Lovestorm (18 page)

“What do you think of the quality, Lady Dunmore?”

Micah's deep bass was reassuring. The chilling fear receded, and Elizabeth found her voice. “Too gaudy,” she said. “This color's not true.”

“The gems are genuine, m'lady,” Micah replied smoothly. “Your father would never condone my passing on to you anything not of the highest quality.”

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and forced herself to take slow, steady breaths. Micah is telling me that Father sent the message. Sommersett would never make such accusations against Edward if he didn't have proof that Edward murdered his father and brother. Father's married me to a murderer, and now he tells me to bear Dunmore's child.

“The earring is fixed, m'lady,” Michah said. “Would you care to think further on the bracelet?” She shook her head, and he took the note and held it to a candle flame until the paper blackened and burned.

“I will consider it,” she said. “If I'm interested, I'll return next week. Do you think you'll still have the bracelet then?”

He shrugged. “I am not a fortune teller, m'lady. I cannot see into the future. But I often come into possession of rare items. If I see something I believe you would like, may I have your permission to send word to your home?”

“Please do. And thank you for repairing the earring. You've done a good job, as always. It's impossible to see where it was broken.”

 

Edward's shouting was the first thing Elizabeth heard when she entered the house. As she looked about, trying to decide where the disruption was coming from, Betty hurled herself from the nearest doorway into Elizabeth's skirts.

“Oh, m'lady,” she cried. “Lord Dunmore is lookin' fer ye. He come into yer chamber and started throwin' things around. He broke a chair and . . .” She bit off her words and backed away, realizing that she had just clutched her mistress's silk damask gown with sðot-covered hands. “I'm sorry,” she wailed, breaking into tears.

There was another outburst of swearing from the second floor, and Elizabeth motioned to Bridget to tend to Betty and hurried up the stairs.

When she'd left the house earlier, renovation had begun on the long gallery. The furnishings had been removed, and oil paintings by Rubens and Correggio had been taken down and carried away for safe storage. Carpenters had been noisily sawing and hammering, covering the elaborately painted walls with dark wood paneling.

Now, the workmen stood staring at one end of the gallery as Lord Dunmore, still clad in a silk nightshirt and cravat, scarlet bedsocks, and satin nightcap, tore the last of the tapestries depicting Daniel in the Lion's Den from the untouched west wall. At his feet, the other four tapestries were heaped carelessly on the sawdust-covered floor.

Elizabeth's temper flared. It was all she could do to speak to her husband in a civil tone as she knelt beside a crumpled tapestry and fingered the embroidered velvet. “These arras hangings are priceless. The gold thread alone—”

“Old-fashioned tripe! I'll not have it in my house,” he shrieked. “Where have you been?”

“You know where I've been,” she snapped. “I went to the goldsmith to have my earrings repaired.”

He glowered. “I never gave you permission to leave the house.”

“You did. We discussed my going at breakfast.”

“So you say. Your place was here, overseeing these lazy bastards.” He glared at the master carpenter. “I'll have these walls covered by nightfall or you're all fired,” he threatened. “You'll not work again in London, I vow. Thieving dogs, the lot of you.”

“It may be that they could work faster if you left them to their task,” she suggested. “If you don't want the tapestries, may I have your leave to dispose of them?”

“Burn them. Throw them into the Thames. I don't care what you do with them,” he said. “I never want to see them again.”

Elizabeth heard a slight sound behind her and turned, shocked, to see Cain standing in the doorway. He wore green servant's livery and a pair of knee-high black leather boots. His hair was drawn neatly into a club at the back of his neck and secured with a velvet bow. He nodded respectfully as their eyes met and cast his gaze to the floor.

Edward twisted to see what she was looking at. “You! Savage!” he commanded. “Gather up these arras hangings and carry them out of the house for Lady Dunmore.”

“No, not him,” she protested. “I'll have Robert do it.”

Edward laughed. “You're afraid of him, aren't you? There's no need.” He motioned to Cain. “Come here, Savage.”

Cain obeyed him, his face as smooth and expressionless as marble, his movements slow and graceful as a cat's.

