"Some have remained, but it will be different now. Those who were your friends will resent you."
Elizabeth looked down and saw Damon's hands, large, dark and masculine against her sateen corset and milky white skin, his maleness emphasizing her femininity. Her heart started pounding so hard and fast she was certain he must feel it hammering against his hand. "And Mrs. Throckmorton? Is she still in charge?"
"Mrs. Throckmorton is my most faithful and dependable servant."
Elizabeth let out a little snicker. "So, now that I talk with high-flown ways and pattern myself after my betters, how do you think she'll react to me?"
Damon looked at her and smiled, and for the first time since she'd fled Shanti Bhavan she saw the old glint of humor in his eyes. "I don't know. I guess we'll have to wait and see. I hope you'll control your sharp tongue though because Mrs. Throckmorton's the best housekeeper I've ever had, so I trust you'll make an effort to work out your differences with her."
Elizabeth let out a huff of irritation. "Does that mean I am to kowtow to her?"
One corner of Damon's mouth tipped up. "That would be a start, though I don't think there's a chance in hell it will happen."
Elizabeth pursed her lips. "She disliked me from the start. She'll hate me now."
"True, but she won't be able to show it." After fastening the last buckle he drew in a labored breath, and said, "I'll see you at dinner," then turned and left the stateroom.
Elizabeth stared at the closed door. He seemed a changed man, helping her dress as if she were his adored wife, chatting with her as he fastened her corset—a pleasant moment together, the kind a married couple might share…
… If you come to my bed, gypsy girl, you'll come as my mistress, never as my wife. …
She couldn't set his cruel words aside no matter how his demeanor toward her changed. The fact was, she was beginning to think she was the wanton woman he'd accused her of being, the kind of woman who used a man for her own gratification. And if she were honest with herself, while he'd fastened her corset, she'd had to suppress the urge to curve her arms around his neck and kiss him. She hated the reactions he stirred in her and herself for succumbing to them.
***
On disembarking in Bombay, Damon sent a telegraph informing his staff of the imminent arrival of Lord and Lady Ravencroft, and to send a coach for them when the train arrived in Calcutta. With the help of a half-dozen bearers, they made their way from the docks to the train station, a noisy, busy place with a lineup of vendor stalls, some with mounds of fruits and vegetables, others displaying hot spicy dishes and a variety of sweets. Dogs and chickens wandered amid the stalls, scavenging for bits of food, and on the platform, Indian families, with their bedrolls, clothing packs, and cooking utensils, squatted, patiently awaiting the train.
Elizabeth glanced across the throng gathered on the platform and saw Damon heading toward her, train tickets clasped in his hand. His face glistened with sweat and the front of his shirt, and large patches under his arms, were soaked with perspiration. He took her elbow and guided her toward the vendors, saying, "Let's get what we need for the trip and go aboard. It's hot as hades out here and I want to get out of these clothes."
This was one time Elizabeth didn't argue. The heat was oppressive. Even the breeze from the sea was so muggy it offered little relief. Thankfully, just before entering the Suez Canal she'd purchased a topi from a vendor who convinced her the layers of pith protected European brains from being fried by the vicious Indian sun. She bought the hat to help the man, who claimed he had a wife and many hungry children to feed. However, she'd declined the silk scarf to go around the hat, deciding the price was extreme. Now, she was sorry. It seemed no matter how she tipped her topi, the sun managed to reach her face and neck, causing sweat to collect on her forehead and trickle downward, soaking her collar, and before long, her bodice, corset and camisole were sopping. She only hoped their compartment on the train would provide some means of privacy as she was anxious to sponge off her entire body and change into clean fresh clothes.
After purchasing a variety of foods and personal items for the three-day journey, along with a block of ice to place on the floor of their compartment, they boarded the train and located their quarters—a hot, stuffy cubicle with facing, leather-covered benches that made up into two narrow beds. While Damon hefted their handbags onto the racks above the seats, a coolie placed the block of ice on the floor in the space between the benches.
