mentally to meet the wretch.
“Ye are radiant, my dear.” The “r” rolled from Mrs. Jacobs’s tongue with a thick Scottish burr. “Daen ye worry none ’bout that. Go greet your betrothed. I’ll fetch yer cloak.”
Gracefully Shanna obeyed, thankful she could catch Ruark before the clergyman and his wife would meet him, on the chance his appearance could be improved at this late date. As she hurried along the covered pathway from the rectory of the church, a thousand reasons to worry raced through her mind, and she swore to herself, using several of her father’s favorite oaths, then gritted her teeth as she thought of the care a gentleman must exercise in dressing.
“That cloddish colonial,” she fretted. “At least let him have his breeches on straight!”
The dapple-gray horses tossed their fine, noble heads and pranced to a halt before the church. Pitney carefully tucked his pistol under his coat as Mister Craddock jumped down to the turf and, like any good coachman, swung open the door for them. Accepting Pitney’s warning frown, Ruark stepped down from the Briska and paused, pensively gazing out over the moors. He had a great longing to run through the fields for the sheer freedom of it, but he knew he would get no further than the low stone wall. Pitney was strong, but his size hindered his agility, and Mister Craddock and Hadley did not appear too swift of either foot or mind. Even after his confinement, Ruark was convinced that he could outrun them, but Pitney’s pistol and its lead could very well outspeed him. Then, too, there was the matter of a bargain he was most eager to see out. This held him in check far better than the threat of death. Of late that dark damsel had been too much his close companion.
Leisurely he strolled toward the steps of the church but found himself the center of a close-knit group. On the first stone, Ruark paused and regarded the three men, all carefully within arms’ reach of him.
“Gentlemen.” A faint smile twisted the corner of his mouth. “If I should attempt escape, you will no doubt use the weapons you cover so obviously. I do not ask that you be remiss in your duties but do hang back a bit as if you were really hired servants.”
At a nod from Pitney, the two guards returned to the Briska and leaned against it, though their attention remained on Ruark, never wavering, for they had grasped enough of the fact to realize their reward would come only with a task well done.
“What now, Pitney?” Ruark inquired. “Shall we enter or await my lady’s pleasure here?”
The servant pursed his lips in consideration of the question and then seated himself on the step. In his rasping voice, he stated flatly, “She’s heard the carriage. She’ll be out when she’s ready.”
Ruark climbed the several steps to the covered doorway and took a place there to wait. He was seriously pondering striking up a conversation with his stoic escort when the heavy wooden door creaked open, and his intended bride stepped out. Ruark’s breath caught in his throat, for in the full light of day Shanna Trahern was the most ravishing beauty he had ever seen. She seemed almost fragile in the subtle mauve gown. There was no hint of the bold wench who had visited the jail to seek a husband.
Shanna passed the stranger with hardly more than a glance, not even pausing for the sake of politeness as the man swept his hat from his dark head. Instead she lifted her wide skirts to rush down the steps.
Ruark leaned back against the stone and smiled his appreciation as his eyes caressed her trim back. Suddenly Shanna stopped, almost stumbling on the steps as Pitney turned to stare up at her. Then in amazement she whirled to gape at Ruark, her sea-green eyes wide in disbelief. His heavy cloak was thrown back over his wide shoulders, and the sight of the garments she had purchased struck her with the truth. A somber color, brown. She had carefully chosen it at the time. It could cover a multitude of faults and perhaps lend the colonial some slight dignity, she had thought, but now it was marvelously appropriate and so much more pleasing than she had dared to hope.
His face was handsome, recklessly so, with magnificent dark brows that curved neatly; a straight, thin nose; a firm but almost sensuous mouth. The lean line of his jaw showed strength and flexed with the movement of the muscles there. Then Shanna’s eyes met his, and, if a flicker of doubt remained, it was immediately dispelled as she looked beyond thick, black lashes into deep amber eyes burning with golden lights.
“Ruark?” the question burst from her.
“The same, my love.” Now having her full attention, he again swept the tricorn before his chest in a bow of exaggerated politeness. “Ruark Beauchamp at your service.”
“Oh, give that damned thing to Pitney,” she snapped, feeling the bite of his mockery.
“As you wish, my love,” he laughed lightly and sailed the hat to Pitney who all but crushed it as he caught it against his chest. He passed it along to Mister Craddock with such firmness that a breathless “whoof” came from the guard.
“Take this to the carriage,” Pitney ordered tersely. “And keep a respectful distance.”
Standing with arms akimbo, Shanna tapped her foot irritably. She could not name the cause for her petulance, but Ruark Beauchamp was much more than she had bargained for. There was something insufferable about a condemned man being so cocksure of himself. He was probably the type who would go to the gallows like a swaggering hero, she thought shrewishly.
