She didn’t speak, only nodded, stood and gave him her back as she wrapped her hands around a bedpost. He took his time undoing the laces. He shouldn’t have. He should have ripped the gown from her, tucked her securely into her bed, locked the door and fled into the cold, snowy night.
He wished she’d stop humming. Whenever his fingers brushed her smooth back, the sound she made vibrated through his fingertips right to his very soul. All the years he’d spent as a pirate, he’d held on to the fact that he did have a soul, a heart—he just knew when to tuck them safely away and when to consult them on serious matters.
For the third time Darius had to sweep her hair up and over her shoulder, the soft strands floating over his hands, the sweet scent of violets leaving him hungry and wanting. “You need to stop moving about,” he scolded gently when she swayed into him. Did she know she did it?
“You could have woken one of my sisters to do this.”
It was very late, almost two in the morning, and the children had long ago retired. The merriment of the day had long since left, but their charade had to continue. There wasn’t a person under his roof who would say tomorrow that the mister and his wife weren’t blissfully happy as they shared a bed for the wedding night.
“It’s a husband’s duty to undress his wife.”
She gulped. He felt it, heard it, wished he could recall his words and use another. Instead he elaborated. It had to be said. His spine would snap from the tension if he didn’t finally say what was on his mind. “I won’t take from you what you don’t freely give.”
“What if I never freely give it?”
Darius sighed as the dress sagged to reveal pale skin and sharp bones. He stepped away. “Let us hope that does not come to pass.” He tried to add a smile as she turned but it may have appeared more a grimace.
“Do you think I will like it?”
This time he choked and had to move away to pour himself a drink as his eyes filled with moisture. “Like what?”
“The marriage act?” Her gown dropped to the ground as she approached him wearing nothing more than a corset, shift and petticoat.
He wondered why she came closer but then she took the glass from his hands and gulped down the liquid with a delicate little cough. She may be weak in muscle but she was strong with determination.
“You have had more than enough,” he told her as he snatched back the glass.
“Father was right about that, you know. Liquid courage he called it.” She threw her arms out and twirled on the spot. “I feel fabulous.”
“You won’t come morning,” he assured her as he put the rest of the bottle out of sight. She was well on her way to becoming completely foxed.
When she next held onto the bedpost so he could unlace her corset, Darius had to draw on his strength and control. He began to count in his head how many months, perhaps years, had passed since he’d been this close to a nearly naked female. The number he came up with made him groan. No wonder he was nearly as hard as the carved post.
“Should we just do it and get it out of the way?” came the question he dreaded, the question that made his stomach drop. A giggle followed as the corset was thrown across the room to land behind a chair.
“You are very drunk,” he told her. What he wanted to tell her was that he would probably break her. How could she have become so slight without her siblings noticing how her gowns hung from her gaunt frame? But by God, she was still a sight to behold in her threadbare shift, impossibly soft and almost translucent from years of use. The outline of her breasts called to him. He didn’t dare drop his gaze any lower.
“I am?”
“That feeling of fabulous won’t last beyond tonight, Eliza. If we were to ‘get it out of the way,’ you would hate yourself, and me, in the morning.” He couldn’t believe those words were coming out of his mouth. Take your hands off her, his mind screamed. But his fingers wouldn’t obey and continued to stroke the bare expanse of her upper arms.
“So you think I will hate it?”
He groaned again. “We should not even be discussing it. It is time for bed. Things will be clearer in the morning.”
“No they won’t. Things will be much worse in the morning.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
She yawned and shrugged. “It’s what happens in my life. Each day only gets worse than the one before.”
When she turned to get into his bed, without him, the sadness in her eyes physically hurt him. He wanted her to have good days, only good days from now until the end of her days. He took her by the shoulders. Her expression was one of shock but at least the melancholy vanished. “I’m going to try to make you happy, Eliza.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet.” He sighed and pressed his mouth to hers. He didn’t linger, didn’t promise any more than this one kiss but when he pulled away she wore a vibrant smile and pressed her fingers to her lips.
“It tingles,” she murmured.
He forced a smile. “Into bed with you now.” He’d meant what he’d said. He wouldn’t take what she didn’t offer and especially not while she was three sheets to the wind.
Though her idea of getting it out of the way had merit, he wouldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t. It was the hardest thing he’d done yet, to tuck her in and press one more kiss to those adorable lips.
Actually, scratch that. The hardest thing was Darius as he dropped onto a bedroll on the floor and willed his body and his mind to calm.
“Good night, husband.”
He gritted his teeth. “Good night, wife.”
Chapter Fourteen
Harold Meddington sat back in his chair and regarded his father through eyes that were scratchy and red from days riding against wind and sleet and snow. “I’m telling you, Penfold isn’t anywhere.”
The Earl of Wickham slammed his tankard down on the scarred tabletop, cheap, watered ale sloshing over the edges to join the filth already marring the uneven surface. “He has to be somewhere. Men like him don’t just disappear into thin air.”
