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“Let me begin by saying that I spoke in haste earlier, not knowing of your very recent marriage. I had no wish to malign your wife’s character. It is a simple fact of my profession that most often when I am confronted by a married woman in a swoon, the diagnosis is that she is with child.”
“I see. And am I to understand by this explanation, Doctor, that you have eliminated that possibility as far as my wife is concerned?”
“Not entirely. But, in light of the situation, I believe my assumption was wrong.”
“Ah!” Justin’s left brow raised. “I am astonished at your naiveté, Doctor. I would not expect a man of your profession to rule out the possibility of a woman carrying a child on the basis of her marital status.”
“Your wife’s marital state has nothing to do with my diagnosis, Mr. Randolph. I am hardly naive, sir.” The doctor’s voice hardened. “Neither am I easily fooled.”
“Fooled?” Justin’s eyes narrowed. “You mean she was shamming?”
“No. Her unconscious state is real enough. I meant your…confusion…as to its cause may not be.”
Justin rose to his feet. “Would you care to explain that statement, Doctor?”
Thaddeous Allen glanced quickly around the room—everyone was sleeping. “Your wife’s unconscious state is the result of extreme physical and emotional fatigue brought on by very rough handling.”
Justin’s brows shot skyward. “Rough handling?”
The man slumped over the table next to them snorted, lifted his head, gave them a bleary-eyed look and dropped his head back down onto his arms. His heavy snoring resumed. Justin lowered his voice. “What ‘rough handling,’ Doctor? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your wife’s condition. Someone has handled her very roughly indeed. She is considerably bruised. I’m certain her collapse is a mental, physical and emotional result of the mistreatment she—”
Justin didn’t wait for him to finish. He strode across the room and started upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.
Justin shoved open the bedroom door, crossed the room and grasped the bedcovers, flinging them back from his bride’s prostrate form. His brows lowered in a dark scowl as he swept his gaze over her. The evidence of the claimed mistreatment was there—dark, ugly bruises marred the flesh of her upper arms, and a raw, jagged scratch ran from the slender column of her throat to the top of her shift. The vivid red color of the wound stood out in startling contrast to the creamy perfection of her skin.
Justin’s jaw tightened. He flicked his gaze upward to his wife’s face and, though it was turned away into the shadows, a discolored swelling along the clean, firm line of her jaw was visible to him.
“Those bruises were made by a man’s hands, Mr. Randolph. A large man’s hands.”
Justin glanced at the doctor who had followed him into the room, then leaned forward and pulled the covers back over Elizabeth’s slender form. “I am a large man, Doctor.” He turned and faced the physician. “Be done with innuendo—do you accuse me?”
For a moment the two men studied each other and then the doctor shook his head. “No, Mr. Randolph, I do not.” His voice was noticeably warmer. “I confess that was my first thought, but, having witnessed your reactions, I am now convinced it was not you that harmed your wife.” He stepped forward and nodded toward the still figure on the bed. “There is further evidence of mistreatment. Her right wrist is swollen and discolored, and there is a nasty lump on the back of her head.”
He picked up his black bag and started for the door. “Her right knee is badly bruised also, but I do not believe the injury is serious.” He reached for the doorknob.
“Doctor, wait!”
Thaddeous Allen stopped and turned to look at Justin.
“You haven’t told me what is to be done for her.”
“Only that.” The physician gestured toward the bed. “She needs rest. In these situations of cruel treatment I have often found there is great stress placed on the nerves and emotions. Unfortunately, we know little about such things.” He glanced over at his patient and then returned his gaze to Justin’s hard, set face.
“It has been my experience, Mr. Randolph, that when a person is subjected to treatment such as your wife has obviously suffered, it leaves a bruise on the soul that takes much longer to heal than the physical ones. You may need to give her a good deal of love and understanding to bring that healing about.”
The doctor shifted his black bag to his other hand and pulled the door open. “Good evening, Mr. Randolph. May God grant your wife a speedy recovery.” The door closed with a soft click behind him.
Justin stared at the closed door. Love and understanding, indeed! He turned and looked down at the slight rise in the coverlet that was caused by Elizabeth’s body. One bruised, creamy-white shoulder was exposed to the cool night air. He walked to the bed, pulled the coverlet over her shoulder and gently tucked it under her swollen jaw. What had happened to her? Why had—? Abruptly, he chopped off the thought, spun on his heel and strode to the door. He had been ensnared by compassion once—he would not allow it to happen again. Never again!
