Jane Bonander (8 page)

Now, as Tristan sat in front of the fire in the great room, the dogs curled up beside his chair, he decided it was time to approach the subject they had both avoided. With any other woman, he could have thought it out reasonably. Mentioned the subject with ease. With Dinah, however, nothing was ever reasonable. Or easy.

She entered, wiping her hands on Alice’s apron. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright with lingering enthusiasm. At the moment, she looked like a girl playing dress-up in her mother’s kitchen clothes. Even so, he found himself disarmed.

“I’m glad you’re here.” He gestured toward the opposite chair. “Have a seat. I want to talk to you.”

Dinah frowned, not liking his tone. It was so authoritative. Inhaling sharply, she brought her fingers to her mouth. Sweet Mary, he’d discovered the bread! She shouldn’t have dumped it in the chicken coop. She should have buried it. Oh, why hadn’t she taken the time to bury the disaster?

Or maybe, she thought, her stomach making a fist, it was something else. Maybe he was throwing her out.

“It hasn’t been a month, Tristan. You … you can’t make your final decision yet.”

He smiled. Faintly. “I realize that. In fact, I’m wondering if you’re ready to fulfill the rest of your contract.”

Amy, the female wolfhound, had risen when Dinah entered and had sauntered to her chair. Dinah had been scratching the dog’s ears, but the minute she heard Tristan’s words, her fingers stopped. Calm yourself.

“The rest of the contract?”

At his terse nod, she bit down on her lower lip and frowned again. She hadn’t been aware of anything else. And she’d read the letter over so many times, she knew every word by heart. Daisy hadn’t mentioned any further responsibilities on her part, either. Of course, Daisy had been so ill, it might have slipped her mind.

Dinah desperately wanted to stay. In spite of the problems Emily occasionally caused her, she could cope with them. The woman was no longer pinching her, and it had been a while since she’d attacked her. The situation was better than any alternative she could think of.

Also, much to her dismay, she’d grown very fond of Tristan. Oh, he was a brooding sort of man for the most part, but when she was able to make him smile, even laugh, something touched her heart, and she knew she could easily fall in love with him. The fact that he was so devoted to his sister that he wouldn’t consider putting her into an asylum was reason enough. But there were a whole passle of other reasons, all physical, all of which took her breath away.

And last, but certainly not least, Dinah was afraid to return to New York. Not only because Uncle Martin would toss her into Trenway again, but because she was worried about whether anyone had ever found the body in the punishment box. If they had, and knew it was Daisy, would they then come after her? For all she knew, she could be hunted down for murder. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about the consequences of her actions, but if someone came and hauled her away, she’d go kicking and screaming.

There wasn’t a soul who knew about her and Daisy’s switch but the two of them, and Daisy was dead. Who would believe her? No, she wouldn’t return to New York. She’d book passage to China, first. If she had any money.

Tristan’s look was quizzical. “You don’t remember the contingency?”

“What? Oh,” she answered nodding expansively. “The contingency. Of course. Yes, of course. The contingency. I was… um… waiting for you to bring it up.”

He slapped his knee. “All right. It’s settled then. We’ll get the paperwork done and the vows will be exchanged a week from Sunday.”

Attempting to conceal her astonishment, she merely sat and stared at him, blinking erratically. “Vows?”

“Why, yes.”

“You … you mean in order to stay, I… I have to become a nun?”

He threw his head back and laughed, startling the dogs, who obviously had rarely heard such sounds from their master. Tristan’s laughter tunneled deep into Dinah’s fragile heart.

He wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. “No, Dinah Odell, in order to stay, you have to become my wife.”

Dinah’s heart thumped so hard she feared it would ooze out her ears. “Your wife?”

He raised an eyebrow. “It was part of the agreement. Surely you remember.”

“Well, I …” She swallowed. “Refresh my memory.” Oh, that made her sound terribly bright, didn’t it?

“You don’t remember?”

She didn’t like the sly look in his eyes. “Of course I do. I just want to make certain
you
do. How do I know you won’t make up something outrageous?”

A smile hovered on his lips. “Do you want me to repeat it, word for word?”

She primly straightened her gown, hoping he didn’t notice that her pounding heart caused her entire body to vibrate. “I most certainly do.”

He recited the agreement, including the part about the marriage, and the money.