Elizabeth lowered herself onto one of the seats and glanced around the tight quarters. To her dismay there was no privacy screen, which would mean having to stand with her back to Damon while she attempted to reach inside her undergarments in order to wash herself. Damon, of course, would simply strip off his clothes and get the job done, which he affirmed after closing the compartment door, and saying, "It's going to be hell in here with you sitting half-dressed across from me for three days." He shoved a stopper into the drain of the built-in tin wash basin with its opening that went to the tracks, pumped water into the bowl, and dipped a wash cloth, then began sponging his chest.
Elizabeth glared at him. "Well, your total disregard for modesty doesn't make it any easier on me."
"I'm your husband. What I do is normal for a legally wed couple, but if the sight of me bothers you then look the other way, although I've noticed you seem to have a penchant for staring."
Heat rushed up Elizabeth's face. The fact was, whenever Damon stripped off his clothes she found it near impossible to keep from staring. She'd never seen a naked man before marrying, and the change that took place in his male part was still a curiosity. She was also certain no woman could possibly find pleasure in such a menacing-looking thing.
Realizing she was doing exactly what Damon accused her of doing, she looked out the window, and said, "You could have purchased two compartments like I asked you to do."
"I could have, but I'm staying with you in this compartment to protect you from thugees."
"Thugees crawling through the window and strangling me are the least of my worries when I'm forced to ride in a compartment with a naked man who could take my virginity at any time."
Damon wrung out the cloth and slapped it against the washstand. "I said I wouldn't touch you and I won't but you can keep believing whatever you want. It's too damn hot to spar with you." He shoved his legs into a clean pair of drawers and sat opposite her. Thrusting his traveling pillow behind his neck, he closed his eyes.
Elizabeth glared at a face that both filled her with disgust and made her heart race, and let her eyes roam over a muscular chest she felt like beating with her fists, while at the same time wanted to run her palms over it. Disturbed by what was becoming a fixation, she turned to the window, determined to block out the sight of Damon and the effect he had on her.
The train gave a little lurch and slowly began moving forward. Feeling as if about to suffocate in the tight confines of the compartment, Elizabeth raised the windowpane. A hot dry breeze began to funnel through the wire screening. Gradually, as the train picked up speed, fine dust began sifting in.
Deciding she'd rather endure the heat than sit half naked to Damon's view, she unfastened the top few buttons of her shirtwaist and settled against the seat. Shifting onto one hip, she angled her body against the window wall, propped her head on her travelling pillow and closed her eyes. The steady sway of the train, accompanied by the rhythmic clankety-clank of wheels, made her drowsy, and before long she was unaware of her surroundings…
Three hours later, Elizabeth awakened to find herself covered in dust and drenched in sweat. She felt utterly wilted. The high afternoon sun beating against the tin roof of the train had raised the temperature inside the compartment until it was nearly unbearable. It had also reduced the size of the block of ice, the remainder of which sat in a muddy puddle on the floor. She looked across at Damon, who was staring at her. Dragging herself upright, she fanned her wet bodice back and forth against her damp chest and went to the w
ash stand. The room seemed to darken and she braced a hand against the wall until the lightness passed…
"Take off the damn dress and corset, Elizabeth, or you'll be overcome by heat." Damon's voice seemed to come from far away. "Just because I react to the sight of you doesn't mean I'll act on it. It's not like I haven't seen what's under your dress."
The image of his eyes on her while she stood before him in her undergarments the first night on the steamer, and again while he fastened her corset, triggered an unwanted response—heart beating a staccato rhythm, face flushed as if on fire, breath coming so fast within the confines of her corset she feared she wouldn't be able to fill her lungs with air. She also felt desperate to shed her dress and corset and strip off her sopping wet camisole and drawers and sponge off her entire body. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, "I'd appreciate it if you'd turn away."
Damon grunted in irritation and angled his face and body toward the window.