The fire flared brightly in the draft as Justin yanked the door open and stepped into the hallway. It flickered wildly as he slammed the door closed again, then settled to a steady burn that warmed the room with soft golden light and lent radiance to the pale face of the young woman lying comatose on the bed as his angry footsteps faded away.
Chapter Five
E lizabeth awakened to the sound of raindrops against the windowpane. A dull ache permeated her whole being, and the thought came to her that she was ill—that she had some dreadful disease. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes and rolled down her face, making damp spots on the pillow. She lifted her hands to wipe the tears away and a sudden, sharp pain stung her left jaw as something solid bumped against it. There was a gold band on her finger. Her brow furrowed. She had no gold ring. She— Reginald!
Elizabeth jolted fully awake. Was she married to Reginald? A wave of sickening fear drove her lethargy away. She threw the covers aside and lunged to her feet, then halted as pain streaked through her body and the room started to spin. She groped wildly in the air for support and her hands closed on soft, warm flesh. A startled scream rose in her throat.
“Here now—you got up too quick-like.” Small, work-roughened hands eased her gently back down onto the bed and smoothed her petticoats around her legs. “There. You’ll soon feel better. The dizziness will pass. It’s only ’cause you stood so fast.” The softness of a blanket brushed her chin as it was tucked around her shoulders. Elizabeth’s eyes prickled with hot tears. How could she escape with someone watching her? She drew a deep breath to quell the nausea that had accompanied the dizziness, and opened her eyes. They focused on a round face topped by gray hair. She’d never seen the woman before. “Where am I?”
“You’re at the Wetherstone Inn. My husband owns it.” The woman smiled. “An’ a proper fright you gave him last night when Mr. Randolph come carryin’ you in. He thought there’d been an accident.”
Wetherstone Inn? Mr. Randolph? Who—? Oh! Elizabeth bolted to a sitting position. The judge! And that strange marriage proposal. Yes. Yes! She had married a man named Randolph last night to escape Reginald and—and what? Her heart fluttered wildly. She shut her eyes trying to remember. What had happened after the ceremony? Why was she here? And where was this Mr. Randolph now? She could vaguely remember him climbing into the carriage and then…then nothing. “Oooh!”
“What is it, dear? Are you feelin’ poorly?” The woman gently brushed a clinging tendril of hair from Elizabeth’s temple. “You lay back an’ rest. I’ll go fetch Mr. Randolph an’—”
“No!” The woman glanced at her sharply and Elizabeth made a valiant effort to control her sudden panic. “I—I mean, that won’t be necessary. I’m fine. Truly I am. The dizziness has passed. It’s only that I can’t seem to remember…”
“Remember?” The woman snorted the word. “My stars, child, how would you remember? You were fainted dead away! Josiah said when he opened the door you were hangin’ across your husband’s arms like a limp rag doll. An’ your Mr. Randolph, well—” the woman’s lips twitched with amusement “—Josiah says he was shoutin’ an’ stormin’ an’ hollerin’ for Josiah to help him. Hah!” The snort was louder this time, and filled with lofty disdain. “As if Josiah ever knew what to do about a woman.” The woman chuckled gleefully. “Oh, I wished I’d a been there! Josiah says Mr. Randolph was in a proper broil. There ain’t nothin’ so helpless as a man with a sick woman on his hands.”
“Oh, my! Whatever must Mr. Randolph think of me?” With a flurry of arms, legs and ruffled petticoats, Elizabeth jumped from the bed. “I must see him immediately! I have to explain. I—” She stopped dead still. What would she say? What could she say?
“Now, now. There’s no need to work yourself to a dither about last night.” The woman retrieved Elizabeth’s soft, satin slippers from under the bed and held them out to her. “You’d best put your shoes on, lest you catch a chill. There’s no need to sicken yourself over the matter. Your husband ain’t the first man to be disappointed on his weddin’ night, an’ he ain’t likely to be the last.”
Oh! Oh, my! She hadn’t even thought about that! Hot blood surged into Elizabeth’s cheeks. She looked away from the woman’s knowing gaze, accepted the offered shoes, then grabbed her dress from off the back of a chair where someone had tossed it. Had it been this woman who had removed it from her unconscious body—or Mr. Randolph? The thought made the nausea worse. Elizabeth clasped the dress and shoes to her chest like a shield and forced herself to concentrate. Why was she here with the proprietor’s wife? Where was her…her husband? And what was going to happen to her?