She attempted to hide her feelings but her brain spun with questions. He’d been willing to marry any woman, sight unseen, and because of Dr. Richards’s high praise, Daisy had been the chosen one.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. How in the bloody hell would she get out of this one? If what he told her was true, she knew why Daisy hadn’t mentioned it to her. She was stubborn enough to rebel, even if it had meant giving up her chance for freedom.

He rose, as did the dogs. He ordered them to stay. “Now that your memory is refreshened, I can assume the matter is settled.”

Settled?
Settled?
Everything was about as settled as a Swedish housewife’s fat rump atop a galloping horse. But to act surprised would seal her doom. Surely there was time to think about this.

After he’d gone, she stared into the fire. One of the dogs rested its head in her lap, and she stroked it automatically. Marriage. To Tristan Fletcher. Her first instinct had been to tell him she’d marry whom she pleased when she pleased.

This deception was getting her in deeper and deeper. One day, if she wasn’t careful, it would bury her. She ran a nervous finger between the neck of her gown and her throat, feeling a frantic sense of suffocation. Maybe it was the rope of her own deceit tightening around her neck.

The shock she’d first felt at his news had slowly turned to guilt. If she went through with it, she would be marrying him under false pretenses. How could she do that and still look him in the eye?

She sighed. Amy, who had become her constant companion, nuzzled closer, a gentle paw scratching at her gown. Dinah resumed her ministrations on the hound’s ears. Amy’s big, limpid eyes were trained on her.

“But, how can I tell him the truth? I can’t,” she answered herself. “I can’t.”

Each of Amy’s eyebrows wiggled in turn, as if she were mulling over an answer.

If Dinah told him the truth, he’d send her away. Book her return passage to New York. He wasn’t a man to trifle with. She remembered his moody anger the day she’d arrived. Even then, she’d wondered what he would do if he ever discovered she’d lied to him. In all honesty, she didn’t want to find out.

But if he did find out, he’d want a real nurse, and who could blame him? He’d want one qualified to care for Emily. She grimaced. Not someone who’d bumbled her way through a month, somehow not making things worse in spite of her ignorance.

But that wasn’t her only problem. Thoughts of good old Uncle Martin always popped out of a box like some big, ugly, hairy-faced opossum when she felt threatened.

She rested her head on the hound’s neck, finding odd comfort in the contact. In spite of the many reasons there were not to go through with the foolish sham of a marriage, she knew she would. She knew it would give her a bit of leverage against Uncle Martin, even if it was in name only. Perhaps she was thinking of herself, but if she didn’t, who would?

But she would tell Tristan the truth. Eventually. When the time was right. When people flew to the moon. She massaged the knot in her neck and gave herself a disparaging smile. No, she’d have to tell him before that.

That settled, she assumed the twisting ropes in her stomach would disappear. They didn’t, for new thoughts bombarded her, making her frantic with worry and anticipation. Thoughts of marriage. Of weddings.

She trudged up the stairs to her room, her feelings at war inside her. In the days before Trenway, she would have found relaxation in a warm tub of water. Now, she couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in one. It could have been filled with fragrant toilet water and bubbles, but Dinah knew her only thoughts would be of shackles and drowning.

After her first week here, Alice had filled the tub for her, insisting she use it. Dinah knew Alice meant to be kind, and before Trenway, she would have wallowed in it. Before Trenway, she would have fallen asleep in it, reluctant to get out even when the water got cold. But of course, before Trenway, she wouldn’t have had nightmares about someone holding her head under water until she gasped for breath, inhaling the water as if it were air.

She coughed, an automatic gesture whenever she was forced to think about her losing battle with the bathtub. After she undressed, she poured water from the teakettle Alice had left for her into the basin and sponged herself off.

She rescued her bear from its hiding place in the folds of one of Daisy’s old petticoats, turned the lamp down slightly, then slid into bed. Once there, she raised her eyes to the ceiling and pondered her fate. It wasn’t long before she no longer thought about herself, but concentrated on the noise above her.

She caught her breath, pressing her bear to her chest to still her heart. Something or someone was in the attic; she was certain of it. She’d been hearing the same noises for weeks.

Her heart continued to clatter as she listened. Rarely did she hear the sounds during the day, for if she had, she might have gotten up the nerve to go up there and find out for herself. Maybe. Then again, maybe not.