“He's too ignorant to learn English, but he understands well enough, don't you?” Edward stepped back nervously as the Indian came to within arm's reach of him. “The livery fits him well, doesn't it? I had it sewn especially. I mean to have Savage ride on my coach and follow me about like a page. Lord Clarion will be green with envy; he's been sporting that African with the ridiculous turban on his head. He takes him everywhere.” He glanced from Elizabeth to Cain and back again. “I thought to have a turban made for Savage, but I think I'll just have him wear feathers instead. Feathers are a nice touch, don't you think?”

“I don't want a servant who can't speak,” Elizabeth hedged. “I really would prefer Robert.”

Edward's eyes narrowed slyly. “You'll do as I say, wife. Everyone in this house does as I say—I am lord here, am I not?”

 

Icy rain was beginning to fall as Cain followed Elizabeth across the cobblestone courtyard into the shadowy coach house. As soon as the outer door closed behind him, Cain let the heavy tapestry fall to the floor and pulled her into his arms.

“Darling,” she whispered. Her heart pounded wildly as he crushed her against him and held her so tightly that she could hardly draw breath. “What are we to do?”

His mouth descended on hers, and she tasted again the sweetness of his caress. Her tongue darted out to ignite the smoldering coals of his passion, as his hands slipped beneath her fur-lined cloak to lay claim to her naked throat and heaving bosom.

“Eliz-a-beth,” he murmured, and the single word made her knees go weak. She sagged against him as his lips brushed her throat and ear with feather-light kisses.

“I can't live like this,” she agonized. “Oh, Cain . . . Cain.”

He kissed her again, and the thrill flowed through her veins to turn her blood to molten lava. Her head fell back, and the cloak dropped away to pool around her ankles. The ache in the pit of her stomach was a grinding force, driving away all thoughts of danger, of discovery.

“He be not your true husband.” Cain's soft, slurred English took her breath away. “I be your uikiimuk, your husband. You pledged your love of me on a faraway sand. Honor that pledge tonight, Eliz-a-beth, lest death rob us.” He lifted her in his sinewy arms and carried her toward the coach.

“Lady Elizabeth! Lady Elizabeth!” Betty's shrill voice broke through the spell Cain had woven around her.

“Wait,” Elizabeth cried. “Betty—”

Cain whirled around with her still in his arms. The young maid was standing in the open doorway, eyes huge with fright.

“Oh, m'lady!” she wailed. “I—”

“Betty!” Elizabeth repeated as she slid from Cain's arms. “Come here. Close the door, lock it, and come here.”

Betty began to cry.

Cain sighed. “Do not be afraid,” he said softly. “This one will not hurt you.”

Betty stepped inside the coach house and pulled the door tightly closed. She was still weeping and trembling as she dropped the iron bolt into place. “I . . . I kin understand him, m'lady,” she whimpered. “I . . . I kin understand his heathen talk.”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Cain speaks English. It's English you hear.”

Betty's pale face wagged back and forth in the semidarkness. “I speak English. He don't speak no English.”

Elizabeth held out her hands to the girl. “Come here, child. You're safe. Cain won't harm you.”

Betty stood rooted to the floor, gazing at Cain as though he were the Grim Reaper incarnate. “I don't know no Cain,” she managed. “It's him I'm afeared of.”

“His name is Cain,” Elizabeth said. She glanced sideways at Cain, willing him to remain motionless as she tried to soothe the terrified maid. “He's just a man, Bett, just a good man.”

“He's a savage.” Betty took a step back and flattened her skinny body against the door. “He's the same'n what tried t' carry ye off in Jamestown. I saved ye then, lady, and I kin save ye again. I'll hold him back while ye run.”

Cain's chuckle was like the rustle of satin. “You lock the door, Bettee. Will Eliz-a-beth run through door like ghost?”

Betty chewed at her lower lip.

“What do you mean, you saved me before?” Elizabeth asked. “How did you save me?”

The little maidservant shrank farther into her skin. “I . . . I tole Master Baldwin and the missus. I thought t' save ye from the heathen when ye was out o' yer head wi' the fever.” She sniffed loudly and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. “I did it t' save ye, m'lady, not fer t' hurt nobody. Did I do wrong?”

Elizabeth exhaled and looked at Cain meaningfully.

He nodded. “I hear truth spoken,” he admitted huskily. “This one was wrong not to believe you.”

