“You dimwitted colonial!” Shanna railed.
At her cry Pitney moved closer in sudden worry, not recognizing the reason for her distress.
“Nay!” Shanna gasped. Clutching the tattered bodice, she presented her back to him.
The panic in her voice sent Pitney whirling on his heels, for he guessed the damage was more than a slight rent. He withdrew several paces lest he cause her greater embarrassment.
Shanna stuffed the end of the torn piece into the top of her shift, weighting the latter down until the repair was almost as revealing as the tear. Ruark choked at this torture, drawing her attention and her accusing glare. His gaze burned upon her bare skin, greedily absorbing the sight of her swelling roundness as if he were afraid it would be taken from his sight. Shanna had been leered at before, but never so completely devoured. Desire flamed in those golden eyes, snatching her breath; and she could only murmur with a bit less rancor:
“If you had any decency, you’d turn your head.”
“Shanna, love,” Ruark breathed in a tight, strained voice. “I am a man about to die. Would you deny me even the briefest glimpse of such beauty?”
Oddly feeling no grudge against him, Shanna looked at him surreptitiously. His bold gaze stirred something deep within her, and the sensation was not unpleasant. Still, she covered herself with her cloak.
A moment of silence passed as Ruark struggled with his own emotions. Beneath his flowing cloak he tightly folded his hands behind his back.
“Would you prefer to return to the carriage now?” he asked solicitously.
“I’ve had little enough nourishment this day, fretting over disgrace,” Shanna replied in a vein of honesty. “I might as well enjoy what is left of my pride.”
Ruark’s eyes gleamed with devilish humor, and his lips drew slowly into a deliberate smile. “You’re the light and love of my life, Shanna. Have mercy on me.”
Shanna lifted her fine chin. “Hah! It ever passes through my thoughts that you are much a rake and have had many ‘light and loves.’ I am hardly your first or only one.”
Gallantly Ruark held the door open for her to pass through. “The first I cannot deny, Shanna, for then I did not know of you. But you are my only love and shall remain for as long as I live.” His eyes were serious and seemed to probe her being. “I would demand no more of a wife than I am willing to give. I assure you, my love, that no day will pass henceforth but what you will be in my thoughts.”
Confused by the gentle warmth of his gaze and the directness of his words, Shanna could find no tongue to reply. It was impossible to determine whether he mocked her or told the truth. He was not like any man she had ever met. When she spoke to hurt him, calling him names or seeking to thrust a deeper insult, he took it in stride or with humor and continued to compliment her. Where was the end of his patience?
Lost in her musings, Shanna moved past him and entered the inn. While he doffed his rain-soaked cloak and tricom, she waited, for the moment appearing the docile wife. He returned and with a hand riding the narrow curve of her waist, he guided her to the table Pitney indicated. It was tucked securely into a dark corner, leaving no room for an easy escape.
Mister Hadley and John Craddock having preceded them by some moments, were now seated at the long common table that filled the center of the room. The inn was empty save for the keeper and his wife, for the local patrons had fled to their homes with the onset of the storm. A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, casting wavering shadows across the rough wooden beams supporting the ceiling and providing warmth for the damp guests. After a long frown of warning to Ruark, Pitney joined the two guards and quickly drained a tankard of ale.
Much relieved to find himself at a table alone with his bride, Ruark seated her and took a place close beside her. Soon a hearty meal was set before them all, juicy roast meats, bread and vegetables, and a rich wine for the couple. Aware of her husband’s unwavering stare upon her, Shanna found her fingers less than steady and her appetite not at all what she had claimed. He was beginning to wear on her nerves. She had never known a man with such persistence and singleness of mind. She could well understand what he was thinking as he leaned back in his chair and regarded her. And not wanting to answer any question he might broach, she asked some of her own.
“Who was the girl you were accused of murdering? Was she your mistress?”
Ruark raised a brow at her. “Shanna, love, must we discuss that on our wedding night?”