She closed her eyes for a moment to gain composure, then opened them and smiled at the short, stout woman who was watching her closely. Her eyes widened and she gave a startled little yelp as pain darted along her facial muscles. She lifted her hand to cup her throbbing jaw and her gaze fell on her upper arm. It was covered with ugly purple marks. “Well, I look a sight. I—I had a fall.” A tremor slid through her body at the memory of crashing to the floor when Reginald struck her.
Disbelief flashed in the woman’s eyes, her face softened. “I’ll bring you the tub I have tucked away in the kitchen an’ you can have yourself a proper soak. It will help with the soreness.” She headed for the door.
“Wait!” Panic overrode Elizabeth’s embarrassment. She took a deep breath as the woman looked her way. “Why was I left here alone? Where is Mr. Randolph?”
“Alone? Well bless my soul, child! You wasn’t left here alone. Your husband set me to watchin’ over you ’cause you was took ill, is all. He’s waitin’ on you down in the common room. You’re to join him there as soon as you’re able.” She pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway. “He’ll be at the table in front of the fire. He always sits starin’ at the fire.” The door closed behind her.
An odd sort of quivering began in Elizabeth’s knees and spread throughout her body. She dropped into the chair behind her and stared at the door. What had she done? How could she explain to this Mr. Randolph that she had been forced by circumstances to accept his offer of marriage? She couldn’t tell him about the betrothal agreement her father had signed—or about Reginald Burton-Smythe’s attack—or running away. He might send her back.
Elizabeth’s stomach roiled. She took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. This time the nausea wouldn’t be denied. She dropped the dress and shoes she still clutched in her hands and leaped for the washbowl. She reached it just in time.
She felt better—at least physically. The proprietor’s wife had been right; the warm bathwater had taken a little of the stiffness and soreness away. Elizabeth dropped her hairbrush into her open bag, leaned closer to the mirror and pushed her ivory hair comb into the piled-up mass of her still-damp hair. A few rebellious curls popped free and fell onto her smooth forehead. Why, just this once, couldn’t her hair behave? Elizabeth scowled, tucked the offending curls back under the confined tresses, then pulled a creamy length of lace from her bag and draped it around her throat to hide the ragged scratch left by Reginald’s attack. With the sleeves of her dress hiding the bruises on her arms, that took care of everything but her face. There was nothing she could do to hide that reminder of Reginald’s cruelty.
Elizabeth shuddered, closed her bag and stared down at the large gold ring resting on the table beside it. When she put that ring on her finger she would be ready—there would be no further reason to delay her meeting with Mr. Randolph. A fit of trembling seized her. Before she lost all courage, she snatched up the ring, slid it onto her finger and hurried from the small bedroom.
Dear heaven! She could not identify her own husband! Elizabeth bit back a nervous giggle and gripped the banister for support as she skimmed her gaze over the men in the common room. One of them, seated at a table in front of the fireplace at the far end of the room with his back toward her, seemed to be staring into the flames. Was that he?
Any inclination toward laughter, nervous or otherwise, left Elizabeth in a rush. The man’s long legs, crossed at the ankles, stretched out toward the fire, and one broad, long-fingered hand rested on the table. Her heart fluttered as she noted the powerful look of that hand. She suppressed a sudden, intense desire to turn and run away, descended the last step, and crossed the room.
“Mr. Randolph?”
“Dearest!”
Elizabeth froze as, with one fluid motion, the man leaped to his feet, spun about, grasped her upper arms and drew her close. Shock held her motionless. But only for an instant. She began to struggle. “Unhand me, sir!”
The grip on her arms tightened. “Stop fighting! Breams is watching.”
The words were snarled under the man’s breath as he pinioned her to his broad chest. Elizabeth struggled harder, the feel of the man’s powerful hands upon her driving all coherent thought from her mind. Fear writhed like a living thing in the pit of her stomach. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her head began to spin and she felt herself falling toward the deep, dark vortex of a whirling darkness. Terror gripped her. She forgot the man and fought the smothering darkness. When it receded, there was the firm, hard, security of a wooden chair beneath her. She drew a long, shuddering breath.
“Are you all right?”
