Elizabeth, The Enchantress Read online

  Lucille looked down at her slippers. “I know. There are apparently two of them available.”

  Holding the print, Elizabeth walked over and sat down at the small stone table in the middle of the garden. This print resembled the one she had folded in her book, but only in the loosest of ways. This one was awful. She looked pathetic, kneeling at William’s side, begging him to take her, her arms reaching up to him, beseeching him—and William—William looked like he had in her nightmares that first year after he’d left: cold, unforgiving, sneering. He looked like she was a pile of something normally found behind a horse.

  She’d never actually seen that look on her husband’s face, but she’d lived in fear of it for years. Seeing it in physical form, even if only in a drawing, made her suddenly afraid that it really existed. For four years she’d told herself it was only her imagination, that her husband did not really look that way, did not really hate her.

  Now, suddenly, she was no longer sure.

  She raised her head and looked at Lucille. “What am I going to do?”

  William stared up at his house, his home. Every year since his birth he’d spent the season here—except for these last four years that he’d been travelling. His mother had not believed in leaving her only child behind, so he’d made the yearly journey to London along with her. The argument between his parents when his father wished to send him to school had been quite something. The neighbors had actually complained of the noise. His mother was always afraid that something would happen to him.

  Then when he’d been twelve something had happened—but not to him. His father had dropped dead. The doctor had said it was his heart, but William had never believed it. His father had owned the strongest heart of any man he’d ever known.

  And so from the age of twelve, William had owned this house and all its furnishings, along with several estates and the seat of the earldom, Beaconhill. So why did it suddenly not feel like home?

  What sort of man felt trepidation when approaching his own house?

  He certainly didn’t. He refused to.

  He marched up the walk and climbed the steps two at a time. The door opened even before he raised his fist to pound.

  “Thank you, Johns.” His porter was still the same. That was good.

  But that was all that was the same.

  This hall had always been dark with paneling and heavy drapes. Now it shone white, filled with crystal and flowers. He was tempted to step back out the door. Did he have the right house?

  He met Johns’s glance.

  “The countess had the house refurbished two years ago,” his porter said. “She wanted something more modern.”

  “Oh.” There wasn’t much else to say. He’d left her responsible for everything. Yes, he’d had a good estate agent in place and his staff was more than up to standard. But still, he’d left Elizabeth in charge.

  He looked about the hall, trying to decide if he liked it. It was certainly tasteful—and peaceful. Peace was good. But it wasn’t his home—his father’s home—and he wasn’t sure that he liked that. Home should always remain the same.

  “You’re back.” Her voice came from above: rich, yet cool.

  “Yes, I told you I would return.”

  She strolled down a few steps, the rich cream of her skin catching the light pouring in through the high windows. Her gown was a deep crimson and clung to each of her slender curves.

  He swallowed.

  Her gaze roamed his body, studying him with care. “Yes, you did say you’d return, but you said that four years ago also.”

  “I thought you would be pleased to see me.”

  Her brow creased. “You did?”

  Why did she act surprised? It only made sense that a wife would be pleased to see her husband. It wasn’t as if he’d beaten her or been brutal. In fact he had rescued her from a horrible situation. He’d rather imagined she’d still be grateful. “I am your husband.”

  The crease grew deeper. “I suppose you are. I wasn’t sure that you remembered.”

  Remembered? Of course he remembered. What was she talking about?

  The corners of her eyes creased and she started to laugh. Not the girlish giggle that he remembered, but something low and seductive that sent shivers up his spine. “Come, my William, my handsome prince. Come to the drawing room and we can talk. You can tell me why you are back and I can tell you why I don’t particularly care.”

  He blinked. He probably looked like a fish, but he blinked again. Why was she acting this way? “That might be a good idea.” There was little point in playing her childish games.

  “Come.” She descended past him and walked along the hall, hips swaying, dark hair shining—and her scent. He knew she’d never left England, so why did she make him imagine an Egyptian spice bazaar?

  She walked into the room without looking back and settled herself on a chair of green-and-white-striped silk. That was new. The whole room was new.

  “Where is my mother’s portrait?” It should have been hanging above the mantel. Instead a landscape of fluffy clouds and insipid cows hung in its place.

  “I had it moved to the attics. I saw no reason to be watched by people I had never met. I can have it moved to your chamber if you wish. Or perhaps you’re staying at a hotel and I can have it sent there?”

  Did she have to sound so hopeful? “No. I have returned. This is my home. I imagine my bags are being unpacked as we speak.”

  “I am sure that you are correct.” She turned her head and stared up at the landscape, examining it as if she’d never seen it before. “Would you care for some refreshment?” Her voice was cool, her posture growing stiffer by the moment. She reminded him of several of his mother’s friends, not at all what he had ever wanted as a wife.

  “Some tea would be nice—a mug, not a cup. I’m afraid my travels have left me a bit uncouth.”

  She turned back to him, her expression careful and flat. “If you say so, my lord. I will summon Johns and you may give him your specific requirements.”

