“So,” he smiled lazily. “Now that you have my name, you say the bargain void.”
The prickling of fear became stronger. Something warned her that she dared much with her open disdain. Casually Ruark laughed and stood back, releasing her, and bemused, Shanna glanced up. He raised his hand and called across the empty pews.
“Good sir—”
Seated at a low desk writing the marriage documents, the Reverend Jacobs paused and looked up expectantly. Pitney glanced around, his brows lifted.
“A moment please, sir,” Ruark bade. “ ‘Twould seem my lady—”
Shanna gasped and quickly interrupted. “No need to bother him, my love. Come, let us discuss it further.”
As the clergyman went back to his writing, Shanna reached up to snatch Ruark’s arm down, clasping it firmly against her bosom. Her eyes dared him to refuse her as she jerked hard at his elbow.
“You are a cad,” she said through sweetly curving, lips.
The amber flame in his gaze kindled brighter, burning her with its intensity. The muscles in his arm tightened against her breast as he leaned to kiss her cheek, and then his warm mouth hovered much too near hers.
“Tsk, tsk, Shanna. Be kind. My days are few and those with joy even less. Let us at least appear to be lovers, if only for the sake of Mrs. Jacobs. Try to summon more warmth, my dear.”
Shanna steeled herself against any outward show of withdrawing while his mouth softly tested hers, playing lightly, teasing, but the stiffness of her body was like that of one waiting for doom.
“You must learn to relax,” Ruark admonished, his breath falling softly upon her lips.
His arm slipped about her waist as he straightened, drawing her possessively against his side, and reluctant though she was to have it there, Shanna accepted his attentiveness as he escorted her to the vestry.
While the minister laboriously completed the documents and entered the event in the record book, Mrs. Jacobs went to fetch refreshments. As they waited, Pitney’s frowning perusal centered upon the colonial, who he felt displayed a more zealous regard for his bride than necessary. An arm resting lightly on her shoulder, a featherlike caress along her ribs, a single stroke of her arm where it was bare; the long, lean fingers made their claim on her. Pitney could well imagine the trap his young mistress found herself in to stand for this unwelcome pawing.
Pitney’s scowl darkened, and, when he caught Ruark’s eye, he beckoned the man to him. “We’d best make haste. The storm is building, and we might be caught here.”
Ruark paused to listen to the sound of the wind blowing about the corner of the church. It rose forlornly and whistled eerily at a higher pitch. Raindrops splattered against the windows and then ran down them in streams. Candles had been lit to illuminate the gray shroud of the storm.
Ruark studied the other man carefully as he replied. “Aye, I’ll tell your mistress.”
The square jaw tightened. “Keep yer hands from her, lad. She’s not for the likes of ye.”
“You are a loyal servant, Pitney,” Ruark returned with measured words. “Perhaps too loyal. I am her husband now.”
“In name only,” the large man retorted. “And that fact will remain true ‘til ye’ve seen yer end.”
“Even if you must show me that end before my time?” Ruark queried.
“I’ve warned ye, lad. Leave her be. She’s a good lass and not the sort ye might find in an inn giving a man comforts.”
Ruark folded his hands behind his back and looked Pitney squarely in the eye. He spoke with much conviction. “That is my wife, whatever else you may think. Now, I am not a man to start a quarrel with another in such a place as this, but I’ll leave you this word of advice. If you intend to stop me from giving Shanna my attention, you’d best draw your pistol now and be done with it. I have naught to lose, and she’s worth whatever fight you’d give me.”
With that, Ruark turned on his heels and strode to the windows to look out on the rain-swept landscape, leaving Pitney to stare after him with a thoughtful frown. Shanna was observing her new husband as well. There was a quiet alertness in his manner, like that of a cat or a wolf, its strength ready to explode but, for the moment, docile. She was reminded of a large black panther she had seen once in her travels. In repose the animal’s muscles were long and supple; yet when the beast moved, the sinews had flexed and stretched and rippled in a fantastic rhythm of life that mesmerized. Ruark was slim yet sturdy and moved with almost sensuous grace. There was a sureness in his stride as if he carefully planned where each foot would fall. At the moment he appeared relaxed and at ease, but Shanna sensed that he was aware of everything that transpired around him.