Harold had been playing with a concept for the last few days of the torturous ride to Bath but was hesitant to raise the subject with his father. If he was right, they were both completely fucked. Screwed to the wall by all they owed money to. And that number was very high, both the dollar amount and the list of names. They’d be lucky to still be standing at the end of the month.
Unlike Penfold. Harold drew a deep breath and made a suggestion he hoped might lead his sire in the right direction rather than all over the rest of the countryside. “I believe we should go and snoop around the Penfold estate a little more. Perhaps question his former man of business? What if Penfold fled the country?”
His father shook his head. “No. He would never have left without the children and I won’t have that little bitch hold us at gunpoint again. She might just be cracked enough to shoot. Then there’s the bastard’s men too. They haven’t left her side in days.”
Nor would they, he wanted to add but kept his tongue between his teeth. His father was quick to temper these days and Harold had enough bruises on his person without adding more. They had reached a definite crossroads and Harold had been thinking the time had come to part ways with his wastrel father. Part ways before the earl considered giving up his only legitimate son and heir to pay his considerable, and still mounting, debts. Prison would not suit him.
There were only three ways the following weeks would play out. Either they found Penfold and demanded what was theirs—not the money, they knew he had none. But the daughters did. Harold had been in the room when the matter was discussed. He’d thought to coax Eliza Penfold into becoming his wife by choice rather than taking her and riding like the hounds were after them to Gretna. But he’d misjudged and shot his chances with her.
Cold bitch she was anyway. There was no way, not for all the money in England, would he have her in his bed. It was beneath him to rape a lady and he needed an heir and a few spares. There wer
e the two younger sisters. He could easily lead one of them to his way of thinking. If their bloody sister wasn’t always around to get in the bloody way.
Penfold had promised Wickham that Harold would have his wife and their money. He’d asked for time though, time to bring a daughter to heel. It was the last desperate measure for a desperate man. Desperate men were unpredictable. Harold didn’t care for unpredictable.
The other two ways the situation could swing meant death or exile. If they didn’t both get a knife in the back first, they could flee. He could flee. His father seemed to have too much pride to run away and never return. Harold was still debating the merits. As a last resort. Maybe.
“I’m going to take a look around anyway. I’ll go in on foot.”
“You’ll get yourself shot.”
Harold rose to his feet and glared at the man who seemed to have no true emotion in his heart at all, other than greed and fear of course. “There are worse ways to die.”
Wickham hadn’t been there to see the nameless stranger lit on fire in a seedy back alley deep in the slums. His father hadn’t been there to smell the flesh of a man as he burned to death over a debt he couldn’t pay. To be held on to tightly by the vice-like arms of burly guards so he couldn’t look away. To feel the same threat as it was whispered in his ear before being thrown out onto the filthy street.
Harold knew—in a way his father was completely and deliberately obtuse to—that there were far worse ways to die and they were all coming for them. Man and fire alike.
*
The feelings of freedom Eliza had experienced at her wedding feast had not made another appearance in the two days since she had said the vows to a perfect stranger. Well, he wasn’t perfect. Not even a little bit. But Darius was patient with her siblings. He took Ethan onto his knee whenever the boy had a story to tell or a complaint to make. There were far more of the former and not too many of the latter but Darius took them all in with a chuckle when it was warranted and grave understanding even when it was more than clear to the rest of them how he wanted to howl with laughter. She had been pleasantly surprised to see Darius laugh so much, thinking him a most serious sort to begin with, and wondering several times if it was all an act for the children’s benefit.
She didn’t mind either way.
For Nathanial, Darius had organised some of the men to begin teaching him how to wield a sword and throw a dagger. Not pursuits Eliza would normally condone but she did quietly admit such skills may come in good use one day. Probably sooner rather than later.
Gabriella and Grace spent their days reading in the library. It seemed the old earl was an avid reader of just about everything from poetry to romantic novels to thrillers and books about other countries around the world. Darius had granted them full access to any book they could reach from the safety of the floor. He had secretly whispered to her that the truly naughty books were on the top shelves. Her cheeks had grown warm and she had found herself wondering what was so naughty about them but had been too thoroughly distracted by his hot breath in her ear to give it more thought.
None of the Penfold children were brave enough to upset Darius or his men, the tension thick in the house despite the hours of merriment. They couldn’t relax even though the men tried their best to make them feel at home.
Eliza didn’t feel at home at all. She felt like a stranger, an intruder and a fraud. During the day she made idle talk with the sailors and at night she lay in Darius’s large, cold bed thinking about the man and his kisses. Thinking about her shocking behaviour after too much liquid courage. More than that, she thought about her brother’s words that she should seduce her husband to better manage him.
True that until they consummated their union, Darius could apply for an annulment. What if he did so after he had her money in hand? She would be so much more than ruined.
But he liked to kiss her. She knew that much. Was it that he didn’t find her attractive enough to bed her? No, that couldn’t be it either. There were times when he’d stared at her like a wolf does a tasty lamb. But since their wedding night, he’d kept his distance and his hands and mouth to himself. She fell asleep on her own and he was always gone from his bedroll on the floor well before she woke. She had no experience and wouldn’t even know where to begin if she did indeed decide to seduce her husband.