  My lord? What had happened to my William—even if said in a most sarcastic tone? He wanted to argue, to do something to shake her. Where was that spirit he’d always sensed flowing beneath the quiet facade she’d hidden behind as a girl? She was angry, he could tell that, but on the surface all he saw was aloof ice—ice that could freeze him in a single glance. “And should I give you my specific requirements, as well, my wife?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  She felt so brittle she might just shatter in bits to the floor. Elizabeth had thought she’d have a few more days to prepare for this meeting. William had said he was going to visit the estates, had tracked her down in the middle of a ball to tell her so. He had no right to return so soon, before she was ready.

  The muscles in her back were pulled so tight that she could feel each individual bone of her spine. Damn him. She knew she’d become hard these past few years, but she’d always thought of it as becoming fierce. Now she just felt far removed and breakable.

  Should she pretend she had not heard his question or that she did not catch the undercurrents in it? No, she was strong. She had become that way because she had no choice. There had never been anybody she could depend on and she would not falter now. “Please do. Please tell me what you expect so that I can tell you exactly what you will get. I had thought we would have more polite conversation between us before we moved into such discussion, but, as you said, you have become uncouth.”

  His hands clenched and then released. “Does it need to be this way between us, need to be an argument? This is not what I had intended.”

  “Then what had you intended with your talk of requirements? I am still not sure why you have returned.”

  “I have returned because this is my home, because you are my wife.”

  “A wife you have not seen fit to visit in four years.”

  “I wrote. And you sound bitter.”

  “I suppose I do. I do not usually think of myself in those terms. Norm
ally I accept the reality of the situation in which you left me. But you wed me and walked away in front of all society, and then you wonder that I am perhaps bitter? Do not think that a few letters make a difference.”

  “I had always planned to leave. You must have known that. The arrangements were made before I even met you. I told you it was a marriage of convience. I needed to go out to see the world, to understand, to study. There is so much left to be discovered in the Americas. There are birds that do not fly and so many plants that have never even been seen, much less catalogued. If life had permitted, I would be there still.”

  Did she have any color left to lose? His words made it clear that she held not the slightest attraction for him. He had left her without a care and evidently had returned to her with as little thought. Her long ago dreams had made her a fool. He had told her the truth and she had ignored him, choosing to imagine that his emotions were involved. She sat up even straighter, her head held high. “So why did you return? How has life changed that made you need to come back?”

  “It was simply time. Time I had an heir, time I came back and managed the estates.”

  Her lips pressed tight. Breathing was barely possible. “I believe the estates are proceeding fine without you.”

  “I do not mean to imply that my manager has done anything wrong.”

  His manager? Did he have any idea how many questions she’d had to answer in his absence, how many decisions she’d made? No, clearly he did not. “None of that truly answers my question, but it does not matter. You spoke of requirements. What are they?”

  He didn’t know. William stared at Elizabeth and tried to think of an answer. He wanted her in his bed, but that was probably not the right thing to say at this moment. He’d assumed that they’d sleep together when he returned even before he saw her, and now that he had seen her . . . she was certainly not the scrawny nineteen-year-old he’d left behind—the one who’d looked more like fourteen. No, the woman who stood before him was certainly not a child. He shifted as his body informed him exactly how far from childhood she was.

  “Well,” he began, “we will certainly live in the same house.”

  “I suppose that cannot be helped.”

  “You will be my hostess.”

  “I can manage that. I already entertain when I choose to. I suppose I can manage for you as well.”

  This was not going so badly. “You will be mother to my children.”

  She pushed out of her chair and strode to stare out the window, her back to him. “Perhaps—in time.”

  That was not quite the answer he wished for. “Is there a problem? I believe when we wed it was implicit that we would have children. That is the normal purpose of marriage.”

  “Do you think so? Were you really thinking of children when we wed? I think not. You’ve already stated that it was a marriage of convience. You certainly never mentioned children.”

  No, he hadn’t been, but it would have been the normal thing. All he’d been thinking about was how miserable she’d seemed with her uncle and how distasteful he’d found her suitors. He’d felt the hero taking her away—and it had been so easy. He hadn’t considered anything beyond that. He’d already known he was going off on his adventures—what difficulty would a wife present? “I certainly have always believed that children went with marriage.”

  He watched her shoulders rise and then fall. Still, she looked away from him. “I will admit that when we married I too believed that children would be in my future—but my much more immediate future. To be frank, I am no longer sure that my possible desire for children need have anything to do with you.”

  His mind blanked for a moment, unable to truly believe she had just said that. “I am not sure I follow.”

  Now she did turn and face him, her eyes fiery. “I believe that you do. I am sure that even in the primitive societies you’ve been visiting, they know that marriage and fatherhood are not actually linked.”

  He was sure his face was taking on a distinctly interesting hue. “You are not suggesting . . .”

  Watching for his reaction, Elizabeth smiled—a slow, careful smile she’d learned from her friend Linnette.