Turning to her again, he came with that same sure stride, and even in her predicament, Shanna could not help but admire the fine figure he made in the costly garments. She had described him to the tailor as a man lean, muscular, with wide shoulders, narrow hips, trim waist and flat belly. It was rather satisfying to see the results were near, if not, perfection. In fact, the breeches might have been indecent had the tailor taken a tighter seam, for they did fit extremely well—
With the sudden realization of where they roamed, her eyes flew upward to find Ruark’s amused gaze warmly upon her. As he came to stand beside her, he murmured just loud enough for her ears alone.
“Wifely curiosity, my love?”
Shanna colored hotly and turned away in sudden confusion. His hand slid about her waist, and she started slightly as his hard chest pressed against her back.
His deep voice seemed to reverberate within her very soul as he announced softly, “ ‘Twould seem our wedding day will see the best of a good drenching.”
In that moment Shanna’s thoughts were far from the storm outside and much centered on the tempest within herself. A white hot bolt of doubt had blasted her confidence, and she was suddenly unsure of her own ability to deal with Ruark Beauchamp.
Chapter 3
THE DOCUMENTS WERE READY, and the witnesses’ marks were made, so the guards could go out and prepare the carriage. Pitney indicated it was Ruark’s turn, and Shanna held her breath, for she had forgotten to ask whether he could sign his name. Her concern was wasted. His hand was quick and sure. Then the minister held the quill for the bride. Shanna put her name to the record first and then on a multitude of statements for the shire, county, and the crown. Then came a copy of the vows such as were stated. As she set the quill to the parchment, her eye caught a phrase, “That for thy husband, thou shalt love, honor, and obey.” Hushing her screaming conscience, Shanna put her name to the document, and, as she swept the quill in a final elaborate scroll, a bolt of lightning turned the inside of the church ghostly white. Before it dimmed, a growing roll of thunder flared rapidly and ended in an ear-splitting crack. The panes at the windows rattled, and the tiles of the roof seemed to dance. With wide fear-filled eyes Shanna stared at the parchment she had signed, aware of the lie she had put her name to. She rose, throwing the quill aside as if it burned her fingers. The storm was all around her now. Rattling gusts of rain struck the church, and the wind howled like a banshee in the gathering gloom of the dying day.
Seeing her disquiet, the Reverend Jacobs drew her aside.
“You seem worried and upset, child. Perhaps ‘tis well to have doubts, but I must tell you this. As events have progressed today, I have become convinced that what has been set in motion here today is truly blessed and shall bear a long and enduring witness to the will of God. My prayers shall go with you, my child. Your husband seems a fine young man and will no doubt comport himself well.”
His words gave Shanna little ease. Emotions raged through her so turbulently she feared he would see them in her face. But he moved away, heedless of her distress, and began collecting the documents which he had sealed and stamped and were now dry. He folded them in a neat packet, tied it with a ribbon of scarlet, and handed it to Ruark.
“Before you go, my dears,” Mrs. Jacobs beamed. She held out a tray bearing dainty
stemmed glasses filled with an amber liquid. “A bit of sherry to warm your way.”
Numbly Shanna accepted the woman’s offering and raised the glass unsteadily to her lips. She paused as Ruark faced her, lifting his own glass in salute.
“To our marriage, my love. May it be long and fruitful.”
Shanna stared at him dispassionately over the rim of her glass. Her longing to sneer was almost overwhelming. It was his smug, conceited, self-satisfied expression she hated most, she thought venomously. How she yearned to set him in his place!
Nearby Mrs. Jacobs talked happily to Pitney, chattering about the ceremony as if her husband had performed none finer, while Pitney stood mute, glancing over the small woman’s head at the young couple. The set of his mistress’s jaw was a good indication of her agitation, and he could only wonder at what next would follow.
Ruark stretched forth a finger and gently urged the glass to his wife’s lips as his gaze warmly probed hers. “Drink, my love. We should be going.”
