He was right. She hadn’t stooped to him then. She’d mocked him and taunted him and even tattooed a rat on his chest, and he’d not so much as mildly chastised her for her impertinence. Now he was offering her a chance to gain a jute plantation and become an independent woman, with the possibility of tapping into memories that continued to elude her. Only by returning to Shanti Bhavan could she learn the truth and come to terms with the past. And for that, she was willing to endure a brief, unconsummated marriage.
“Very well,” she said. “I’ll accept your offer. But you will have your solicitor draw up a contract between you and me about Shanti Bhavan, and give your word to my father in writing, as a pre-nuptial agreement, that the marriage will not be consummated for three months. At which time it will be dissolved.”
“Believe me, Elizabeth. I don’t want this marriage any more than you," Damon assured her. "It’s purely the means to an end.”
CHAPTER SIX
Lord Sheffield smiled at his daughter. “I’m glad you’ve accepted Damon’s offer, Elizabeth. In time you’ll realize what a wise decision you’ve made. And Damon, I don’t know what you did to convince this young woman to be your wife, but I’m pleased you did. I cannot think of a finer man, or one I’d welcome more as my son-in-law.”
Elizabeth eyed her father. "You do understand about our three-month trial period?"
"About not consummating the marriage?"
"Well... yes. I want it in writing."
“I don’t know why you’d put such a severe restriction on a physically sound man, Elizabeth—” Lord Sheffield turned his gaze on Damon “—or why you’d allow Elizabeth to do it, Damon. But it seems the two of you have come to this agreement, so I’ll see that it’s included in the pre-nuptial agreement.”
“It’s what I want, Father. I barely know this man. It’s only because you’re so certain about him that I’m willing to marry him at all," Elizabeth said. "This way, if we don’t get on after three months, an annulment will be simple.”
“I guarantee, if you keep your husband out of your bed, Elizabeth, you will not get on at all. You cannot expect a man to remain faithful to you if you refuse to submit to your marital duty. A healthy man has certain physical needs that must be alleviated. But you wouldn’t know about these things having been sheltered from the intimacies of marriage.”
“Don’t underestimate your daughter, William. She probably knows more than you think," Damon said. "She seems a very astute young woman—" he turned and smiled at Elizabeth "—wise in the ways of... life.”
“What are implying, Lord Ravencroft?”
“It’s Damon. And It was a compliment.”
“I fail to see it that way. You deliberately—”
“Elizabeth!” Lord Sheffield broke in. “That’s quite enough.” He gave Damon a sheepish grin. “Like I said, Elizabeth tends to be a bit too outspoken. But I assure you, she is innocent of men and their needs.”
“Then as my wife I will make it a point to educate her." Damon held her gaze. "I have no doubt she’ll be an apt pupil.”
Elizabeth bristled. “How could you possibly make that assumption about me, Lord... Damon? We’ve only just met.”
“That may be, but it feels as if we’ve known each other for years, don’t you think?”
“It’s funny you should mention it,” Lord Sheffield said. “I wondered if perhaps your paths might have crossed in India. You seem... acquainted. Maybe if Damon didn’t have the whiskers you’d recognize him, Elizabeth, and realize you’d met at some time while in India.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “That seems highly unlikely.”
Damon curved his palm around Elizabeth’s hand and said to Lord Sheffield. “We seem like old acquaintances because everything was so sudden. At the ball, Elizabeth took me by complete surprise. In fact, I was nearly dumbstruck when I first saw her.”
“And you, Elizabeth?" Lord Sheffield asked. "What was your first impression of Damon?”
Elizabeth pulled her hand from beneath Damon’s palm and interlaced her fingers together in her lap. She looked at Damon, while saying to her father, “Had it not been for the flashy jewel in his gold turban, I doubt if I would have noticed him at all.”
Damon gave her a dark smile, and said with irony, “So, it seems I'm marrying a woman who covets my jewels.”
Elizabeth shot him a look of dire warning. “I don’t covet them," she said, "I just can't help but notice them when you display them in such an ostentations manner.”
