Vengeance 02 - Trust In Me (20 page)

“I only dare because ’tis true. Deny it if you can. Did you or did you not ask me to kiss you?”

Mouth agape, Elizabeth could hardly form a thought. Who was he to rub her nose in her behavior as if she were a misbehaving puppy? She lifted her chin. “You know I did, for I found myself very taken with Lord Trisbane. You deceived me as much as I did you.”

Nicholas ignored her words. “You knew who I was all along! You used your wiles to distract me with the hope that I would forget the wrong you committed against William.”

“Nay!”

“You tried yet again just a week past. And what of yesterday? Surely you lured me to that abandoned cottage for the same purpose!” Nicholas towered over her, his rage a palpable wall that she could not scale.

Hurt sliced through her, swamping her anger, stealing her breath. How could he think such terrible things of her?

Her words came out in no more than a whisper. “I believed you to be who you said you were at Amberley, a lord traveling through, and indeed, I asked for a kiss, for a moment of happiness. As for the rest...” She wrapped her arms tight around her chest in an effort to ease the pain that pulsed through her entire being. If he truly thought those horrible things of her, no simple words would change his mind. “I mistakenly assumed you would honor our vows – ”

“I am honoring our
agreement
,” he interrupted. “The one you choose not to remember. Do not ask me again for what I am unable to give.”

The silence drew long between them as she stared at him, shocked that she’d misjudged him this badly. The lump in her throat grew until she could hardly breathe. He was right. She’d agreed to all of it, including their loveless marriage. He only asked her to hold to her words.

“Clearly, I was wrong,” she said at last. “Wrong to believe in you. Wrong to hope for more.” She clenched her jaw, damned if she would let her tears fall. “My apologies for bothering you with this matter. I understand perfectly now. It won’t happen again.”

Elizabeth hurried up the steps of the keep before she made a complete fool of herself. She’d done that far too many times already. Well, no more.

“Elizabeth, wait.”

Wait for what
? she wondered, as she blinked rapidly to clear the tears from her eyes so she could see her way up the steps. He’d made it abundantly obvious that he had no intention of understanding her or her father’s actions, nor of forgiving them.

That was it then.

She had to put away the foolish hope she’d held deep in her heart. The hope that had built during the tender moments in the cottage. The hope that his kind acts involving a bench in her bedchamber and peas for supper had kindled. Though he might be her husband, he was as far out of reach as the first day she’d met him.

He was not hers. He would never be hers.

“Elizabeth!”

She picked up the front of her kirtle, ran the rest of the way up the stairs and wrenched open the heavy door of the keep, somewhat surprised she could manage it, for she hurt everywhere, inside and out. Sobs wracked her as she made her way to their chamber.

Her heart remained in shambles at her husband’s feet.

*

“Hell and damnation!” Nicholas watched her hurry away, feeling helpless and frustrated and so angry he could hardly contain his fury.

Fury at himself.

Fury at her.

Fury at this impossible situation in which he now found himself.

What did she want of him? Could she not see that he had nothing to give her? Yet she pushed and pushed him, leaving him no choice but to resort to cruelty to push back.

He strode across the bailey, seeking escape.

He tried not to regret his words, for he’d seen how deeply they’d hurt her. He hadn’t realized how much hurting her would hurt himself. What did she see in him that attracted her at all? Didn’t she realize Lord Trisbane didn’t exist? She’d been correct at supper. He
was
an ass. A beast inside and out.

Thank God he’d thought to turn the tables on her, otherwise she would’ve pummeled his weak defenses until he revealed his cursed second sight. He nearly laughed at the picture of her that formed in his mind, of the horror or, even worse, the pity that would come over her expression.

Yet could that be any worse than what he’d just witnessed?

When he’d first discovered her deceit, he’d believed her to be a trickster, a trollop, with the intent of seducing him to make him forget his goal of revenge.

But now, when he looked back and remembered their first conversations, the sweetness of her expression, the innocence of her kiss, he knew she’d had no foul intent. She’d protected her father as best she could. He couldn’t blame her for that.

