Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (30 page)

She inhaled sharply, attempting to find calm amid the storm
of frantic emotions churning within. Stay calm, don’t plead—don’t beg—and for
heaven’s sake, don’t cry!

“What of Tabby?” He asked, in response to her statement
about the scarcity of friends here. Donovan’s voice was taut, as if he too,
were struggling to contain his frustration. “My mother is very fond of her
house woman at Belle Reve plantation. They had tea on the back porch every
afternoon when I was a boy. Tabby hasn’t been unpleasant to you, I hope?”

Elizabeth rolled her lips and studied her bruised wrist,
avoiding the piercing blue eyes studying her in the looking glass as she
refused to give the expected response. She tried to befriend the sour woman,
but Tabby had remained frosty in her dealings with her mistress. Taking her cue
from the master, Elizabeth assumed.

“I see.” He murmured and did not press further. “Why are you
not in bed? Did you forget our discussion earlier about resting?”

“No sir.” Oh, Bollocks, she’d angered him already, and there
was still such news to be delivered. “I got up to use the chair.” She lied,
gesturing to the privy chair in the corner.

He released a strangled sigh and his look told her he knew
she wasn’t telling the truth.

It was a habit she fell into when he was irritated, she
realized. She lied easily--too easily--to appease him, a trait learned early on
when dealing with a drunken stepfather who searched for any excuse to strike
those about him. Donovan wasn’t her stepfather. There was no need for quick
lies to appease his ire. He deserved an honest wife—if he decided to keep her,
that is.

“I was frightened, my lord.” She amended in a subdued tone
laced with respect. “You seemed angry when you left me. I imagined terrible
things happening below the stairs.” She lifted her gaze to meet his in the
mirror, truly looking at him for the first time since he’d entered his chamber.
The bright red swelling of his cheek caught her attention. “Oh—you’re hurt!”
She turned about to face him. “Did you fight with the captain?”

“We had a scuffle and he left.” With austerity, he lifted
her hand, turned it and kissed the center of her palm. A warmth moved up
Elizabeth’s arm and settled over her heart. She stared at him, astonished by
his tenderness.

*******

Donovan studied his wife’s reflection as he stood behind
her. It was not the portrait of a joyful bride reflecting back at him. She was
too pale. The shadows beneath her eyes screamed exhaustion. She appeared
broken, crushed by grief, weighted down with regret.

He cupped her slim shoulders and began massaging the rigid
muscles. “You mustn’t allow Jack’s ill behavior to upset you. Had I known he
would offend your tender sensibilities with his obscene ramblings, I would not
have allowed the meeting.”

“I didn’t ask him to interfere.” She spoke in a whisper, her
voice stretched tight as she peeked cautiously at his reflection in the mirror
before dropping her gaze again. “Honestly, I had no idea he would scheme
against you, my lord.”

“Hush, my sweet. You are not responsible for the delusions
of a middle-aged man. We will speak no more of it.” He insisted, as he took up
the brush and began to work through her tangled tresses in an attempt to soothe
her. She remained silent beneath his ministrations, her mind engaged in some
formula as she pondered a world beyond her image in the glass.

“I’ve been thinking.” He began, “I could rent a place in
Basseterre. That way, whenever you’re feeling the need for some diversion in
town, you can stay in the city. Basseterre is not like London, but there are a
few shops—“

She turned about to gaze up at him directly, her awe
apparent. “You would do that? You would allow me to leave the island when I
wish?”

“You’re hardly my prisoner here, my dear.” He managed in a
bland tone that did not betray the agony piercing his heart. Perhaps she did
wish to leave him after all.

With a perplexed look, she turned about and took to staring
at the mirror as if she beheld something disturbing beyond the silvered glass.

Once he had the tangles under control, he set the brush
aside and began plaiting the silky strands of burnished copper. As he hoped,
the familiar routine seemed to calm her. He’d attended her thus on the ship
when she’d been ill. It was a task he looked forward to each night as it was a
form of intimacy between them. His task done, he secured the end of the braid
with a ribbon. “There. Now back to bed with you, my sweet. You look like the
last rose of summer. And if I’m not mistaken, I see a headache looming on the
horizon.”