Her back to him, Elizabeth unfastened the bodice of her shirtwaist, dragged her arms out of the sweat-dampened sleeves, and shrugged off the dress. Sliding her arms out of the lacy straps of her sweat-dampened petticoat, she pushed the garment down her hips and stepped out of it then removed her sticky wet corset and followed with her camisole. The drawers, she decided, would remain. Displaying her bare back to Damon's view, should he look around, was one thing. Having him see her naked backside was quite another.
Relieved to be free of the sweat-soaked layers of clothing, she took several deep breaths, filling her lungs with air, then she pumped water into the wash basin. Immersing her wash cloth in cool water, she passed it over her feverish face… and tipped her head back and dragged it down the column of her throat… and swiped it across her shoulders and breasts. Closing her eyes, she let out a long sigh as a cooling breeze from the window caressed her damp skin…
The sound of Damon mumbling a string of expletives jerked her out of her blissful interlude. Shoving his legs into his trousers, and shrugging into his shirt, he yanked open the door and left.
***
By late afternoon the second day aboard, it was so hot, Elizabeth was tempted to doff the last vestiges of clothing and sit naked as a jay bird. What difference? Whenever she dampened her camisole and drawers to cool herself they clung to her like transparent skin, hiding nothing. Damon was becoming increasingly irritable, and she knew it was because of his ongoing male problem, but it was his fault for insisting they share quarters while traveling.
The only bright moment during the miserable day had been when they pulled into a station. They dressed hastily and stepped onto the platform where they stretched their legs, bought mutton curries from a vendor who presented them on plates neatly tied with napkins, and returned to eat in their compartment. Stripped to their underwear, they sat opposite each other on the bench seats, and ate.
That night, as they lay on the hard beds, Elizabeth was thankful for the cacophony of the iron wheels clattering against the tracks, if only to drown out the sound of the heavy breathing of the man who lay less than an arm's length away. In the moonlight that flickered through the window of the moving train, she saw Damon's relaxed face and knew he was sleeping.
She looked at him, this man she'd been trapped into marrying for the purpose of recovering an opal that would also make her free of him, and remembered the pleasure she'd found from his lips. The taste of him lingered in her mind, spicy and sweet, like ambrosia for the soul. Curious to know if what she remembered was real, she leaned over until her lips brushed his…
...when you come to my bed, gypsy girl, you'll come as my mistress, never as my wife…
His words came again at her like a slap across the face, a reminder of exactly who she was. She might be Lady Edmund Carlisle, but she was his wife in name only. She rolled onto her side away from him. One night, and one long hot day to get through, and they'd be home.
Odd, how she thought of Shanti Bhavan that way, but in less than two months it would be hers. Never would she have thought the place would feel welcome to her again.
The following day, at the train station in Calcutta, Damon's coach, along with a utility wagon for hauling their steamer trunks and other luggage, were waiting for them.
As the coach rolled toward their destination, Elizabeth felt growing apprehension about returning to Shanti Bhavan. Three years before, on the night that the gypsies arrived, she'd fled, presumably with them. On returning as Lady Ravencroft, gossip among the servants would be virulent...
Lord Ravencroft's gateman was murdered… Eliza Shirazi stole a valuable gem from his lordship… She'd roamed with gypsies… She was returning as Lady Ravencroft…
Hopefully, the lower servants who'd been her friends would receive her well, but Mrs. Throckmorton would be mortified, a thought that brought an ironic smile to her lips.
But when she stepped from the coach and took Damon's arm to receive greetings from the servants, the lightness Elizabeth felt earlier vanished. Not a face in the lineup was friendly, the expression on Mrs. Throckmorton's face was as lethal as a dagger… And Elizabeth realized her troubles as mistress of Shanti Bhavan had only just begun.
CHAPTER 9
Once inside the house, Damon excused himself and vanished down the long hallway, leaving Elizabeth to confront Mrs. Throckmorton, who made no attempt to disguise her hostility. Elizabeth knew the woman was crucial to running the place, but she would demand compliance, if not respect from her. Looking directly into her hard, cold eyes, she said, "Mrs. Throckmorton, you will now address me as Lady Ravencroft."
Mrs. Throckmorton's lips pinched, and her large nostrils flared with disdain. "You have only risen to that rank by whoring with His Lordship."