The events of yesterday had been his fault, not hers. He simply couldn’t resist her allure. The more time he was with her, the more difficult it became to hold himself from her charms.

She’d worked hard to improve the keep. The food and drink were better, furniture had been rearranged, and a multitude of other little touches had been made to enrich his life as well as the lives of the people at Staverton.

Christ
. She was right.

He was no different than her father. He’d chosen revenge above all else.

Still, he’d put himself in this hell, and now he had to find a way to live with it. If he couldn’t control himself with her, a babe would be the result, and that was unthinkable. He wouldn’t create another monster to suffer through life as he had.

He’d be far better off without her sending him those sidelong glances, those tentative smiles, making him remember the feel of her in his arms, her passion. Perhaps now she’d stop looking at him with hope in her eyes.

He closed his eyes, but it did no good. He too well remembered all of it.

Damned if he wasn’t going to miss it.

And curse her for twisting him up like this. Revenge was a simple meal, best eaten alone. Why wouldn’t she let him feast?

Chapter Twenty

Nicholas shook his head as he waited in the dark kitchen in the middle of the night.
What in the hell was he doing?
He rubbed his hands over his face, telling himself he should leave and find a place to sleep. He certainly wouldn’t be able to rest in his own bed, and right now, succumbing to oblivion seemed an excellent idea. He rose to throw some more wood on the fire.

She’d be chilled when she got there.

He sighed heavily at his irrational behavior and sat back down on the stool he’d dragged into the darkest corner of the room to wait.

This wouldn’t be Elizabeth’s first visit to the kitchen after everyone else had sought their beds. Why didn’t the woman just eat more at supper? Then she’d have no reason for this trek when she should be sleeping. Wandering about the keep in the shadows of the night was a poor idea. Never mind that he often did the same.

After their argument earlier, the last thing he should do was seek out Elizabeth. Not after what he’d said. But he wanted to see her, if only for a moment, to make sure she was all right.

And if she wasn’t? What then?

A soft noise caught his attention, saving him from having to answer the question. He held perfectly still, waiting.

Elizabeth entered the kitchen cautiously, a blanket pulled over her shoulders. She glanced around to make certain no one was there. He caught his breath as her gaze passed over him, but his dark corner kept his presence a secret.

As he’d expected, she moved directly toward the loaves of bread covered by a cloth on the work table near the center of the room. Thanks to her, gone was the coarse dark bread and in its place was a lighter, much tastier kind. All of their meals had greatly improved. That fact alone made him grateful for her presence.

Yet how could he enjoy a fine meal when she had his stomach turned in endless knots? Such turmoil she caused him!

Those deft fingers tore off a chunk of the bread. The firelight revealed her profile, framed on one side by a long, loose braid spun into gold by the fire’s glow. Much to his dismay – nay, his pleasure – she stayed where she was and leaned back against the table to nibble on the bread.

He held still, hardly breathing. If she were to spot him now, what possible excuse could he have for sitting here watching her?

Had she noticed the bench in her chamber he’d purchased from a peddler? Did she suspect he’d had it put there? A twisted part of him hoped she had, along with the spring peas at supper and the extra bread now baked each day.

With a sigh, she picked small bits from the part she held and ate with little enthusiasm. The memory of her doing a similar thing in the kitchen at Amberley nearly made him smile. Though darkness hid her feet, he’d bet they were bare. She yawned and, with manners that seemed an innate part of her, covered her mouth.

She turned toward the fire, revealing more of her face to his view. Her head tilted to the side. Sadness etched her features, the corner of her mouth turned down.

He closed his eyes for a moment, realizing full well he’d done that to her. His rejection of her had stolen her hopes, dashed her dreams.

Shoulders drooping, Elizabeth folded her arms across her stomach and turned away. She left the kitchen, her pace slow, her piece of bread forgotten on the table.

His chest ached as he watched her shadow turn the corner and disappear from sight.

What was he to do with her?

*

Elizabeth woke early as usual. How nice it would be to sleep soundly and wake refreshed and filled with a pleasurable anticipation for the day ahead. Would she ever feel that way again?

