Her Master's Touch (17 page)

Elizabeth blinked several times, lowered her
eyes from his and said just above a whisper, ”Not your mistress.
Your wife. Like I said, I was a naive fool.”

“Naive enough to expose your breasts, at the
horse fair, to a man you’d never met? You were clearly offering
yourself to me then, and you'd never even met me.”

“I was not offering myself in that way,"
Elizabeth said. "I was doing whatever it took to get you to buy a
dyed horse so you’d feel cheated and come after me so I could
convince you to let me work as a servant in your house, where I
could recover the opal, as I had been instructed to do. But I never
expected to fall... to have... feelings for you.”

Damon resumed shaving. “Those feelings didn’t
stop you from stealing my opal and making my life a living
hell.”

“No, they didn’t, because I had my own life
and my own problems," Elizabeth said. "But I doubt you’d know what
it’s like to live by your wits, to hate the life you’re leading
because it made you feel cheap, and dirty, and worthless.”

A long silence stretched between them, and
during that time, Elizabeth saw the expression on Damon's face
change from anger, to puzzlement, to something akin to... empathy?
Something she’d said touched him, made him more accessible. Still,
he wasn’t a man to whom she wanted to pour out her heart. “You seem
at a loss for words,” she said. “Is it so surprising to learn that
I detested living the life of a gypsy?”

Damon’s mind raced back to a time when he’d
seen sparks dancing in her eyes as she’d talked about whimsical
nymphs and clever undines and lithe spirits whirling in the flames
of the campfire. And the joy he’d felt just having her in his
presence. “You never gave any sign you hated it," he said. "You
talked with enthusiasm about living in your wagon and hearing the
rain on the roof and the wind in the trees and the frogs
croaking.”

“That part I loved," Elizabeth admitted. "But
the rest... The gypsies despised me because I was
half-
gorgio
, an untouchable among untouchables. And you blue
bloods saw me only as worthy of being a man‘s mistress, never a
wife, which was why my father guarded my Hindu heritage. I’m sure
he didn’t tell you about it. That alone would have been reason to
demand a higher bride price because you'd be getting inferior
goods. Yet, my father also made certain I went to finishing school
so I’d become a properly educated misfit.”

Damon felt like she’d just stuck her
ivory-handled knife in his gut because her assessment was so
accurate. England’s fops and dandies would be appalled if they knew
Elizabeth Sheffield was half-Indian. Yet, that night two years ago,
when he’d come upon Eliza Shirazi’s lone figure dancing around a
lantern, and saw her slender body snaking and twisting with
passionate intensity to the strains of distant violins, he’d been
enchanted by her, his beautiful exotic bird that shouldn’t be
captured and tamed. But now she was poised and polished and made
into someone who didn’t fit into either world. And he’d confirmed
her self-loathing by condemning her to being nothing more to him
but an exalted whore. He wondered now if she was the chaste maiden
she held herself out to be. Being caught between two worlds, not
accepted by either, she might be just as she claimed.

And he’d shamed and humiliated her by forcing
her to strip for his pleasure. If anyone should have self-loathing,
it was he. But he still had questions that demanded answers before
he'd allow himself to fall into another of her traps. “If you hated
that life so much, why didn’t you return to England and your
father?" he asked. "He would have taken you back.”

Her fingers flattened against the covers,
pressing them against her chest like a shield. She looked exposed
and vulnerable as she stared at him, and replied, “After he lied by
telling me that my mother was dead, I hated him more than I hated
living as a gypsy." She pinned him with eyes glistening with tears.
"
And I hate being called gypsy girl!”

For the first time since he’d learned who
Elizabeth Sheffield was, Damon had a desire to take her in his arms
and comfort her as a husband would console a despondent wife. Until
now he’d been so filled with anger and bitterness because of her
betrayal that he’d directed that anger towards lusting after her
and having her naked body in his bed to do with what he pleased.
Knowing that any attempt to console her now would not be welcome,
he dismissed that idea, and said, “Your father lied to protect you
from the truth.”

Elizabeth looked at him with a start.

“Then you know about my mother?”

“I know your father sent her away.”

“Do you know why?”