At Trenway, there were dark, dank corners in abundance. Cruel guards threatened to lock the women in rooms without windows. And they weren’t always threats. Once, before Daisy intervened, Dinah had found herself in such a room. Black as a witch’s heart. Moist as the devil’s handshake. The only sounds had been her pulse pounding in her head, her breathing, and something scurrying across the floor.

To this day she shuddered and the hair on her arms and legs prickled when she saw a mouse. That the scurrying in that darkened room had not been a furry little mouse but its larger, more evil cousin, was something she refused to think about.

That was why now, though the scuffing noise from the attic continued, Dinah listened but did nothing to allay her fears. It was best not to wake the snakes. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

Standing in her unmentionables, Dinah watched Alice study the meager contents of her wardrobe. “This is it? These are the only gowns you brought with you?”

Yes, Dinah thought, and even at that, none of them were hers. She often wondered if Uncle Martin had gotten rid of all of her beautiful dresses. She would have sold her soul for even one of them at this moment. She had nothing to get married in that wasn’t dark, dull, and dingy.

“I’m afraid that’s what I could manage, Alice.”

The housekeeper clucked her tongue.
“Uff dah.
If you knew there was a chance you would be married, why didn’t you bring an appropriate gown?”

Dinah couldn’t lie. She’d stretched the truth so many times she was certain her nose was growing. “I’m afraid I was so eager to leave that dreadful asylum, I didn’t think about my clothing.”

Alice looked her up and down. “You and Emily are about the same size. I’m sure she has something more appropriate. I’ll go check.” She turned to leave.

“Alice?” Emily was in the midst of a terrible depression. She was mildly depressed much of the time, but on occasion she was too distraught to reason with. Tristan had told Dinah that these deep depressions occurred almost monthly and lasted for days, sometimes a week. During that time, she refused to dress and ate only when
forced
to. Dinah wondered if this bout of depression had been initiated by her pending marriage to Tristan.

“Yes, dear?”

“Alice, ask her first, please.”

“Ask her? Ask her what?”

Dinah sighed. “Don’t go in and take whatever you think I might be able to wear. Please. Ask Emily if she has a gown I can borrow for the day.”

Alice paused. “Well, then maybe you should ask her yourself.”

“You’re right. It should be up to me.” Dinah slipped into her long white robe and went across the hall to Emily’s room. She knocked on the door, not expecting an answer and not getting one. Bracing herself, she turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped inside. Emily was in her nightclothes, staring outside.

The room was lovely. A perfect pink and white coverlet lay across the bed, one that matched the ruffle that edged the canopy above it. Youthful touches were everywhere. That’s what struck Dinah as strange. Emily was not a teenager, although her room had the appearance of belonging to one.

“Emily?” When she got no response, she went to her, going down on her knees. Emily appeared so ageless. It was obvious that she wasn’t a girl, but she had none of the harsh, cruel qualities that often followed a woman as she aged, even if the woman had been gently raised.

Tears tracked Emily’s cheeks, sending a rush of pity into Dinah’s chest.

“Emily, I need your help.”

The woman didn’t respond.

“Emily, are you upset that your brother is getting married?” Still no response. “It doesn’t mean anything will change, you understand that, don’t you?”

Tears dripped from Emily’s chin onto her bed jacket.

Taking a shuddering breath, Dinah swiped at her own tears of sympathy. “Alice thinks my dresses are too ugly to get married in. The problem is,” she added, sitting on the floor cross-legged, “I didn’t bring any others with me. She thought that maybe you had a dress I might borrow for the day.”

Emily’s bottom lip quivered, but she didn’t answer.

Dinah opted for a different tactic. “Did I ever tell you about my Uncle Engvald?”

Emily sighed.

Undaunted, Dinah went on. “Uncle Engvald liked liquor and he fancied himself a sort of ladies’ man. He dressed in his Sunday best and took strolls in the park, hoping to meet a companion for the evening.” She wiggled her eyebrows, eliciting the briefest of smiles from Emily’s tear-dampened lips.

“He was married three times. The problem was, he never divorced any of the women, so by law he was a bigamist, but he didn’t give a diddly about that. That doesn’t have anything to do with the story. I thought you might find it interesting.” She got comfortable on the floor.

“As I said, he loved his whiskey. I swear to you he smelled like an Irish distillery most of the time. I think the stuff oozed out from his pores.”

She got onto her knees and wiped Emily’s chin with her handkerchief. “One night, as usual, he was drunk as a one-eyed sailor with a wooden leg, and he heard a noise outside by his barn.” Her eyes shifted dramatically around the room.