She glanced at the other side of the bed. Obviously, it hadn’t been slept in. Once again, she wondered where Nicholas had spent the night.

She rose, donned a gown, and tried to dredge up the energy to wear her polite, courteous mask. Hurt and despair lay hidden just beneath the surface. She had no intention of revealing her pain to anyone. She’d shed all the tears she was going to over Nicholas. The thought was enough to stiffen her backbone and give her the resolve she needed to leave their chamber without so much as a backward glance at the bench by the window.

As best she could, she kept her mind focused on the tasks she needed to complete this day.

First, as always, was William.

She drew a deep breath and peeked into his chamber. Relief filled her at the sight of Mary standing beside the bed, rather than Nicholas. The maidservant was spinning thread, chattering to William about something Edith had done. The basket Elizabeth had requested be left in the chamber sat at her feet filled with a variety of threads, yarn, and spindles along with other needlework.

“Good day, my lady,” Mary greeted her with her customary curtsy and beaming smile.

“How is he this morn?” Elizabeth asked, as she stepped closer to the bed.

Mary’s smile faltered. “The same, as far as I can tell. Even my constant talking doesn’t rouse him a bit.”

Though she’d expected nothing different, an additional layer of sadness settled over her. She studied William’s pale, thin face, searching for movement. Anything would do – the blink of an eye, a wrinkle of his brow.

Nothing.

Anger shot through her. With less than gentle hands, she jostled his leg back and forth. “William,” she said, her tone loud and firm.

Nothing.

She grasped his hand, lifting it high and giving it a little shake. “William.”

Still nothing. Her anger left as quickly as it had come and she laid down his hand. Heaving a sigh, she touched his forehead, smoothing his hair, then his cheek. She wasn’t sure how much more of this limbo either she, Nicholas, or William could take.

*

The long endless day had finally fallen into night. Nicholas paused outside their chamber, listening for any sound that indicated if Elizabeth was still awake. He’d intended to spend another night in the chair at William’s bedside, but instead, found himself drawn to his wife despite his better judgment. He shook his head at his lack of will.

Silence emanated from the chamber.

He opened the door and closed it behind him, leaning back against it as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. The fire had burned low, so with careful movements, he put more wood on it to brighten the room. He’d ordered the fire to be lit each night well before Elizabeth sought her bed so the chamber would be warm upon her arrival.

Elizabeth’s curves were visible under the covers. He moved closer, trying to see if she slept. With a sigh, she turned from her side onto her back, and his breath held in his throat. He didn’t want to be caught ogling his wife in the middle of the night. Much to his relief, her eyes remained closed, and he could look as much as he liked. As much as he could withstand anyway.

The flickering shadows danced across her ivory skin, highlighting the arch of her brow, the hollow of her cheek, the curve of her jaw.

Unable to resist, he reached out, his hand halting in mid-air.

How he wished things could be different.

That he was a normal man.

That they could have a normal marriage.

His second sight felt like an awkward, extra appendage that hampered everything he did, that stood between him and everything he wanted.

A beautiful woman slept in his bed, and rather than holding her in his arms, he stood here staring at her, longing for something that could never be.

He had no idea how to end this torment, for that was certainly what having Elizabeth as his wife had become. Pure torment.

With a sigh, he withdrew his hand and moved to his side of the bed and lay down on top of the covers. His will wasn’t strong enough to risk touching her.

Sleep would surely help to ease the never ending ache that plagued him.

*

The next morning after looking in on William, Elizabeth went to the kitchen to check with the cook about the meals for the remainder of the week.

Peter’s voice rose as he reprimanded one of his helpers. “Stir that pot, boy, or the bottom will be burnin’.”

The boy scrambled to do his bidding, anxious to avoid the long-handled wooden spoon Peter always seemed to be holding.

“Good day to you, my lady.”

“How are you faring, Peter?” Elizabeth asked, amused as she cast a glance at the boy who now stirred frantically.

“I have to keep my eye on those scullions every moment, I tell ya.” He shook his head, but smiled all the same. “Might I mention what I was thinking of for meals for the next few days?”