Elizabeth fought with all her might the urge to slap the despicable woman hard across the face. It was no less than the woman would have done had the situation been reversed. Instead, she held the woman's caustic glare and said, "I will not tolerate your insolence. You will apologize to me and address me as Lady Ravencroft or you'll find yourself in the laundry. Have I made myself clear?" she said, mimicking the woman's own words from an earlier time.
Mrs. Throckmorton's eyes narrowed into scornful slits. "Because you bedded his lordship you think you are above me when you are in fact no higher than a commonplace harlot."
Elizabeth glared at the woman, fists in tight knots to keep from striking her. "You will address me as Lady Ravencroft. I am giving you one last chance, and I advise you to take advantage of it."
Mrs. Throckmorton looked directly at Elizabeth. "And I am giving you my resignation." She snatched the keys from her belt, shoved them into Elizabeth's hand and marched off, leaving Elizabeth staring after her in stunned silence.
***
Palms braced against Damon's desk, Elizabeth leaned forward and said to him in a hushed voice, "There is a problem."
Damon looked up from his accounts, annoyed at being disturbed. "We have only just arrived. What kind of problem?"
Elizabeth leaned closer. "Mrs. Throckmorton quit."
"Mrs. Throckmorton what!" Damon shoved his chair back and shot to his feet.
"For heaven's sake, keep your voice down," Elizabeth said, while trying to maintain her composure. "The servants have enough to gossip about as it is."
Hands braced against the top of the desk, Damon glared at Elizabeth. "What in hell did you say to make her quit!?"
"I didn't say anything. It's what she said to me."
"I don't give a rats rear end what she said to you. Mrs. Throckmorton's crucial to running this place. Whatever she said, you should have come to me instead of aggravating her."
Holding his gaze, Elizabeth said in a tight voice, "What would you have done if I'd told you she accused me of whoring with you and called me a harlot?"
Damon eyed her dubiously. "Mrs. Throckmorton's been with me for years. I can't imagine her saying anything like that to my wife."
"No, but she would to your mistress. You were planning to set me up in the bungal
ow for that reason and she no doubt figured I managed to get my lofty position by bedding you."
Damon drew in a weary sigh with this unexpected turn of events. "If Mrs. Throckmorton behaved the way you claim I would have dismissed her straight away, without references. You are no man's mistress and as long as you're my wife I will demand respect for you. Meanwhile we have no housekeeper,:
"True, but I'm certain I can handle the staff until you find another. In fact, many memsahibs run their own households. I intend to run this one as soon as I recover your opal. As for watching the servants so they don't steal from you, I'm more capable than anyone you might employ because I know all the tricks. I'll also do my own shopping, which will give me an excuse to comb the marketplace while ferreting out information about the whereabouts of my mother's tribe and ultimately, the opal."
Brows drawn, Damon said, "I suppose we have no choice for now, but if you have further problems with the staff I'll expect you to come to me to resolve them."
Elizabeth dipped a curtsy. "Yes, my lord, your wish is my command."
Damon peered into eyes that held a hint of humor and looked at a pair of lips touched with a slight smile. The image of a gypsy girl taunting him with her quick wit and teasing him with her innocent seduction filled his mind's eye. Back then, he'd wanted her beyond all reason, but only as his mistress. Now he wanted more…
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Elizabeth asked.
"Like what?" Damon took a step toward her.
"I don't know. Like there's something you want..." Elizabeth's words trailed off and her gaze dropped slightly and lingered, and he knew she was looking at his mouth, the subtle gesture reminding him of the time in his bedchamber when she'd welcomed his kiss.
"Yes, there's something I want, and I think you want it too." He moved toward her to kiss her, and as he did she raised her chin...
"Sahib?" The sound of his bearer's voice caught him up short. He glanced over Elizabeth's head and waited for the man to speak. "Lord Hadleigh here." The bearer had barely left the room when Cedric Hadleigh's voice came from the direction of the hallway.
Twilight 0f Memory (Historical Regency Romance) Page 12