After they had drunk the cordial and put aside the glasses, Mrs. Jacobs hastened away to get their cloaks. Ruark took the fur-lined garment and wrapped it about Shanna, flinging his own carelessly about his wide shoulders. He led her to the door as Pitney preceded them. Final farewells were said and the best wishes of the minister spoken. Mighty gusts of wind struck them, billowing their cloaks as the ponderous portal was swung open. Fat droplets of water rushed in to pelt them. Pitney ran ahead to open the carriage door and lower the folding step while Ruark waited with Shanna in the shelter of the portal. The two guards were already perched atop in the driver’s seat, hunched in the folds of their cloaks against the pounding rain. Pitney motioned for the newlyweds to come, but as they stepped into the open, a blast of wind, heavy with cold rain, struck them in the face. Shanna gasped breathlessly and whirled away, finding herself fighting for breath against Ruark’s chest. He caught her to him, half covering her with his cloak. Then reaching down, he swept her up into strong arms and dashed headlong to the Briska. Handing her into the snug interior, he immediately followed, taking a place beside her. Quickly Pitney folded the step and swung inside, throwing himself into the seat across from them.
“There’s an inn down the road a piece in the village,” he rasped, “where we can take our sup.”
Ruark’s attention to the man perked. “Our sup?”
“Aye,” Pitney nodded, and in the meager light of dark twilight his gray eyes met Ruark’s. “Unless ‘tis yer thought to return to the gaol without a full meal to tide ye ‘til the morrow.”
Ruark’s regard moved to Shanna who seemed very small and quiet in her corner.
The carriage swung down the gully-washed road. Lightning flashed, and the thunder echoed across the hills. In the voluminous folds of her cloak Shanna flinched with each shattering explosion of sound. The jagged light streaked across the darkened sky, and only Pitney was aware of her distress.
Ruark broached a question to Pitney. “Will you be journeying back to London tonight?”
A grunt answered him. “Aye.”
Ruark thought for a moment about the man’s short reply before asking, “Why do you not stay at the inn? ‘Twill be a good three hours before you reach London.”
“A long enough ride on a night such as this,” Shanna flung at him sharply.
Her husband raised a sardonic brow at her tone and contemplated the snapping green eyes that pierced the gloom.
“ ‘Twould appear you’ve regained much of your courage now that you’re away from the good Reverend Jacobs,” he mocked lightly.
Shanna sneered as she had longed to before. “You crowing cock-a-jay, watch your tongue, or I’ll set Pitney on your tail.”
Pitney lowered his hat upon his broad brow and leaned his head back against the seat as if to snooze. It seemed his young mistress could handle herself once again. Ruark pondered his hulking companion, and then returned his full attention to Shanna who almost cringed as his hand reached toward her. He tugged at one of her hands, which was clenched in her lap, and by greater strength alone won it. Smiling casually, Ruark brought it halfway to his lips while Shanna squirmed nervously on her seat and warily cast glances at her protector to see if he really dozed.
“You are a flower surely, madam, but yonder thorn,” Ruark’s eyes briefly marked Pitney, “pricks me sorely. Indeed, madam, you are a rose, a soft-textured beauty of the bush, tempting, begging to be plucked, but should a careless hand seek to take you, ‘twould only find a multitude of spiney barbs.” He laughed softly, adding to Shanna’s unease and pressed his lips to a spot above her dainty wrist. “But then there is that one who tends the garden and knows no prodding of the thorns. With careful hands he reaches in to pluck the bloom and gently breaks the stem whereon it grows. Then ‘tis his forever more.”
Shanna snatched her hand away. “Settle yourself, sir,” she admonished crisply. “Your wit is lagging.”
Shanna braced herself firmly in her corner as he raised his head and studied her. She did not know exactly what he might do, murderous scoundrel that he was. The thing she could not abide was that slow, jeering grin that came across his face, as if she only amused him. Where was his anger? If he lifted a hand to strike her, Pitney would be there to rescue her. No need, then, to pretend even a mild tolerance for him or bear his presence in her coach. He’d be bound and taken on top to ride with the guards.
A violent lurch of the carriage sent Ruark nearly on top of her, and Shanna quailed in sudden fright, raising an arm to shield herself from his attack. His amused chuckle close to her ear brought her courage back in a flare of scalded pride, and his hand upon her thigh as he braced himself drew her outraged fury. Much in the guise of clumsiness, she thought, the long fingers, whether intentional or not, touched her through her gown where no man had dared before.