"No, but maybe in time I could find out."

"In time?" Elizabeth let out a rueful laugh.
"In three months I’ll be out of this marriage, and you’ll be out of
my life, so whatever happened when I was eight that was so
horrifying that I've blocked it from my mind won’t matter a rat’s
ass to anyone but me.”

Damon looked at her troubled face. Although
he too knew that something grave had taken place at
Shanti
Bhavan
years before he'd moved there, he'd never been able to
glean from the servants what it was, and after a while he no longer
cared. Now, his old curiosity had returned, but he wasn't so
certain it involved Elizabeth. "What makes you believe you were
caught up in whatever happened?" he asked. "You could have blocked
everything out of your mind because you thought your mother was
dead."

“I
know
something terrible happened,"
Elizabeth replied. "And I
know
it involved me. And that’s
the
only
reason I’m going through this sham of a marriage,
so I can return to
Shanti Bhavan
where maybe I can recover
my lost memories, not because I care whether you get your opal
back. Nor do I feel any remorse over taking from you something that
was stolen in the first place. It’s your own fault that you
purchased stolen goods from a crooked gem dealer. You should be
going after him, not me. But I’ll get your opal back if the gypsies
have it, not because I give a damn whether you clear your name and
claim your inheritance, because I don’t, but because I’ll get the
deed to
Shanti Bhavan
. And as a woman with property, I won’t
have to be subservient to any man, ever again.”

Damon studied her for a few moments, and when
she added nothing more, he said, “I’ll leave now, Elizabeth. You
can have your privacy.” He slipped on his clothes and left.

CHAPTER SEVEN

To Elizabeth's relief, Damon did not return
to their stateroom that day, but after missing both breakfast and
lunch, she decided to venture up to the dining room for dinner. If
at all possible, she would sit alone and refrain from talking to
anyone. She had no idea where Damon had spent the day, or whether
he had let it be known that he was a married man, so the less
interaction she had with the other passengers, the better.

After slipping into a plain, poplin traveling
dress fashioned in a dark shade of burgundy, with pleated puff
sleeves and tiny tucks down the front of the fitted bodice —a
relatively unadorned dress she hoped would not draw attention to
herself—she made her way to the dining room. She did not wear the
diamond-encircled emerald wedding ring that Damon had given her as
part of the marriage arrangement, but kept it in her reticule in
case she needed to play the role of bride. It was a role that would
make use of the acting skills she'd acquired while living with the
gypsies, skills she'd successfully used to mislead a merchant into
giving her fresh vegetables for her three hungry children, and to
hoodwink a traveling salesman into giving her tonic for her ailing
baby, and to dupe a lord at the horse fair into buying a dyed black
horse.

To her dismay, the maître d' seated her at a
table with four other passengers—two sets of married couples, it
appeared. The vacant chair beside her demanded an explanation,
which she had no intention of providing. After cordial greetings
that confirmed the couples' marital and high-born status, the
middle-aged woman directly across from her smiled, and said, "I'm
sorry dear, but I did not get your name."

Elizabeth looked around the table and
realized all eyes were on her, waiting. Offering a tentative smile,
she replied, "Elizabeth."

"Have you a husband aboard, or are you
venturing to India to find one?" the woman asked, tagging her as
one of the many 'fishing fleet' women aboard for that exact
reason.

Elizabeth's eyes shifted uneasily with the
woman's direct question. She suspected word was already out that
Lord Damon Ravencroft had taken a wife, and the woman was intent on
learning if the female in the unadorned, burgundy dress sitting
across from her was Lady Ravencroft. Realizing she had little
choice but to admit to the inevitable, she replied, "I have
recently married. My husband is Lord Ravencroft." Uncertain where
this interrogation was leading, she covertly withdrew the ring from
her reticule and slipped it on her finger, the weight of it more
like a manacle than a symbol of eternal love.

For a few moments no one spoke, and Elizabeth
surmised that they were trying to digest the juicy bit of gossip
they'd just been given. Two years ago she'd heard enough
tittle-tattle from the servants at
Shanti Bhavan
to conclude
that Damon was considered a notorious rake, a gem dealer of
questionable integrity, and a threat to the husbands and paramours
of the many women who derived a bizarre pleasure out of the danger
associated with being in the company of a man with Damon's
enigmatic background.