“I’m curious,” she insisted. “Won’t you tell me? Why did you do it? Was she unfaithful to you? Was it jealousy that drove you to kill her?”
Leaning forward to rest his arms on the table, Ruark shook his head and laughed harshly. “Jealous of a chambermaid I spoke but a few words with? My dear Shanna, I never even knew her name, and I’ve no doubt she had many men before me. I was just there in the common room of the inn where she worked, and she left another man to come to my table. She invited me to her room—”
“Just like that? I mean, wasn’t there more between you? You had never met her before?”
Ruark frowned and thoughtfully considered the liquid in his glass as he swished it slowly from side to side. “She recognized the color of the coin in my purse when I paid for my meal. It was enough to make us friends.”
The bitter tone in his voice spoke of much Shanna did not understand.
“You are sorry for killing her, aren’t you?” Shanna pressed.
“Killing her?” He laughed shortly. “I don’t even remember bedding the wench, much less laying a hand to her otherwise. She took my purse and left me with naught but my breeches to meet the redcoats who dragged me from her bed the morning after. They accused me of slaying her, because she carried my child, but God knows that’s a lie. ‘Twas impossible as I had just journeyed from Scotland and taken a room at the inn that same afternoon. I never laid eyes on the wench before that. But I was brought before the magistrate, Lord Harry, he called himself,” Ruark sneered, “and given a moment only to plead my cause before they charged me with lying and cast me in the darkest dungeon ‘til Lord Harry himself decided what my guilt was. Murder, he claimed, because I rebelled against marrying the twit. Can you imagine with all the bastards in the world how such a thing could be true? It would have been easier to flee the country. And even simpler yet, if in a maddened state I did kill the girl, to escape from her room before the innkeeper came to rouse her for the day’s work. But like a backward oaf, I took my repose upon her sheets until the next day dawned fair and bright. By God, I did not kill her. As I know myself I did not!”
Angrily he tossed the wine down and shoved away his plate.
“But how could you not remember?” Shanna asked softly.
Ruark sat back in his chair again and shrugged. “Oh, I’ve given much thought on that myself, and I have not quite laid it all out yet.”
A guilty man always declares he’s innocent, Shanna mused derisively. It was not likely he was telling the truth, for only a madman would forget a murder, and she did not believe that Ruark Beauchamp was mad. However, she thought it best to change the subject as she sensed his pensive mood. She accepted his refill of Madeira in her glass and sipped it, letting it ease her tensions. She could almost congratulate herself on the success of the day. Everything this far had worked as she had planned. She began to feel almost cheerful.
“And what of you, my lovely Shanna?” Ruark’s regard had turned full upon her again with all the warmth a man could have for his bride.
“Oh,” she laughed nervously. In this public place where Ralston, when he returned from his trip and learned of her marriage, could check about the newly wedded couple, she did not dare be anything but pleasant. “What would you care to know?”
“Why you felt you had to marry me when you could have chosen from any man who met your fancy.”
“Met my fancy?” Shanna scoffed lightly. “None did. And my father is stubborn to a fault. He would have seen me wed and bedded by the one he cho
se. Why,” she swept her hand in a graceful gesture, “he didn’t even ask my mother to wed him.”
She giggled suddenly as Ruark peered at her dubiously, a carelessly charming smile spreading across his lips.
“Oh nay, ‘tis not what you think. My father is much a commanding person. He told my mother she would marry him and threatened her with ravishment if she refused. I was born quite properly a year after they wed.”
The disarming smile remained. “What had your mother to say of it?”
“Oh, she was convinced the sun rose and set just for Orlan Trahern. She loved him deeply. But he still was a rogue. My grandfather was hanged for a highwayman.”
“At least we’ll have something in common,” Ruark remarked dryly. A moment of silence passed. Then, “Do you plan to keep the bargain?”
Shanna fumbled for a reply, shaken by the abrupt question after she had tried so hard to avoid it. “I—I—”
Ruark placed an arm behind her chair, resting his other on the table as he leaned toward her. Kissing her ear, he whispered softly. “Could you just for this night pretend you have a bit of care for me, Shanna?” he cajoled.