The words were curt, abrupt, and full of distaste—but there was an underlying note of concern in Mr. Randolph’s deep voice that made Elizabeth nod her head. It wasn’t much of a nod, for her head was still spinning, but apparently it satisfied him for he removed his hand from her shoulder and moved away to seat himself on the other side of the table. Her breath came more easily when he had gone.
“You’re certain you’re all right?” His voice now held an impatient note of inquisition. “You look quite pale.”
“I—I’m fine. If I might have a moment…” Elizabeth closed her lips firmly to prevent the sobs that were clawing at her throat from breaking free. She had nearly swooned again! What was wrong with her? Tears welled up behind her closed eyes. She swallowed painfully, fighting them back.
“It seems I startled you. I apologize for that, but I had to keep you from ruining my plan. You see, I am known here. And, as these people know only that we are newly married—not that we are newly met—they would naturally expect our meeting, after the disaster of last night, to be a loving one.”
Elizabeth clamped her jaws tightly together, using the pain it caused to stifle a sudden, strong impulse to laugh. Their meeting had certainly fallen far short of such expectations! Her lips twitched.
“You find our situation amusing?”
A shiver of fear slithered down her spine at his cold tone. “No, I do not, Mr. Randolph. I only—” The laughter bubbled up and burst from Elizabeth’s throat. She couldn’t stop it. Horrified, she buried her face in her hands while the uncontrollable hilarity poured from her.
The table jerked and her new husband’s chair scraped against the floor. “Your nerves are overwrought. I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself.”
The whispered words hit Elizabeth like a splash of cold water. The laughter died. She jerked her head up and stared at Mr. Randolph’s rapidly retreating back. Of course she was overwrought! Who wouldn’t be, in her situation? Still…Elizabeth’s spurt of anger dissolved into worry. Why had she swooned? Was she ill? Something was wrong with her. She blinked away tears, leaned back against the turned wood spindles of the chair she occupied and stared down at the fire on the hearth. So much had happened so quickly. So much had changed! Surely it was natural that she should be—
“The arrangements are made. Mary will be bringing our meal promptly. Please comport yourself as a loving bride while she is near.” The whispered order startled Elizabeth as much as Mr. Randolph’s quiet return. She jumped and looked up at him. An expression of extreme distaste crossed his features as their gazes met for the first time. “You’re beautiful!”
The words were an accusation, not a compliment. Elizabeth stiffened with shock at his rudeness. “Thank you, Mr. Randolph. You make a pleasing appearance yourself.”
A small, mocking bow of her husband’s dark, handsome head acknowledged her cool, impeccably correct response. “No doubt others will comment on what a lovely couple we make.”
Elizabeth’s chin lifted at the undertone of dislike in his voice. She stared fully into his acrimonious gaze, then sighed heavily and clasped her hands on top of the table. She’d been nothing but trouble to the man—how else should he feel about her? “Mr. Randolph, I realize I have made a very poor beginning in our…er…relationship. And I offer you my sincere apology for all of the embarrassment and trouble I have caused you.” Her cheeks warmed. She looked down at the scarred tabletop. “I understand that I swooned last evening, and I am mortified, sir, that you were forced to carry me into the inn.”
She looked back up at him. “I wish you to know that I have never swooned before, and that I am not weak or sickly. Also, I want to apologize for my actions upon our meeting earlier. They were out of character for me. And, last, permit me to say that you were most gracious and kind to provide such thoughtful care for me last evening. I am truly grateful.”
“You are telling me that your fainting spell last evening was an unusual occurrence?”
He had completely ignored her apology! Elizabeth lifted her chin a notch higher. “Yes. Most unusual.”
“I see. And to what do you attribute this…unusual…swoon?”
His dark, penetrating gaze made her want to squirm—and his cold, arrogant tone made her want to rise to her feet and walk away. She did neither. “I am without an explanation, Mr. Randolph. However, as I said earlier, I do not wish you to think me weak or sickly, for I am neither.”
He made an abrupt gesture of dismissal with his hand and Elizabeth had the distinct impression he did not believe a word she had said. She drew breath to emphasize her point just as the door to the common room opened and a tall, thin man in a long, black great coat entered. The words she had been about to utter flew from her mind. The man slammed the door shut, stomped mud from his feet and swept his hat from his head. Bald! He was bald. It wasn’t Reginald. Elizabeth sagged back against the chair.
“…your gratitude is unnecessary.”
Mr. Randolph’s cool voice caught her attention. She turned her gaze back to the stranger she had married.