“He peered out the window, and Lord love a bloody duck, he saw a bear by the barn, ready to attack his horses!”

Dinah’s hand went to her chest. “He took his rifle and stumbled outside, sneaked up on the beast, and shot him. Dead as a tree stump. In spite of his drunken condition, he was an amazingly good shot,” she added. “He congratulated himself, staggered into the house and poured himself another glass of whiskey.”

She shook her head and sighed. “It wasn’t until the next morning that he realized he’d mistaken one of his own cows for a bear and had shot the poor beast right between the eyes.”

Emily looked at her and actually smiled. “That can’t be a true story.”

Dinah made a cross over her heart. “I swear it’s true.” And it was. All of her stories were true, they just weren’t her stories. They were usually Daisy’s. Except for Uncle Martin, Dinah had no one left. Daisy had kept her sane for countless hours, entertaining her with tales of her bizarre kinfolk.

Dinah put her hand on Emily’s. “I’d really like you to do me a favor.”

Emily’s gaze went to her wardrobe, which literally bulged with gowns.

“No, it’s not that. If you don’t want me to wear one of your gowns, that’s fine. It was Alice’s idea, anyway.”

Emily appeared ready to speak, but Dinah shook her head. “Listen to me, first. What I’d like more than anything in this world is for you to paint me a picture of Tristan.”

“Tristan?”

Smiling, Dinah nodded. She really did want one. It would be something she could take with her when he discovered she’d lied to him. “Would you mind?”

Emily’s face relaxed, and she returned Dinah’s smile. “I’d like that.”

“But we’d have to keep it a secret. I want it to be a surprise. Do you think you can paint him from memory?”

Emily leaned into her chair, her tension appearing to subside. “I could paint a picture of Tristan with my eyes closed.”

“Well, fortunately that won’t be necessary,” Dinah answered with a wry smile. “Do you need anything? Any supplies?”

“No.” Emily rose from the chair and crossed to her wardrobe. “I have everything I need, including a canvas.” She yanked on the doors, opening them to reveal her gowns. “Please, Dinah, take one of my dresses.”

Truly touched by Emily’s generosity, Dinah could only gasp. Even her own closet at home in New York hadn’t contained so many clothes. “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” she murmured. “You choose one for me.”

Emily rifled through the gowns, pulling out three, then laying them across her bed. “I think one of these would be fine.”

Alice stuck her head around the door. “Oh, good. Emily, honey, I have fresh cinnamon bread. It’s still warm. Why don’t you come down and have a bite to eat?”

Dinah and Alice exchanged glances, for Emily had eaten very little the past few days. Dinah held her breath.

Emily faltered, her face going through many expressions. “I guess I am a bit hungry.”

Alice nodded, sagging with relief. “Good.” She took Emily’s arm and led her from the room.

Dinah turned to the gowns on the bed. They were all lovely frothy things. She shrugged out of her robe, standing before the long cheval glass in her camisole and drawers. And, she thought, twisting uncomfortably, her breast binder. She realized she no longer needed it, but it was a hard habit to break. It made her feel safe, from what, she couldn’t say.

But, she didn’t want to get married in one. She removed her camisole and studied her flattened chest. The binder covered her completely except for two small swells above the device where her breasts refused to be squashed.

She wiggled around, trying to make it more comfortable, then gave up.

“Sweet mother of God!”

Dinah turned at the sound of Tristan’s voice and crossed her arms over her chest. She stared at him, speechless.

He strode into the room. “What in the hell is that contraption?”

She continued to stare, her eyes wide, her throat dry. She still couldn’t speak.

He studied her, mouthing a curse. “What is it?”

She swallowed. “It’s … it’s a binder.”

“Why in the devil are you wearing it?”

His anger was so palpable she moved toward the chair where she’d dropped her robe.

“Well?”

She wondered why he thought he had a right to know, then realized that perhaps he did. After all, she’d foolishly agreed to become his wife, whether it was in name only didn’t matter. She would become his property. That thought rankled, too. She wondered why men always made the rules.

“I … got used to wearing it at Trenway. A lot of the nurses did,” she added hastily.

“Why?” The word came out a snarl.

Her mouth worked wildly before she spoke. “Because we didn’t want the guards to notice us.”

Some emotion in his face changed. He stood before her, long legs wide and fists on hips. “Remove it.”