Elizabeth made a few adjustments to the menu, then added, “I wanted to let you know that I’m the one who helped myself to the bread last night. I didn’t want one of the servants to be blamed for taking food.”

“’Tis no problem, my lady. Lord de Bremont suggested I make an extra loaf or two for you.”

“He did?” Elizabeth stared at the man, unable to comprehend what he’d said even as her stomach fluttered. Surely Peter couldn’t be speaking of Nicholas. The same man who’d accused her of attempting to seduce him to save her father.

“He mentioned that you don’t always eat enough at meals. We can always use the bread elsewhere if you don’t eat it, my lady. Don’t think we’re wastin’ it.”

Elizabeth was surprised Nicholas had noticed her eating habits, let alone had more bread baked for her. His conflicting behavior puzzled her.

After the conversation with the cook, she went to the weaving room to begin work on a design for a new tapestry.

Shock rooted her to the entrance of the solar. The once stark chamber had been transformed. A desk stood near the window with parchment stacked neatly to one side and ink bottles in the front. Baskets of threads sat on the floor, the rainbow of colors drawing a gasp from Elizabeth. A bench with an embroidered cushion sat before the loom.

Why? That was all she wanted to know. If he truly believed all the things he’d said to her yesterday, then why did he bother with these acts of kindness? How was she to guard her heart from him when he made such thoughtful gestures?

She sank onto the bench and drew her fingers along the loom. She couldn’t and therein laid the problem.

*

“How long do ya intend to stay out here?” Walter asked as he stood beside Nicholas in the bailey as another night fell.

Nicholas sighed. The old servant had quickly caught on that all was not well between the lord and lady of Staverton. Nicholas feared the other servants would soon reason it out as well.

The half moon hung low on the horizon, lighting the bailey along with Walter’s expression of disapproval.

“’Twas a busy day. You’d best seek your bed.”

“I’ll wait for ya if ’tis all right, my lord.” Walter shifted from foot to foot, a sure indication that his old bones hurt. “Didn’t Lady de Bremont already retire for the night?”

“I believe she did,” Nicholas answered casually. As though he didn’t know her whereabouts every moment of the day.

“For a man newly married, ya don’t spend much time with yer bride.”

Nicholas made no comment. What could he say? Elizabeth had avoided him as though he were a rabid dog since their argument two days past. He sat beside her at meals, but the chasm between them felt as wide and deep as the curtain wall. Gone was her warm smile. In its place was the polite reserve she’d had when he first met her, but now she wore it like chain mail. Cold, impenetrable, and strong. He could hardly complain when he had what he’d wanted all along.

While the idea of seeking his bed held some attraction, the thought of seeing more of Elizabeth’s back did not. He ran his hand over his face, wishing he could lose himself in sleep, but he no longer slept for long. The slightest sound awakened him, a change in her breathing, the rustle of the mattress.

Elizabeth’s face appeared before him whether his eyes were open or not. Blast the woman. He’d tried to determine what it was about her that captured him, and had come to only one conclusion. It was all of her. The delicate elegance of her face. The slender competent grace of her hands. Her intelligence edged with dry wit. And aye, her long-limbed, slender curves.

Yet he knew he could get no closer to her. He must keep his second sight hidden, for to live with her fear or pity the rest of his life would be impossible, unbearable.

How many times must he question the reason he’d accepted her offer of marriage? Rather than punish her, he seemed to be the one suffering.

“Let us retire,” he said to Walter.

Walter wasted no time starting up the steps. At the door, he turned to Nicholas. “Sleep well, my lord.”

“And you, Walter.”

“Better than you, I’d guess,” Walter said with a snort. His cackling laughter chased Nicholas up the stairs.

Nicholas entered their bedchamber, the low flames of the fire casting a warm light through the room.

Elizabeth turned and looked at him as he closed the door behind him. The cold emptiness of her once warm, brown eyes chilled him to the bone.

Perhaps the sight of her back wasn’t so bad after all.

He nodded.

She raised a brow.