The younger woman, who Elizabeth presumed was
the daughter of the middle-aged woman—their sharp noses and high
foreheads placed them clearly from the same stock—said to
Elizabeth, "I wasn't aware that Lord Ravencroft had been in
England."

Elizabeth studied the woman more closely.
From the look of puzzlement on the woman's face, Elizabeth realized
that the woman, like the others in her insular little circle of
gossipers in Calcutta's British society, had been fooled royally by
Prince Rao Singh. She could not suppress the smile of satisfaction
that brought, even if it was to Damon's credit. "Lord Ravencroft
was in London to take care of some business matters," she
replied.

The older woman, who had been eyeing her with
the sharp stare of a hawk, said to her, "Lady Ravencroft, is your
husband not joining you for dinner this evening?"

"I am not sure," Elizabeth replied,
truthfully. "When we awakened this morning I told him that my
stomach was queasy, so he left me in our stateroom to rest. I
suspect he's in the gaming room."

The younger woman leaned toward her. "You say
your stomach was queasy this morning?" she said, as if to make sure
everyone heard, then added in a lowered tone. "How long have you
been married?"

Elizabeth looked from one woman to the other.
She was tempted to tell them it was none of their bloody business,
but decided that would add fuel to a fire that was already
building, so she replied instead, "Well, actually, we were married
yesterday."

The older woman looked at her, incredulous.
"The first day of your honeymoon, and your husband left you to go
gaming?"

"It was just a touch of motion sickness from
the rocking vessel," Elizabeth said, before realizing she'd picked
the wrong excuse as to why her husband had not been with her for
the entire day, the question of morning sickness opening the door
for further gossip.

The women exchanged knowing glances. Then the
elder of the two reached across the table and patted Elizabeth's
hand. "We quite understand, my dear. But you've managed to land
Lord Ravencroft with the oldest trick known."

Elizabeth bristled. Looking directly at the
woman, she said, "If you are implying that I am carrying Lord
Ravencroft's child, you are greatly mistaken."

The woman laughed lightly. "No, my dear, that
is the second oldest trick in trapping a husband of means. I
venture to say that when your husband learns he is not to be a
father, but was deceived into believing that was the case, he will
not be happy. But then, perhaps that's the only way to land a man
such as Lord Ravencroft. He's a dodgy devil."

Elizabeth stood, looked from one woman to the
other, and said, "Excuse me, but I believe I'll find another
table." She turned to leave, and to her shock, saw Damon in the
entry to the dining room. The sight of him, clean-shaved and
standing tall in a cutaway jacket and narrow trousers, near took
her breath away, much as it had the first time she'd laid eyes on
him at the horse fair. Back then, he'd been pointed out to her from
a distance. But when she'd paused in front of him to display the
horses, and he winked and smiled, her heart started racing so fast
she thought she might faint…

Damon caught sight of her and started across
the dining room. After nodding an acknowledgement to the others, he
took Elizabeth by the arm and turned away. "I want to talk to you,"
he said in a low voice, his hand firm on her elbow, letting her
know that breaking and running was not an option. He guided her to
a table for two and seated her, then sat opposite.

Elizabeth glared across the table at him.
After her encounter with the women she was in no mood to be
reprimanded by Damon for any reason. If he did, she would simply
shove her chair back and leave the dining room. What difference
would it make if everyone knew that Lady Ravencroft detested her
husband. "Go ahead, say whatever it is you want," she challenged.
"You cannot strip me of any more pride because I have none."

Damon looked steadily at her. "You'll have
your privacy, Elizabeth. I have secured a palette and a privacy
screen, which will be brought to our stateroom. You will have the
berth, and I will sleep on the palette. Afternoons and evenings,
I'll be in the gaming room, and the stateroom will be yours.
Mornings, I'll sleep, and the stateroom will be mine. You can
remain at that time if you wish, or go up and mingle with women who
will be your friends in India. At high tea and dinner, we will dine
together and put up a front as a married couple. You don't need to
worry about my touching you again."