“Why do you think Cain is the same Indian that came to my bedchamber in Jamestown?” Elizabeth asked the girl.

“I heard 'em talkin' on the ship. They said ye went belowdecks and took food t' the Injun. Ye wouldn't o' done that if he weren't the same'n.”

“You be right, little one,” Cain said, folding his arms across his chest. “I am this man, but I never bring hurt to your lady. She be my lady too.”

Elizabeth beckoned, and Betty flew sobbing into her arms. “I never meant no harm,” she cried. “I never did.”

Elizabeth hugged the girl. “Can I trust you?”

Betty's head bobbed. “Wi' me life, lady, wi' me life.”

Elizabeth gripped the girl's shoulders and held her at arm's length. “If you tell anyone what you saw here, Lord Dunmore will kill all three of us.”

A squeak of terror escaped Betty's clenched lips.

“We will die,” Elizabeth repeated slowly. “He will cut you into tiny pieces and throw you down the well.”

Betty moaned as her breath became irregular.

“No,” Elizabeth said, shaking her. “You won't faint. You'll listen to every word I tell you. Do you understand?” Betty gave a small sound of assent. “Good. Nothing will happen to you if you do exactly as I say. I'll protect you from Dunmore.”

“The savage will scalp me.”

Cain chuckled again. “This one promises he will not.”

The door rattled. “Lady Elizabeth? Are you in there?” It was the footman Robert. “I have another tapestry.”

“Say nothing,” Elizabeth whispered urgently. “I will explain everything to you later. Open the door for Robert, and act as though nothing has gone wrong.”

“He will not believe,” Cain said. “The child is crying.”

“Say I slapped you for carelessness.” Elizabeth pushed Betty toward the door as Cain wrapped the cloak around Elizabeth's shoulders and brought his lips close to her ear.

“Tonight?” he whispered in Lenape.

“Yes,” she answered in the same tongue. God help my soul, but I have waited long enough to become a woman, she thought. “Tonight. But where?”

“Send your women away and I will come to your bed.”

She lapsed into English. “My chamber windows are barred.”

“La kella,
” he murmured. “This one will find a way.” He knelt to gather up the fallen tapestry, and when Robert entered, Cain was standing a proper distance from Lady Elizabeth with his eyes obediently cast down.

W
hen night fell over London, Elizabeth bathed and scented her hair and body, donned her azure nightrobe of the finest silk, and sent her maids to sleep in the outer chamber. All the while, she silently argued with herself that Cain would not come to her tonight—could not.

But you know he will find a way,
her heart cried.
This will be the wedding night you never had.

Thoughts of Cain—the man she loved more than life itself—drove back the fears that threatened to numb her mind. She had not forgotten her father's message; in her heart, she'd judged Edward and found him guilty of a crime no one had dared openly accuse him of committing.

How like Sommersett to warn her. It followed as naturally that Elizabeth knew she could expect little further protection from her family.
Secure your claims with an heir,
her father had advised. Elizabeth shuddered. Did Sommersett believe she would want Edward's child? How could any woman be expected to seek the babe of one so foul that he would murder his own brother and father?

The family comes first,
her grandfather, the old earl, had said. How many times had Elizabeth heard those words? They had been repeated by her uncles, her father, even her mother.
Sommersett interests are more important than the happiness or even the life of a single member of the family.
Even as a child, Elizabeth had understood that some Sommersetts were more valuable than others and that a female came very low on the list.

“Father would sacrifice me for the chance to control the Dunmore lands and money,” she murmured. “He loves me in his own way, and he would suffer if I died, but it changes nothing.” I cannot leave Dunmore and go to my father's house for protection. Pray God that Edward does not realize that.

Edward had been in Virginia when his older brother, the heir to the earldom, had met an untimely death. The official word was that Richard Lindsey was killed in a coach accident. Such things happened all the time. The fact that Richard's father was also killed made the incident a double tragedy. Who could blame Edward for something that happened when he was half a world away? Was it not fortunate for the Lindsey family that there was a second son to inherit the title and fortune?

Edward and Richard had been enemies since they were children. Richard had been an overlarge, overbearing bully. Elizabeth had seen him taunt Edward, pushing him into contests that a slight boy, six years younger, had no chance of winning.