  His eyes dropped to her lips, she let the smile spread a little further. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lower lip. She did not answer.

  His eyes stayed focused on her lips.

  She inhaled, feeling the press of her breasts against the silk of her gown. His gazed dropped—and stayed. She breathed in, breathed out. Her breasts were far from bountiful, but William still seemed fascinated. If only he’d felt that way four years ago.

  “You are not with child—are you?” he asked.

  After everything that had happened in these past weeks, his question was far more ironic than he knew. Laughter bubbled within her, but she held it back. “No, I am not with child—yet.”

  He stepped toward her, his body large and menacing—and exciting. She did not remember ever having this tingle four years ago. “Do you have a lover?”

  “Do you have the right to ask? You left me alone—for four years!”

  The anger left him in a single breath. “You are right. I do not have the right to blame you for your past actions, but I am back now and you will be faithful.”

  She had been wrong. He was still angry. Very angry.

  She stepped forward. “Will I?”

  His gaze met hers and held it, a contest of wills between them. She refused to look away, to back down—and she certainly did not reassure. He had lost his rights four years ago.

  Squaring her shoulders, she placed her hands on her hips and held his gaze, defiant. A paper deep in her pocket crinkled beneath her fingers. The cartoon. Not the first one, but the second one Lucille had brought. The one that showed her begging. She would never beg. Never. And never concede. He had done wrong, not she.

  “You will.”

  The words And who will make me? were on her lips, but she held them back. She was not a schoolboy in a pissing contest. She took another step forward, watched her breath play upon his poorly-tied cravat. “Believe that if you like.” Pushing up onto the tips of her toes, she laid a soft kiss upon his chin. “Believe whatever you like,” she whispered, her voice low, seductive.

  His arms came up to press her to him, but she twirled away, unready to be caught.

  Anger and desire flew between them and it was a heady mix. Never before had she been so caught by uncontrolled emotion.

  “I will lock you—” His voice faded. He turned away and walked to a chair. He sat, settling his long legs before him. “I did not mean that. And I will trust that you did not mean what you implied either.”

  She did not answer.

  “Sit.” His voice was firm.

  Again she had to resist childishness. Walking slowly forward, she returned to her chair.

  “Let us keep this civilized,” he said.

  Deep breath, count to ten. “I was not aware that I needed lessons on civilization. I believe that is your field of study.”

  “I may have lived with several Indian tribes over the past few years, but I can assure you that they were more than capable of having a discussion without sniping. Are you?”

  Damn him. Why did he make her feel guilty? “I am perfectly capable. I have merely been stating my beliefs. I will not go to your bed and bear your children merely because you say so.”

  “You did agree to marry me.”

  “Four years ago. And this is becoming tedious.”

  William leaned forward, resting his face in his hands. “I did not expect this to be so difficult. I rather expected to find the same girl I left behind.”

  “Did you truly not expect me to change?”

  He looked up. “The strange thing is that I left you behind so that you could change. I wanted you to change.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, you were such a scared child when I left. I hoped you would grow and mature if I left you in freedom.”

  This was making no sens
e to her. He had left her humiliated in front of all of society so that she could mature? “Do you understand what you did in leaving me? Do you know what it is like when everybody knows your husband has left you less than a month after the wedding? Can you not imagine what they said?”

  Her words caught him and he sat up straight. “Why should they think that my leaving had anything to do with you? I had always planned to leave. Everyone knew that.”

  God, her husband was one of the smartest men she knew, could he truly also be an idiot? “In the first week you were gone I had twenty-seven men offer to teach me how to be better in bed. And those are only the ones I understood. There were several suggestions that I did not count because I did not understand them—although I am sure I would now. The general consensus was that no man who was satisfied would have left so quickly. And I am afraid my response to any suggestion of impropriety only caused the rumors to grow. I was labeled icy and frigid before I even had a first kiss.”

  “I am sorry. I never imagined.” William shifted in his seat, not meeting her gaze.

  “Do not worry too much. I can promise you that once the rumors of my lovers began, the gossip about my lack of bedroom skills ceased.”

  Her lovers? He had been angered by her earlier words, but had not quite taken them seriously. Now he looked at her in a new light. Her new confidence could certainly be explained if she’d taken lovers, satisfying lovers. And he might have driven her to it. A slow acid burn began deep in his belly. It would have been easy to lash out at her, but he held his anger down. If she had taken lovers it was because he had left her. She had been little more than a child at the time. He’d been a good five years older. He should have realized what he was doing—only he’d never paid attention to society and hadn’t felt the need then. At that time he’d simply never thought about Lizzy and sex at the same time. “I thought I was doing a good deed. I was quite proud of myself. If you felt that way, why did you never say anything when you replied to my letters?”

  “What could I have said? You were gone and you wrote to ask me about how the wheat was growing and whether the crops were being properly rotated. You never once asked about me. I asked about you in every single letter I wrote back.”