His warm breath stirred shivers along her flesh, and a curious excitement tingling in her breast. The wine had certainly had its effect on her, she thought in astonishment, for her senses reeled in drunken pleasure.
“Is it too hard to imagine that we’re lovers just wed?” Ruark asked, breathing against her throat. His arm came around her shoulders, and Shanna had to fight to keep her world upright as his mouth, moist and parted, warmly tasted hers. She struggled to push him away and free her lips. Had she drunk so much wine that she was now giddy from it? What was the matter with her? She was neither a tippler nor a woman of easy virtue. For heaven’s sake, she was a virgin! And if much was made of it, a tea drinker on nearly all accounts!
“I’ll be gentle with you,” Ruark sighed as if he read her mind. He pressed his lips to the tempting corner of her mouth. “Let me hold you, Shanna, and love you as I long to do. Let me touch you—have you—”
“Mister Beauchamp!” she gasped breathlessly and avoided his kiss. “I certainly don’t intend giving myself to you here in the common room for the amusement of all. Let me go,” she begged, and then more sternly, “I’ll scream if you don’t—”
His embrace relaxed somewhat, and Shanna rose to her feet in a rush, announcing shakily, “We’d best be on our way.”
Shanna fled to the door as Ruark paused to fetch his cloak and tricorn; and when he tried to rush after her, Pitney and the guards were there at his elbows. Heedless of the downpour and the puddles that marked the way, Shanna dashed from the inn. Ruark would have followed after her, but there was some delay as the keeper, fearful that the cost of his meals would be lost, began to argue sharply with Pitney, who was more interested in keeping Ruark at his side. A hefty purse tossed to the innkeeper silenced further debate, and at last Pitney allowed Ruark to precede him to the carriage.
The rain was now a steady drumbeat upon the roof of the Briska. Drenched and shaking with the cold and her own emotions, Shanna had slid tightly in a corner of the seat, giving the greater portion of it to whomever would take it. She had managed with trembling fingers to strike the flint and light the small tallow lantern that hung from the inside wall of the carriage.
Ruark stepped in, and Pitney folded the step. He started to swing himself inside but found the way suddenly barred by the younger man’s arm.
“Have you no pity, man? Wed only a few hours and bound to hang before a week is out! Ride with the guards.”
Before Pitney could protest, Ruark slammed the door in his face. The huge man, however, was hardly the one to do the bidding of a daring swain who rutted after his mistress. In fact, just the opposite was true. The door of the carriage was snatched open with such force it rebounded against the side of the coach with a loud crack, causing Shanna to jump sharply.
Ruark was not about to settle for this intrusion without at least a brief struggle and stretched an arm across the doorway again to prevent the other’s entry. Pitney reached up to snatch the ardent bridegroom from the carriage, but Shanna’s startled gasp brought her his immediate attention. It was certainly not fear for her husband which prompted this reaction from Shanna, but the noticed presence of the innkeeper and his wife standing in the doorway of their establishment and straining their necks to see what was going on.
“ ‘Tis all right, Pitney. Ride on top,” came her hushed but urgent command.
Glancing back over his shoulder, Pitney saw the reason for her concern. He straightened, stepped back a pace, and jerked his waistcoat down in place.
Ruark smiled benevolently. “That’s a good lad. And don’t stand there dawdling. Make haste. Let us be on the road.”
Pitney’s heavy chin jutted out obstinately, and his brows lowered in an ominous fashion. The cold rain trickled down his broad face, but he took no notice. His gray piercing eyes measured Ruark in the light of the carriage lanterns.
“Should ye harm her—” The threat was gritted in a low voice, but it reached Ruark’s ears distinctly.
“Come now, man,” Ruark laughed scornfully. “I’m not a complete fool. I value what little time on earth I have. I give you my charge that she will be treated as one whom I have the highest affection for, nothing less, and with much respect.”