“Soft Sword,” Elizabeth whispered into the still room. That was what Richard had called his twelve-year-old brother that Christmas they had all been guests at Lord Sneldon's country house. Other boys had taken up the cry, shaming Edward, and sending him weeping to hide in the stables. “Edward Soft Sword.” Could that bitter insult have come true so many years later?

She tried to remember snatches of gossip she had overheard from her mother's friends. Richard Lindsey had destroyed his magnificent stallion because it had lost a race he had bet heavily on; Richard Lindsey had abused maidservants at Sotterley until one, reportedly pregnant with his child, had committed suicide.

Now this same Richard Lindsey was dead and his brother Edward ruled in his place. Did Edward carry the same seeds of madness? Had he murdered Richard to become earl? And if he had, why was it necessary to destroy their old father at the same time? The aging earl of Dunmore had been ill for many years. He'd been carried about in a chair at the time of Elizabeth's betrothal.

“My father believes that Edward had them both killed.” Elizabeth stared into the flickering coals on the hearth. Sommersett was a cautious, rational man with a network of spies and informers. “He would not suggest such a terrible thing to me unless he had proof.”

She buried her face in her hands and rocked to and fro in despair. Her life was in danger, yet she was expected to play the part of a doting, obedient wife. Did no one care what she wanted?

Someone did. A small sensation of joy bubbled up from deep within. Cain cared nothing for the Sommersett family or for wealth and power. He had professed his love when she was no more than a ragged castaway, a bit of flotsam washed up on the waves.

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she traced the curves of her lips with two fingertips, lips she had pressed so boldly against Cain's. “Cain loves me.”

And I love him. She breathed in deeply, letting the heady thrill wash through her trembling body. He is no more than a slave. He has nothing . . . but he has everything.

“If I must play this twisted game of power for my father, is it too much to ask a little happiness for myself?”

Outside the window, the wind howled around the corners of the house. Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap, sat quietly, and waited.

Bridget's voice startled her as the Irish girl's candlelit face appeared in the doorway. “M'lady. Lord Dunmore bids ye come to his chambers.”

“What does he want?” Elizabeth asked.

Bridget's hand, holding the candlestick, wavered. “Don't know.”

“Tell my husband that I am indisposed, and that I will wait on him in the morning.” Elizabeth pressed her lips tightly together as she noticed the raised palm print on the maid's face.

“I tried, m'lady. I said 'twas yer woman's time, but Jane made me the liar.” Bridget's eyes were red-rimmed. “He asked Betty first, and she swore ye were bleedin' sore.”

Elizabeth rose to her feet. “Where is Betty?”

“That slut Jane gave her a bloody nose. I sent her to the kitchen to clean her face and shift.”

“Did Jane strike you?”

Bridget shook her head. “The lord. He threatened to send me away, m'lady, if I didn't fetch ye.”

Elizabeth sighed and turned away. I'll not let him bed me this night, she swore, not if it means my life.

“Lord Dunmore said ye would make excuse. He said ye must come, or he would send his savage to carry ye like a slab of beef.”

Edward was propped up on a daybed in his bedchamber, the remains of his late supper on a walnut gate-legged table before him. “M'lady wife,” he greeted her mockingly as he raised a glass in salute. “How kind of you to join me. Are you hungry?”

Elizabeth glanced at the half-eaten eel pie and the large blood sausage with distaste. Bits of sugar cakes and marzipan littered Edward's napkin; at his beringed right hand lay a gnawed ham bone with fat and gristle still clinging to it. Her gaze lingered on his hand. His fingers were puffy, like some pig's bladder a child had blown up for sport.

“You are ill?” she asked, keeping her voice level despite her wildly thudding heart.

“On the contrary, my dear, I feel much better. My appetite has returned.” He indicated the decanter on the table. “Don't just stand there like a stick. Sit down. Will you have a glass of Canary wine? It is quite good.”

She shook her head. “You know that the physician has forbidden you any strong spirits.” From the smell of the room, her husband had indulged in more than wine. She wrinkled her nose as she caught the sour odor of urine. Edward's chamber pot was obviously in need of emptying.

“God's wounds! The man is a despot, damn his greedy bowels! He knows nothing.” Edward sucked a lump of eel out of a rotting back tooth and chewed it. “I'll not have him at me again with his leeches and his bleeding cups.” He drained the wineglass and belched.