“Everything hurts today.”

“I don’t doubt it, little one.” Considering the bruises
marring her tender body he was surprised she was able to get out of bed, as the
act of moving must cause immense pain. He cupped her shoulders as he stood
behind her and gazed at her reflection before them. “I believe a dose of Laudanum
may be just the thing.”

“Wait.” She protested, placing a hand on his arm as he bent
and began lifting her with the intention of carrying her back to the bed. “I
have unpleasant news to tell you, sir. And when all is finished, you may yet be
relieved that the captain is willing to take me off your hands forever.”

Donovan’s mind went still, his heart contracted in a painful
knot as fear solidified.

Had his wife decided she did not wish to remain with him
after all, thanks to Jack’s unwarranted interference?

“Whatever it is, I’m sure you can tell me lying down.”

Chapter
Twenty Six

Elizabeth had it all worked out in her head, but as she
looked at her husband’s face, she couldn’t make the words come forth. Donovan
lifted her easily and carried her to the bed.

He paced to the end of the bed, granting her the polite
distance she needed to proceed. He stood framed between the green curtained
bed-posts, hands clasped behind his back and a stoic expression on his face as
if bracing to receive bad news.

Well, it wasn’t good news she had to tell him.

 “Do you wish to leave me?” He asked when she remained
silent for several moments.

“No!” Elizabeth couldn’t understand this obsession he seemed
to have about her leaving him. “I never told the captain that. He decided it
was what I wanted, when nothing could be further from the truth.”

Donovan closed his eyes and cleared his throat stridently,
as if he had something lodged there. He leaned forward to brace his hands on
the bed post. Opening his eyes, he met her startled gaze with a relieved smile.
“What could possibly be wrong, my sweet?”

“No, stay back.” She held up her hands. “What I have to
confess is difficult, my lord. I need assurance you will do me no harm when all
is finished.”

His eyes widened. He opened his mouth to chide her, but
seemed to think better of it. With a nod, he returned to the foot of the bed,
arms crossed akimbo and waited.

There was no easy way to tell it, yet tell it she must. She
loved this man, but love could not flourish alongside deceit. She hugged a
pillow to her as malicious serpents twisted and writhed inside her belly and
squeezed around her heart. Focusing on the canopy above, she forced the words
out. “The smugglers didn’t rape me, I’m still a maid. I know it was wicked of
me not to tell you—I couldn’t--I didn’t know you back then and I-I was so . . .
afraid!”

Rallying her courage, she let her eyes dip beneath the
canopy to gauge his response.

Donovan was no longer there. He was coming towards her.

“No—no, you promised not to hurt me.” She screeched,
scuttling back against the headboard. She drew her knees against her chest and
crossed her arms about her head in hope of warding off the worst of the blows.

None came. She shuddered and listened to the deafening sound
of her heart.

“Elizabeth.” Donovan knelt on the bed. “My sweet girl.” That
voice became velvet. He grasped her wrists, and uncrossed her arms. His hands
slid over her wrists to take her hands in a firm grip. “Listen to me, listen
carefully. What happened is not your fault.”

Blood rushed through her temples. She willed herself to not
tremble, to not give in to the panic clawing through her. It was no use, her
limbs betrayed her, and surely he could hear her heart pounding out the weighty
cadence of an executioner’s drum.

Seconds marched into an uncertain eternity as they stared at
one another.

“Come, love, what’s this?” He cocked his head, appearing
confounded. “After all we’ve come through together, how can you believe I would
hurt you?”

“My stepfather—“

He dropped her hands and cradled her face in his palms. “I
am not Fletcher, my love.”

Elizabeth nodded and whimpered indistinctly.

“When I touch you, it will only be with love.” Donovan
pulled her closer. He lifted her and settled her onto his lap. His arms
enveloped her, forming a firm barricade against flight. He just held her,
remaining quiet and resolute as she sat across his knees.

What was wrong with her? She never gave in to tears. Stupid,
useless things. They were a sign of weakness. And yet, she couldn’t seem to
stop this abominable weeping.

Donovan went on making soft sounds that gradually became
words as the haze of fear lifted from her. “--so you see, darlin’, there’s no
need to concoct fanciful tales.”