“Well, since you’re here, I see no reason for delay,” she said curtly and mentally debated his age. No more than ten or so older than herself, if that, though at their first meeting she had thought him nearly twenty years older. “Let’s be about it.”
“Your most obedient servant.” Ruark
smiled, then laughed as she glared at him. He pressed his hand earnestly to his lacy jabot and lightly vowed, “Madam, I am as eager to wed as thee.”
Of course he is, she silently jeered. He would, no doubt, brag upon the morrow about the wench he laid. The rutting cad!
Before she could turn her thoughts away, the door opened again, and Mrs. Jacobs appeared with her tall, thin husband. The woman’s blue eyes settled merrily upon Ruark and twinkled with obvious delight.
“Oh, my dear, bring your young man in by the fire,” she urged Shanna. “We’ll have the ceremony when he’s warmed himself, and I’ve a bit of sherry to hasten the chill away.”
Shanna mused derisively that he was warm enough. But for the benefit of the older couple, she went to him, resting her hand casually on his chest as she smiled sweetly into that amused and taunting grin. She would have dearly loved to wipe that smirk from his handsome face.
“Ruark, dearest, this is the Reverend and Mrs. Jacobs. I did mention them, didn’t I? They’ve been so kind.”
The inane chatter sounded strange from her own lips. She could feel the slow thud of Ruark’s heart beneath her fingers while for some odd reason her own pulse raced.
A man to take advantage of all opportunities presented him, Ruark seized upon her cue and slid his hands around her waist, squeezing it slightly as he smiled down into the less than warm depths of her eyes. In his own, there was a kindling fire that touched her like a hot brand.
“I trust the good Pitney remembered to publish the banns. I fear I shall taste death before we be wed, if it not be posthaste.”
If Ruark thought he won a victory as Shanna melted against him, pressing soft breasts full upon his chest, he was harshly rebuffed. Shanna herself refused no challenge and rose to this like a cornered feline. Beneath the wide folds of her skirt, she trod not lightly on his instep.
“Cease your worry, my dearest,” she crooned and leaned her weight upon his foot. “The banns are published.” She feigned worry in her frown. “But you seem somewhat pained. Aren’t you feeling well? Or is that old wound plaguing you again?”
Shanna pulled back slightly but not enough to give him ease, and her slender fingers went searchingly to the buttons of his waistcoat.
“How I have pleaded with you, Ruark, to take better care of yourself. You’re always so reckless.”
Had he been of a mind, Pitney could have warned the colonial this was not the sort of woman to tamper with overly much. From the bottom step, as her hooped skirt swayed slightly upward, he caught a glimpse of the small, slippered foot treading carelessly upon the larger. His laughter softly rumbled in his chest as he folded his massive arms and waited.
The Reverend Jacobs’s eyes had widened behind his spectacles as the lady seemed on the verge of undressing her betrothed, and he could only surmise it had not been the first time. Mrs. Jacobs, her plump cheeks a deep hue of scarlet, was suddenly aflutter and didn’t seem to know quite what to do with her hands other than to wring them nervously.
Ruark parried the attack in his own fashion, bending his knee and at the same time raising the toe of the foot she trod upon. With most of her weight upon it, Shanna weaved precariously as her balance was suddenly upset. With a gasp she stumbled against him, one arm flying about his neck to stop her fall while her other hand grabbed his sleeve. She heard his chuckling laughter in her ear as he steadied her on her own feet.
“Shanna, love, restrain yourself. We’ll be home soon enough,” Ruark chided.
His amusement rankled her, and she longed to screech her ire at him but knew all too well the folly of that. She caught Pitney’s loud cough as if he were seized with a choking fit and simmered all the more.
“We’d best get this marriage underway,” the clergyman suggested with much conviction and peered disapprovingly at them over his square-rimmed glasses.
With a quirk in his brow, Ruark viewed this lovely Shanna who silently glared her rage at him. She might well be the fairest thing he had ever seen, but he glimpsed a bit of a witch there, too.
“Aye,” Ruark agreed. “ ‘Twould appear the proper thing to do before the babe’s christening.”
Shanna’s jaw dropped, and the urge to kill was strong. In another time she would have let fly a stinging slap to the knave, but here she found herself with no recourse but to bear his buffoonery. In a temper she whirled as Pitney’s low chuckles broke the stunned silence, and she bestowed upon him a glare of such heat that it should have set the very blood in his veins to boiling. But the man bore the pain with dignity and struggled to control his mirth.