Damon eyed Elizabeth with amusement. “You have agreed to marry me, Elizabeth, so something about me must have caught your fancy? I'm curious to know what it was. According to your father, you’ve shown no interest in any of your suitors."
“Well, since you’re pressing the issue, something about you did catch my attention, though not my fancy,” Elizabeth said. She gave him a waggish smile. “It was your eyes. Their color reminded me of someone I met in India a long time ago, an arrogant, egotistic, self-absorbed man I’d just as soon forget.”
Damon held her unwavering gaze. “But have not been able to, it seems.”
“Unpleasant memories hang on longer than pleasant ones," Elizabeth said. "I’m marrying you because I no longer wish to be a burden to my father.”
“Then we’d better discuss the wedding,” Lord Sheffield interjected. “We have an awkward situation on our hands, with Damon presenting himself as a prince.”
“I’m glad you brought that up, Father," Elizabeth said. "Just who am I to marry? Lord Damon Ravencroft, or Prince Rao Singh?”
“Actually, neither. You’ll be marrying Lord Edmund Damon Carlisle, who will eventually become Earl of Westwendham. The paperwork is in order, and you will be married by the captain of the steamer. The captain has agreed to allow you to board under cover of darkness the night before embarking. He will marry you right away, then Damon will dispense with the whiskers and be himself again, and you will present yourselves aboard as Lord and Lady Damon Ravencroft. After Damon has cleared his name, you will return to England as Lord and Lady Edmund Damon Carlisle.”
“Or as Lord Carlisle and Lady Sheffield," Elizabeth reminded. "Please see that the pre-nuptial agreement includes the clause about the three-month trial period, Father.”
Lord Sheffield released a long sigh. “Yes, Elizabeth, I’ll see to it.” He turned to Damon. “I warned you she was headstrong, but I trust marriage will mitigate some of those tendencies. She’ll be a good wife to you, Damon, once she knows what’s expected of her.”
“I do know what’s expected of a wife, Father.” She glared at Damon. “And I want you, Lord Raven... Damon, to give my father your word, in my presence, that you will not attempt to consummate our marriage for three months.”
Damon looked at Lord Sheffield. "I give you my word, William, that I will not consummate this marriage for three months—" he shifted his gaze to Elizabeth "—unless, of course it’s Elizabeth’s wish to do so.”
Elizabeth gave him a sharp look. “Why did you add that?”
Damon shrugged. “You might change your mind. Headstrong women are often impulsive. Besides, we’ll have three weeks at sea to get better acquainted. By the time we reach India, we should know each other... intimately.”
“We may know a little more about each other by then," Elizabeth said, "but I assure you, we will not know each other intimately.”
One corner of Damon’s mouth lifted. “We’ll see.”
***
Lady Edmund Damon Carlisle swept open the door, expecting to find a two-room suite, and found instead, a stateroom with a berth barely wide enough to accommodate two people. She turned and confronted Damon, foot tapping restively against the floor. “I expected to have a suite with separate staterooms, or in the very least, separate beds," she said.
Damon eyed her dispassionately. “Then you'll have to change your expectations.”
Elizabeth looked at the narrow berth. There was no way they could share it without coming in contact
with each other—her back touching his back if they lay on their sides facing away from each other. Her backside against his loins if he turned over and curved himself around her. Or if they happened to roll over and face each other, their lips would be only inches apart. She paused on that thought long enough to remind herself that what happened in his bedchamber when she was clearing away dead mice would never happen again. She couldn't remember what it was about his mouth that made her lose control of herself, along with her inhibitions, but she could not imagine ever being tempted to repeat that inexcusable behavior with him again.
She made a brief survey of the stateroom: two captain's chairs, a dresser with several drawers and a long mirror above, a 'throne' with a chamber pot, a wash stand with a basin and pitcher and a small mirror above. But no privacy screen, which meant she'd have to dress and undress in front of Damon, even be forced to use the commode in his presence. The thought of sharing such intimacies with the man she was trapped into marriage with brought tears of humiliation stinging her eyes. “You gave my father your word in writing that you would not consummate the marriage.”