Relief made her sigh. “I will. Truly, I will.” She shrugged into her robe.

“Now.”

Her movements stopped mid air. “Excuse me?”

“Remove it now.”

Her eyes widened further. “Now? With … with you standing there?”

He moved closer. “I think I have the right to watch, don’t you?”

“Maybe after tomorrow, after we’re married, but … but certainly not today.” Her heart was stammering, seeming to lurch and stop at will.

He moved closer. “Remove it now, or I’ll remove it for you.”

She balked. Oh, but she hated being threatened. She’d had enough of it to last her a lifetime. “Then go right ahead, you bloody barbarian. But hear this. If you put one hand on me you’ll be no better than the Huns who strutted the halls of Trenway.” She thrust her stubborn chin in his direction, daring him to do it, knowing he wouldn’t because he was too much of a gentleman.

One satanic brow lifted and he reached for her.

Shocked, she gasped and stepped away. “You wouldn’t!”

“I would and I will. I have a right to see what I’m getting.” His voice was deadly calm, assuring her that he meant business.

She felt a burst of panic and grasped for the first threat that came to her mind. “If you so much as touch me, your doodle will fall off.”

He stopped, snorting an involuntary laugh. “My
what?”

She had her fist clenched, ready to punch him. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t move. “Explain it to me.” His voice was smooth as a duck’s wake.

She wanted to warn him that if he touched her she’d hit him, but what good did it do to take a swing at someone if he knew it was coming?

She stared into his eyes, noting a tenderness she’d never seen before. “If… if I have to explain it to you, then you’re a bigger dolt than I thought.”

His grin was wide, not quite intimate but not sarcastic, either. It should have pleased her that she was able to make him smile. It had been one of her goals. Amidst all of her other worries, it now seemed trivial.

He pulled her to him, holding her waist with one hand while he removed her binder with the other. Her fist opened, her arm falling to her side as her breasts tingled. Her nipples were hard before the wrapper hit the floor.

Her breeding and good sense told her what he was doing was indecent. Her pounding heart reminded her that, fool though she was, she wanted to please him.

He slipped her robe down her arms. Letting it slide to the floor behind her, Dinah stood proudly, although she was completely unaccustomed to baring herself, wantonly or otherwise. Her nerves jangled like a jailer’s keys.

Tristan’s fingers moved to the pulse that fluttered at her throat. Her entire body tingled at his touch, even in places that had never tingled before.

“To allow you to keep yourself bound up like a trussed turkey would make me a bigger dolt, Dinah.” He bent and pressed a light kiss at her neck. For some reason, her knees went weak and she shivered.

He raised his head, his eyes dark and languid, then he lowered his mouth to hers.

On a sharp intake of breath, Dinah felt the touch. With open lips, he rubbed back and forth across hers, his breath warm. He nibbled. He nipped. Until Dinah opened for him.

He dove inside, searching for her tongue, his kisses wet and insistent. She was faint with exquisite new feelings. Flinging her arms around his neck, she pressed closer, but his hands spanned her ribcage, drawing her away just far enough so he could nudge her nipples with his thumbs.

Sensation skittered through her like water droplets on a hot skillet.

His hands cupped her breasts and he fondled them. He lifted his mouth from hers, bent, and ran his tongue first over one nipple then the other. Gasping in surprise, she felt a burning pressure low in her pelvis.

Then he released her.

Although she was breathing hard, he appeared calm. In control.

“You will never wear that damned contrivance again. Is that understood?”

Fighting through her sensual haze, she bristled. “No one, not even my future husband, or whatever the bloody hell you’re supposed to be, orders me to do anything. I’ll wear it if I please.”

“If I find you wearing it, I’ll strip you and remove it.”

She thrust her chin at him. “If you do, I’ll put it on again. And … and I’ll punch you in the stomach.”

One side of his mouth lifted into a smile. “Thank you for the warning, but if you put it on again, I’ll just have to remove it. Again.”

Dinah realized this was like a game, and much to her surprise, she was a willing participant. “Then I’ll—”

“Be careful, Dinah.” He shook his finger at her. “Rousing verbal exchanges between husband and wife can lead to delightful tussles in the bedchamber.”

Thoughts of beds and bedchambers and dark, intimate nights sent wild sensations scampering over her skin. Dredging up her anger, she threw him a deadly glance and bent to retrieve her robe.