She damned Nathanial for putting such suggestions and logical conclusions into her mind. She had already sold her soul to the devil, better she didn’t hand him her body as well she supposed. But therein lay the largest problem of them all. Darius wasn’t the devil. He was her dragon slayer and her champion and there was a very large part of her that wanted to bestow on him more than a mere boon.
She kept thinking about the fact that she was his wife. He was certainly going to be her only husband even if he did try to apply for an annulment. None other would have her. If he never touched her intimately, she would die an innocent with the world believing her already sullied before the vows. She hated to admit that unless they consummated the union, Darius would always have the upper hand. How long could they possibly go on for? She knew ton couples slept in separate beds but the common folk did not.
Her cheeks heated once again. If she blushed furiously each time she had an inappropriate or wanton thought, she was going to be in serious danger. Darius had a way of reading her emotions well. Now that she no longer had to worry so much for her brothers and sisters, she had more than ample time to dwell on the state of her virginity.
“Are you warm?” Darius asked from the settee across from where she sat, supposedly reading papers sent from London. If he guessed the direction of her thoughts, he gave no indication.
Eliza looked up from her own book, having not turned a page in some time but lost all the same, she wondered how long he had watched her. “A little.”
“Should I open a window? Let some fresh air in?”
Eliza shook her head. Such inane propriety. Such manners. Such boredom. How she’d longed for boredom rather than danger but now that she had it, she didn’t want it. “Perhaps I will take a walk in the garden. The rain looks to have eased for the moment.”
He turned back to the papers on his lap and asked in an even, disinterested tone, “Would you like company? I can send one of the men for Gabriella or Nathanial?”
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Eliza stared upwards to the ceiling. Marcus sighed from the corner of the room and she could have sworn she heard one of the men swear a rather colourful oath. “I believe I should like to be alone.” And with that, she fled the room before she could say something she might regret. Not that she would regret calling Darius out on his current treatment of her. For all she knew, this was exactly how he reacted to members of the opposite sex. Or perhaps he was already beginning to regret marrying her. Perhaps that’s why he kept his distance?
Once she’d escaped the house and taken ten steps into the melting snow, she stopped and pressed her hands to her cheeks. It was freezing but she needed to refresh and rethink. Oh, the things she wanted to say, the things she wanted to do, but she couldn’t. She was the daughter of a duke and had been taught from an early age to mind her manners and her tongue, suppress her wit and never make a man feel as though she was smarter than him.
Her mother’s parents may have been born in a different country but by the time they’d birthed their third daughter, they had been well and truly versed in the ways of propriety. Henrietta Penfold held her heritage in her white-blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes but she was English to the very bone and had begun to raise Eliza exactly the same way. It was sinful to be wanton. Suppress and behave.
Only, Eliza felt the constraints as surely as a bit between her teeth and a harness on her soul. Her father had once accused her of having the spirit of a gypsy, a curse from some long-ago relative who’d gone quite insane and lived in a carriage on the continent for the rest of her mad days.
Eliza fancied the woman probably grew tired of always having to behave with dec
orum when she doubtless wanted to scream at some of the men in her life to leave her be and one in particular to take her in his arms and…and…blast it, take her!
Just as Eliza entertained uncharitable thoughts about the men around her, Nathanial appeared at the edge of the courtyard and beckoned for her. Her brows rose but she went to him anyway. Her footsteps crunching in the snow. Something about the panicked look in his eyes caused a prickling at her nape.
“What is it?” she asked as she neared.
Nathanial shook his head as though what he had to say, she would not like. “The rains have washed away the snow and most of the churned grounds at the graveyard. We were checking on the house and trying to decide what to do with it when I noticed.”
“Did Darius’s men notice it also?”
“I don’t think so but I can’t be sure. Eliza, what if we didn’t bury him deep enough and someone comes across his body?”
This time Eliza shook her head. “I doubt that will happen. Who would be riding about out there anyway?”
“I don’t know but I don’t like it. We should have burned the body like the Vikings as Mother told us in her stories. Made a pyre and burned the rotter to ashes.”
“We are not Vikings, Nathanial. And I for one would not have liked to see him burn despite his many flaws.”
“Well, now we will be undone. And for what? You would have sold yourself for nothing.”
Eliza’s palm itched with the urge to slap her brother for his speaking to her like that but he was right. Damn him, he was right. “We cannot dig up a rotting corpse. Even if he does somehow surface, surely by now he would be unrecognizable?”
“There was a story in a scientific journal in Father’s study that said a body lying in the ice could be preserved for thousands of years. Perfectly, without a hair out of place.”
She huffed out a foggy breath. “I knew I should have monitored your reading material more closely. Anyway, the ground around the estate is hardly ice.” But it did raise the question. The what ifs. “What do you suggest we do?”
The Slide Into Ruin Page 13