Pitney’s frown deepened at Ruark’s words. He would have argued the point, but Shanna saw the threat of a public scene in this village where the actions of strangers would be quickly noted. So close to the church where she was wed, the rumors would spread; and Ralston would have no trouble hearing them.
“Let’s be gone, Pitney, before you undo the best of my plans.”
Finally the man gave in, and though his words were directed to her, he stared hard at Ruark. “I’ll bar the doors. He’ll have no chance to escape.”
“Then be quick about it,” Shanna pleaded. “And have a care the keeper and his spouse do not see what you do.”
Several moments passed before the richly appointed carriage swung onto the muddy road to London. The rain beat monotonously upon the roof, deadening all other sounds, while the lanterns lent only a weak, flickering light to the ebony darkness through which they passed. Though the luxurious interior was warm and snug and well protected from the miserable night without, Shanna was hardly comfortable. Her dash to the coach had been sheer folly. Her shoes were soaked, her knee-length stockings were damp almost to their full length, and the wet hem of her skirt was cloyingly cold and chilly against her ankles. Gathering the sodden cloak tightly about her, she huddled in its folds and could not suppress a shiver or stop her teeth from chattering.
“Why, Shanna, you’re trembling,” Ruark said, catching one of her hands and sliding closer.
Angrily she withdrew from him and snapped, “Must you ever state the obvious?” And then, relenting, “My feet are cold.”
“Here, love, let me warm them.”
There was more than a trace of laughter in his tone, and before she could protest, he reached down and lifted her legs onto his lap. Folding back the dampened hem, he slid the ruined slippers from her feet. A small gasp escaped Shanna as his hands boldly touched her knees, quickly pulling off the lacy garters and wet stockings. Tossing them in a small heap upon the floor with the shoes, he tucked her feet beneath his jacket and drew his cloak over his lap and her legs until she was well wrapped within it. His far arm held her feet close against him, while his near hand slid beneath the cloak to gently massage her slender calves. All thoughts of coldness left Shanna. She had much to consider as she accepted his ministrations and casual familiarity. It had never been her fate to be privately closeted with a man before, and it warmly titillated her imagination. She had entertained many lords and titled men but always properly chaperoned. This had been her choice as much as anyone else’s; she had never even met a colonial before Ruark Beauchamp. And here she was alone with him, and he had the grand claim of being her husba
nd, however brief that state would be. It was only natural to wonder what his reaction would be if she tested her womanly wiles. Well enough to let this boorish backwoods clod sample the gift of her beauty, she thought, for soon he would be back on his way to the triple tree. It would do no harm to hone her weapons on his wit.
She sat in the corner facing him, her back against the side of the carriage. The small lantern inside the coach gave off a dim light, and she could see those amber eyes glowing with fervor as he quietly observed her. His fingers softly kneaded her leg from ankle to knee, warming her pleasantly. Shanna’s lips curved almost into a smile as she sighed, and as if settling herself like a contented feline, she stirred against the seat. Her cloak sagged open to her waist, but she seemed unaware of it as she gathered her arms beneath her bosom, pressing her breasts upward until she was nearly out of the torn gown and thin chemise. In truth, she did not know how her pale skin gleamed with a satin luster in the light of the single candle, nor could she truly guess the extent of Ruark’s passion. She only saw that his eyes roamed downward and felt a tightening of his belly against her leg and the pulse in his thigh quicken beneath her foot.
The softening of her manner enhanced her beauty, and Ruark boldly and appreciatively stared. When he spoke, his voice did not betray the tightness in his throat.
“You are warmer, madam?”
“Aye,” Shanna breathed, half closing her eyes as she leaned her head back, letting him view the slender, curving length of her throat. Any moment now he would tell her how he desired her and try to cajole her into giving herself, and she would lead him on until the time they had to part. Through slitted eyelids she watched him and was pricked with disappointment as he appeared to shrug away her spell. Casually he reached into his coat and brought forth the scarlet-bound papers.