The ceremony was quick and unpretentious. It was obvious the Reverend Jacobs wanted to put right any wrong that the young couple might have engaged in prior to this union. The proper questions were asked and answered. Ruark’s deep, rich voice came firm and unfaltering, promising to love, honor, and cherish until death. As she repeated her own vows, Shanna felt an almost stifling sense of doom. It was like a premonition warning her that her ploy would fail. Reluctantly her eyes were drawn to the tiny band of gold on the open face of the Bible, and she could only think, as the minister spoke the words over them, of the years of devotion her own mother had given her father. In contrast this marriage was a farce, and it was a sacrilege to ever pledge her love on an altar of God. It was a lie, and she might well be damned for saying it.
For all of her attempts at composure, Shanna’s hands trembled as Ruark slid the ring on her finger, and the final words came.
“By the authority vested in me and in the name of God Almighty, I pronounce you man and wife.”
The deed was done. The haughty Shanna was wed. Vaguely she heard the Reverend Jacobs give his consent for a nuptial kiss, and she was brought abruptly back to reality as Ruark turned her in his arms. That was enough to snap the brittle twig of conscience. Deliberately setting his hands from her, Shanna raised on tiptoes and very primly placed a sisterly kiss upon her husband’s cheek.
Ruark drew back and frowned slightly into the exquisite face before him. Her tauntingly sweet smile was not what he relished in the way of passionate response. He was more in a mood for something richer than light pecks of gratitude. Already he had concluded his wife had much to learn of love. He only hoped that his hours were enough to see him through the thaw.
“Come now, my children,” Reverend Jacobs urged, his cheerfulness mightily restored. “There are documents to put your names to. And I do fear ‘twill be another storm upon us before long. Do you hear the rain?”
Shanna glanced to the windows and experienced a new anxiety. Outside the dark clouds gathered, deepening the dusk almost into night. Her dread of storms had plagued her since she was a child and even now, as a woman, she could not subdue her fear. Hearing a light rumbling of thunder, she cringed inwardly. If only the worst of it would delay until this business was done!
Facing away from the water-speckled crystal panes, Shanna hoped to put the storm from her mind but was much in a panic as she started to follow the minister into the vestry. But a hand on her arm halted her. The touch was gentle but as unrelenting as an iron band, and it gave her cause to wonder what strength lay hidden in the long, thin fingers of Ruark Beauchamp.
“Look at me,” he murmured when she refused to acknowledge him. Unwillingly Shanna lifted cool, questioning eyes to his and found a slow, lazy smile that seemed to mock her. Leisurely Ruark passed a knuckle along the fragile bone of her cheek while the golden brands of his eyes plunged recklessly into the perilous depth of ocean green.
“Shanna, my love, I would take it much amiss if you cheat me of this night with you.”
Annoyed by his blunt reminder, Shanna tossed her head, lifting her fine nose in the air. “I doubt if these good people have made arrangements for overnight guests. I fear, Mister Beauchamp, that you’ll have to restrain your ardor until we have more privacy.”
“And will we have privacy, my dear?” he persisted. “Or will you spend the time ‘til naught remains?”
“You ca
n hardly expect me to be anxious to fall into bed with you, Mister Beauchamp,” she retorted flippantly. “You may be accustomed to easy conquests, but I for one find the thought distasteful.”
“That may well be, madam,” he replied. “But the bargain is for a full night in my arms, no less.”
“You’re shameless to take advantage of my situation,” she declared. “Were you a gentleman—”
Ruark laughed softly in amusement, and his amber eyes challenged her. “And you did not take advantage of mine? Tell me, my dear, who bared her bosom to that poor soul in the dungeon to seduce him with her wily ways? Aye or nay, madam, tell me truly. Was it not the wench who took advantage of the horny wretch, knowing he was starved for the sight of a woman? And had it met her whim, I’ve no doubt she’d have drawn the fellow to those fair breasts.”
Shanna jumped as if she had been stung, and her mouth flew open to speak her outrage, but she could find no words that would do justice to this callous knave, though she searched her entire vocabulary.
Reaching out a finger, Ruark placed it beneath her lovely chin and gently raised it until her lips closed.
“Do you deny it?” he mocked.
Shanna’s eyes narrowed as she gritted, “You vulgar beggar, they should hang you for a molester of women!”
His eyes gleamed like hard brittle amber, and his quip jarred her. “Madam, I believe that’s what they intend.”
Shanna gulped. She had almost forgotten he was a murderer. She tried to wrench away as her heart fluttered in her breast, but he held her fast. Fearfully she glanced about for Pitney, but he was talking with the guards. Unless she made a scene, she could not gain his attention.
Her words stumbled out awkwardly. “I—I was foolish to agree.”
Ruark’s face was inscrutable, but something flickered in those eyes.
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