“Get off me!” she choked in trembling rage and pushed with all her might against his wide shoulders. “Go fondle your doxies in the gaol.”
Pitney peered at them from beneath his tricorn, and Shanna straightened her skirts with a jerk, tossing a glare at both of them.
“And just where is this inn?” she demanded. “Do you suppose we might get there before I’m mauled to death?”
“Calm yourself, lass,” Pitney bade with a chuckle. “We’ll be there soon enough.”
Though only a few short minutes more, the remainder of the ride to the inn was intolerably long for Shanna. Even with Pitney’s cautious but relaxed gaze upon them, the nearness, indeed the very presence, of her colonial husband was stifling and made her agonizingly aware of the trickery she practiced
At last the carriage pulled to a stop before the inn. A sign before the portal swung wildly in the wind, and trees swayed to and fro, barren branches plucking in nervous frenzy toward the sodden earth as if in search of comfort against the gale. The guards, exposed to the full force of wind-driven rain and sleet during the ride, did not linger for their charge but rushed into the place, leaving Pitney to do the duty.
Alighting from the carriage, Ruark pulled his cloak close around his neck and yanked the tricorn low over his brow, and as Shanna stepped to the door he turned and pulled her into his arms though she protested indignantly at this outrage. He bore her across the puddle-laden path. Shanna ground her teeth in displeasure, hating his boldness and the close contact of his hard, muscular chest.
“You take much upon yourself, sir,” she rebuked peevishly and then gasped and threw her arms tightly about his neck as he gave a little dip as if he would drop her. Silently Shanna seethed while the muffled sound of his mirth grated on her nerves, but she dared not retort until her feet were safely on solid ground.
As ever, Pitney was close behind them, and when they reached the covered doorway, his vast bulk sheltered them from the force of the storm. A tallow lantern hung beside the portal, and in its flickering light, Shanna’s face fairly flamed with resentment.
“I’ve never been so abused in all my life,” she fumed. “Put me down!�
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Obligingly Ruark withdrew the arm he had beneath her knees, allowing her feet to slide to the step; but his other arm remained, holding her against his chest. Angrily Shanna pushed at him to set herself free. Astonished, she realized that the lace of her bodice was snared around a button of his waistcoat.
“Oh, now look what you’ve done!” she wailed.
It was impossible to move back even a step. His feet were braced slightly apart, and she was caught to him and had to stand in the space between or find her gown torn. She could feel his thighs firm and hard against her own, and it was a most compromising and humiliating stance. Having Ruark’s arm loosely about her, his head bending near hers, and his warm breath falling against her cheek did not help her attempts at composure. Pitney awkwardly cleared his throat but otherwise was mute. Shanna’s fingers shook, and though she tried to work the intruding button free, she was in such a state that she only entangled it more. Her temper riled, she gave a low groan of frustration.
“Here, let me,” Ruark said through his laughter, brushing her hands aside.
Shanna choked, and her cheeks burned as his knuckles pressed upon her breast, rubbing casually against its peak as he tried to undo the tangle. She was smothered by his nearness and could not breathe with his hands at her bosom. Finally she could bear no more of his fondling.
“Oh, stop, you bumbling oaf!” she shrieked and losing all patience, thrust hard at his chest with her hands.
At her onslaught Ruark stumbled back, and his movement was accompanied by a sharp rending of cloth and the sound of Shanna’s gasp. The lace insert and its silk lining had given way beneath the strain, leaving a small scrap of lace and the button firmly attached to Ruark’s waistcoat. In mute horror, Shanna gaped down at her display, for her bosom was now only thinly concealed beneath the delicate batiste of her chemise. Her round breasts pressed wantonly against the filmy fabric, their soft, pink crests seeming eager to burst through. With the candlelight gleaming on her satin skin, it was a most rousing sight for Ruark whose celibate life of late had offered little more relief than his own imaginings within the four stark walls of a prison cell. His mouth was suddenly dry and his breath a hard knot in his throat. Like a starved man, he stared at the full, ripe delicacies before him, and it nearly sapped his strength to keep his hands from her.
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