Damon stepped around her and closed the door. “I agreed not to consummate the marriage,” he said. “I did not agree to sleep in separate beds.”
Feeling as if he were invading her private space just being in the closed quarters, Elizabeth backed away, putting some distance between them. “Well, I refuse to sleep in that bed with you. It would be far too intimate. It’s out of the question. I demand you get me my own cabin,” she said, refusing to cringe beneath his haughty demeanor.
“You demand?" Damon said, eyes fixed on hers in a lethal mind-game. "You’re in no position to demand anything, gypsy girl. You’re no longer under your father’s protection, you’re under mine, so what you demand is immaterial. I chose these quarters so that by the time we reach India I will be intimately familiar with every inch of you. I’ll know precisely when you go to sleep and when you wake up. I'll know whether you sleep soundly or turn restlessly in the night. I'll know when you bathe and when you use the commode. And most of all, I’ll know if you carry vials between your breasts or strap an ivory-handled knife to your leg. I intend to know more about you than you know about yourself, so that by the time we reach India there’ll be no way in hell you’ll trick me again.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin, determined not to be intimidated by this man who now held legal power over her, power she’d granted to him with a few words hastily uttered before the captain just moments before. But even though she was powerless if Damon intended to get his way, she’d not give in to him easily. “Well, I absolutely refuse to share that—" she pointed a stiff finger at the bed "—with you. I’ll sleep on the floor!”
Damon walked over to her and trailed a finger along the side of her face and across her tightly pressed lips, leaving them tingling and parted. “Fine, you do that,” he said, his gaze on her lips. His hand moved down to rest on her shoulder. “You sleep on the floor like the gypsy wench you are. It will make it easier for me to keep my hands off you.”
Elizabeth dipped her shoulder from beneath his palm and backed away from him until her spine met the stateroom wall. “If we had separate staterooms it would be easier yet. I'd be no threat to you if I happened to awaken during the night and be tempted to draw my knife and shove it between your ribs,” she said, feeling a small sense of pleasure that her presence was causing him stress, hoping he’d reconsider their close proximity for the duration of the voyage and procure a second stateroom.
One corner of Damon's mouth tugged in a wry smile. “It might be easier," he said, "but I couldn’t study you the way I intend to. Could I?”
“I hate you,” she hissed.
In one long stride he stood a breath away from her. He gripped her chin and raised her face, forcing her to meet his dark gaze. “That’s precisely why we will share this stateroom.” He released her chin and started unbuttoning his shirt. Elizabeth's heart began a staccato beat.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Taking off my clothes.”
She looked at him, alarmed. “Why?”
“Because I intend to go to bed and I don’t sleep in my clothes.” He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it on the bed. Elizabeth stared at the tattoo above his heart, remembering the wretchedness in his eyes when he’d learned she’d tattooed a rat there, and his hasty departure afterward. She’d felt a need to go after him then, tell him she was sorry for whatever grief she’d caused him. Now, she felt a great sense of satisfaction that she’d caused him misery, hopefully as much misery as he was causing her.
He placed his hand over the tattoo and said, “I carry it like a brand.”
She licked her dry lips and shifted her gaze to the brush of dark hair on his chest, wary of exactly what it was he intended to do, standing half-naked before her. He was blocking her path to the door, and she could not back away from him with the wall behind her. And it appeared he had no intention of moving aside for her to escape. “What do you want from me?” she asked, troubled by his unyielding presence.
“I want you to touch me, gypsy girl. I want you to put your hands on my chest.”
Oddly, it some bizarre way she couldn’t explain, she wanted to touch him, wanted to run her palms over the sleek hard contours of his chest. But she had no intention of acting on that urge, ever. “Why should I touch you?” she asked.