“Our agreement states that I will provide for your needs—as my wife, that is due you. I am both willing, and able, to live up to the responsibilities placed upon me by this marriage. However, we shall delay discussion of these things until we are in the privacy of the carriage. For now, it is enough for you to know we must play the part of love-smitten newlyweds.” His gaze hardened. “As I said earlier, I am known here. And I will have no doubt, or stigma, attached to this marriage.” The coldness in his low-pitched voice belied the attitude of adoration her new husband exhibited as he leaned across the table toward her. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Oh, yes. Quite clear. You wish me to portray a loving bride so our relationship will appear to be as other marriages.”
“Precisely!” He leaned back in his chair. “You do understand, however, that you are to perform so only when we are in the company of others. When we are alone, there will be no intimacy between us.” He studied her closely. “You do understand that?”
“Oh, yes. That is the basis of our…arrangement.”
“Excellent! I’m pleased to learn you are not an empty-headed piece of froth.” He ignored her startled gasp and continued. “Now, I dislike formality. Please call me by my given name—Justin.”
“Very well.”
“And, of course, I shall call you Elizabeth. That is your name, is it not?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly he leaned toward her and smiled. Elizabeth blinked, taken aback by the transformation in his face. A warning look leaped into his eyes. “Here is Mary, with our meal, dearest. I hope the food will strengthen you. You so frightened me last night.”
So that was what had brought about the sudden change. What an actor! The man’s voice was fairly throbbing with emotion. Well, Mr. Justin Randolph would not find her performance wanting! Elizabeth glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes as a young woman set plates of hot stew before them. “There’s no need for alarm, dearest, I’m quite recovered.”
Her voice could have melted butter. She smiled with satisfaction, then grimaced at the hunger pang that cramped her stomach as the delicious aroma of the stew wafted upward. It had been more than a full day since her last meal.
“Pray begin, beloved. You had no meal last evening, and you are too slight to go so long without sustenance.”
Now that had sounded almost sincere! The thoughtfulness surprised her. Elizabeth smiled and reached for her fork.
Justin stared. She had incredible eyes. They were the deepest, darkest blue he had ever seen. Something stirred at the fringe of his mind as he gazed into their depths, but when he grasped for the thought it disappeared into nothingness, as insubstantial as the wisps of steam rising from their food. He frowned and shifted his weight in his chair, uncomfortably aware that his emotions as well as his mind were stirring. Firmly he forced them to stillness. He was no longer a young, romantic fool to lose his head over a beautiful face. And she was beautiful—there was no denying that. His gaze swept over her finely molded nose, across her lovely high cheekbones, and down to her full, rose-colored lips. They were still curved in that warm, grateful smile and exposed small, even, white teeth to his view. Only the discolored, swollen jaw marred her features’ perfection. The sight of the bruise jarred him back to his senses. He scowled, picked up his fork and began to eat.
Chapter Six
I t was raining when they left the inn. A howling wind whipped around the far corner of the building and tugged at Elizabeth’s cloak. She staggered beneath the force of it.
Justin stepped between her and the frigid, buffeting gusts. “Nasty day.”
“Yes.” The word was snatched from her mouth and carried away.
Justin opened the door of the hired cabriolet, braced it with his shoulder and handed her inside. A sudden blast of icy air slammed the door shut as he climbed in after her. At once the throaty roar of the wind was reduced to a muffled, moaning sigh. A curious sense of intimacy pervaded the inside of the shuddering carriage as the elements were closed out. He settled himself on the seat beside her as the carriage gave a lurch and rolled forward. “Well, we are on our way.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth arranged her cloak, and, under cover of the movement, slid closer to the outside of the carriage. “If I may ask, sir, what is our destination?”
“Philadelphia.” Justin lifted a rug from the pile he’d placed on his lap and unfolded it. “Have you been to our fair city?” He leaned over and spread the fur robe across Elizabeth’s lap.
“N-no. I haven’t had the p-pleasure.”
Justin frowned and looked up from covering his own lap. “Your face is pale and you’re shivering. Are you taking a chill?”
“No. I’m f-fine.” Elizabeth stared down at her hands trying to will them to stillness. It didn’t work. She gave up and tucked them out of sight under the rug. Philadelphia. Reginald would never find her there. She was safe! She glanced up to find Justin Randolph looking expectantly at her. “I beg your pardon, sir. I fear I was wool-gathering. Did you say something?”