“You're drunk,” Elizabeth accused, taking the offensive. Nothing would make her accept this swine as her husband, and nothing would make her reveal the fear that threatened to cause her to lose her own supper.

“What if I am?”

She caught the inside of her mouth between her teeth and bit down until she tasted blood. “Do you think you can summon me like some kitchen drozel?” she demanded regally. “You forget who I am.”

His face reddened as he came to his feet, fists clenched. “And you, madame, forget who I am. I am your rightful lord. I may summon you at any hour of the day, strip you naked, and futter you in the courtyard before all the servants, if it please me.”

“You are welcome to try.”

“Bitch!”

Elizabeth allowed herself a faint smile. “Your futtering seems less effective than it once was, m'lord. Before you attempt to degrade me, be certain that you can complete the performance.”

Edward shrieked with fury, ripped the wig from his head, and flung the empty wineglass at her face. It missed by three feet.

She laughed.

“I'll lock you away,” he threatened. “I'll—”

“You'll do nothing to me. Have you forgotten that I am Sommersett's favorite child? My father holds a letter from me, to be opened in case of my disappearance or death. In that letter, m'lord Dunmore, I accuse you of being unable to fulfill a husband's duties and of threatening my life.”

Purple veins stood out on Edward's new-shaven head, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. “You lying slut! You're mad as a March hare. I'll have you confined in Bedlam.”

“You're not the first to suggest such a solution, but—” Cursing, he lunged toward her. She seized a two-pronged fork from his table and held it before her. “Threaten me at your own risk,” she warned. “I know more of your affairs than you realize. It was not fate that made you earl, but human intervention.”

Edward's face went slack and paled to the color of lard. Grasping his throat, he fell back against the bedpost and clung to it for support. “What . . . what do you mean?” he squeaked.

She let the hand holding the fork fall to her waist. Her gaze met his, and she read the naked truth in his eyes.
He's guilty. He killed them both.
“I am Lady Dunmore,” she said smoothly. “Whatever touches your honor touches mine. I would not be permitted to bring witness against you in court if I wished. Isn't it better for us to live separately in peace?”

He sagged onto the bed. “What are you saying? I have done nothing.”

“Nothing, m'lord?” She smiled slyly. “Of course not. Unless . . .” She hesitated, then forced herself to cross to the table and pour herself a glass of the Canary wine. She took a sip, then turned back toward her husband. “My father knows the truth.”

His chin quivered. “What truth?”

Elizabeth sighed and nibbled a slice of cheese. “It is enough that you are Lord Dunmore. You need have no fear. Your secret is safe with me.” She yawned daintily and covered her mouth with her palm. “I had no wish to be married to the
second
son of an earl. I am accustomed to better things.”

Edward licked his lips. “I could kill you as easily.”

“I think not,” she replied. “It is to your advantage and mine for us to remain good friends. I will interfere with nothing in your life if you will give me the same respect. I will choose my own servants and come and go as I please.”

“And my rights as your husband?”

“Naturally,” she continued, “friends need not share a bed. Take a mistress and put it about that I am barren. It should gain you a measure of sympathy among your friends.”

“While you make a dung heap of my family honor?”

“I have no interest in fleshly pleasures,” she lied. “Leave me to my innocent pursuits and I will behave in all ways befitting a modest matron.”

“You dare to try and blackmail me into such an agreement?”

“Not blackmail, m'lord. I would never stoop to such disgusting behavior.” She spread her hands prettily before him. “But I am, after all, a Sommersett. We are known for bargaining, are we not?”

“I admit nothing.”

She raised her chin a notch. “And I accuse you of nothing.”

“So be it, woman,” he rasped. “But if you swell with another man's child, I'll drown it like a stray bitch's whelp. And if you shame me—by word or deed—I'll have you poisoned. Sommersett be damned!”

“Agreed.” Elizabeth dipped into a graceful curtsy. “Good night, m'lord. Sleep well, and do mind your health. For if you die, your title will pass to another, and I'll no longer be Lady Dunmore, but simply another marriageable daughter for my father's house.”

She was halfway to her own chambers before she let the tears slide down her cheeks.