He didn’t believe her? “I’m not lying! I’m still a maid.
Nothing happened on that ship—”

“Captain Sully told me he hurt you. He confessed everything
before I killed him.”

“He lied!” Elizabeth insisted, now well beyond panic. She
struggled to be released, but he was not of mind to grant her desire. “He
forbade his crew to touch me.” She gave a shrill laugh. “He shot one of
them—and h-he took me down to the hold. He tried to rape me—my purge came earlier
that night—he was disgusted—nothing happened, I tell you; nothing!”

“Lizzie, don’t do this.” He insisted sternly. “It doesn’t
matter what happened.”

“It’s the truth. You’re a doctor. Examine me. I wasn’t
raped— you must believe me.”

“I said stop this.” Donovan insisted, using a sharper tone.
“You’ll bring on another seizure. You must lie down and remain calm.”

She had little choice. He was forcing her to lie on the bed
even as he spoke.

Elizabeth moaned, the pain of her injuries coming alive as
she sank back on the pillows.

Donovan cursed. He rose, disappeared behind the dressing
screen but returned quickly, holding out a glass to her. The Laudanum he’d
promised earlier when he believed she might be nursing a headache. She was
falling apart. She knew it, and so did he.

He was trying to help her in the only way he knew, with his
strange potions and elixirs.

“Drink this. It will calm you. Then we’ll talk. We’ll reason
it all out, together.”

Elizabeth didn’t want him to help her reason it out. She
needed him to believe nothing happened to her on that ship. If she could
convince him, perhaps she could believe it herself.

She was tired, so very tired. She wanted it all to go away;
the nightmares, the guilt, the horror, and the shame. Elizabeth took the glass
from him. She swallowed the bitter medicine, now well acquainted with the taste
of numbed forgetfulness.

*******

The poor girl trembled so Donovan feared she would slip into
convulsions. He took the glass from her and set it on the table.

“Why won’t you believe me?” She looked up at him with liquid
anguish.

“You must not excite yourself so. You need to calm down.”

“I need you to be-believe nothing happened to me on that
ship!”

Her stammering belied her statement. Something was not right
in this, but he couldn’t make it out. He sat on the bed. Lizzie was reclining
on her back. Knowing her luscious derriere was bruised, as were her posterior
limbs, he guided her to curl onto her side to lessen her discomfort. She lay
facing him, looking up at him with such misery he could barely stand it.

“I deceived you—hiccup—I-I know it was w-wicked. If you
cannot f-forgive me—hiccup—I’ll understand, I’ll go away.” Her fervor was
waning as the sedative did its work.

“Let’s have no more talk of leaving.” He whispered as he
moved his hand along her spine in steady manner. “I love you, regardless of
what did or did not happen during your abduction.”

He gazed out the veranda doors as he tried to puzzle it out.
Why did she persist with this fractured tale? It wasn’t like her to contrive
fanciful stories or behave in such an emotional manner. His Lizzie had always
been a serious, sensible young lady. She cried once during the voyage that he
recalled; once—after surviving unimaginable horrors that would send an
octogenarian in to hysterics. If anyone deserved a good cry it was Lizzie, yet
each time the tears threatened, she stubbornly refused to give in to their
healing catharsis.

Elizabeth did not cry. The fact slowly permeated his anxious
mind.

Yet, she cried easily and frequently in recent days-- that
was cause for alarm.

He expected tears and melancholy after her rescue. When the
tears didn’t come, he worried over their absence but concluded her head injury
must be the reason. Her cognitive abilities had been severely compromised for
weeks afterward, bringing him to deduce that she might not be able to fully recall
or comprehend the events of her abduction.

As her mind healed, she could be experiencing a delayed
melancholy.

That, coupled with their estrangement and her new
surroundings . . .

 “Forgive me.” Elizabeth’s opiate laden voice jerked him
back to the present. He pulled his gaze from the open veranda to the girl on
the bed. “Please, I can’t endure your anger . . .”

“Honey, I am not angry with you.” The uneasiness that plagued
him last night returned. Did she think he despised her for what happened? Only
a cad would be so callous and unfeeling.