He moved a step closer. “Because I want to look into your eyes and see the expression on your face when you feel my heart beating beneath your palm, knowing it’s a heart you’d like to see stop. Then I’ll commit to memory that expression, and the look in your eyes, because it may save my life some day.” When she made no move, he took her hand, placed it over his heart and held it at length while studying her closely. “It’s a good strong heart, gypsy girl, and it's guarded by a sturdy rib cage and a band of solid muscles. It would no doubt take a knife sturdier than a little ivory-handled one to stop it."
Damon's heart pulsing strong and steady beneath Elizabeth's palm, it was the span of several heartbeats before she realized he'd removed his hand, yet her palm remained pressed against his chest. She jerked it away. But she could not quell the restlessness she’d felt with each heavy beat of his heart. Nor could she dismiss the intimate, unwanted moment that passed between them when she’d looked into his eyes, eyes so compelling she hadn't realized she'd been holding her palm to his chest of her own will. He knew her weakness now, and it was his gain. In future, she'd be on guard. "Perhaps I'll strangle you instead," she said. "That too would give me pleasure."
"I'll keep that in mind." Damon crouched in front of her, and while she stood staring down at him like a dimwitted dolt, he flipped up her skirt and tucked his head beneath it.
“What do you think you’re doing!?” She swished her skirt across his face and kicked out a foot, attempting to strike him.
Damon grabbed her ankle and held firm. “I'm checking for knives." He patted his palm up her leg to the juncture of her thighs, his fingers slipping through the slit in her drawers, bringing an audible gasp from her before moving down the other leg. “Just because your ivory-handled knife ended up in the chest of my gateman," he said, "does not mean that you're not armed with another." He released her ankle and stood.
As her skirts settled around her legs, Elizabeth felt an almost overwhelming urge to shed her drawers and scrub away the tingling left by his intimate contact. Whether he'd touched her privates on purpose or by accident made no difference. He'd violated her. Yet knowing that, she couldn't dismiss the memory of another time and another place, when tingles such as she was feeling intensified, filling her with a need so strong she'd clung to him like a wanton hussy, helpless to stop what was happening, and not wanting to. For that flash of ecstasy she'd paid dearly. But it would not happen again. “You needn’t worry about finding a knife in your heart," she clipped, "because I don't have one, though the image that brings to mind gives me a small amount of pleasure, as does
the thought of seeing you swing by your neck in the town square."
Damon looked steadily at her. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
Elizabeth eyed him with contempt. “What? That I’d stick a knife in your heart, or that I’d find pleasure in seeing you swing by the neck?”
“Neither. I’m not sure you wish me dead. When your hand was over my heart, I didn’t see in your eyes, or on your face, what I’d expected to find.”
Feeling a renewed sense of bravado, Elizabeth tossed him a saucy smile, and said, “Good. I haven’t lost all of my gypsy ways.”
The muscles in Damon's jaw tightened. “Then the floor won’t seem so unwelcome, if you’re still determined to sleep there.”
“I’d sleep on a bed of nails before sleeping with you,” Elizabeth said. “You also gave my father your word that you’d treat me well, which means with respect.”
“The only word I gave your father was that I wouldn't lay a cruel hand on you or consummate the marriage for three months. Everything else was implied.” Damon's eyes bore into her. “If this marriage is consummated before then, it will be because you choose to.”
Elizabeth turned her back to him and the sight of his broad naked chest. “I will never willingly let you bed me,” she said, feeling his breath against her head, knowing he'd moved closer and she had no place to run.
He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her neck. “Like I said, never is a word I don’t accept. You will in time beg me to bed you, gypsy girl. That day will come.”
Elizabeth shoved his hands away and crossed her arms. “I will never be a wife to you!”
Damon turned her around abruptly and grasped her chin. When she struggled to turn her face from him, his fingers tightened on her jaw, forcing her to look at him, as he said, “You’re right. A wife is someone to love and cherish and respect. A mistress is someone who satisfies a man’s needs in return for food, shelter and a few baubles. And a whore is someone any man can have, but no man wants. When you come to my bed, gypsy girl, you’ll come as my mistress, or my whore, never as my wife.”
Her Master's Touch Page 11
