Whirlwind Wedding

Chapter 22

The damn woman was impossible to ignore.

He wouldn't have been able to ignore her if they'd been in a huge ballroom. The confines of his coach nearly undid him.

All his senses were intensely aware of her. Every time he inhaled, her gentle lilac scent filled his head.

In desperation, he closed his eyes, praying he'd fall asleep, but his prayers were in vain. Instead images of her danced behind his eyes. Images that nothing could erase.

What would it take to wipe her from his thoughts? From his heart? His soul?

He opened one eye a slit. She sat across from him, reading a book, and appeared cool and composed, a fact that rankled him. Clearly he was the only one who was suffering.

He slammed his eye shut and held in a grunt. By damn, he was determined to suffer in silence. Even if the effort killed him.

The coach ride nearly killed her.

Elizabeth exited the coach in Dover and stretched her cramped muscles. The journey had been sheer torture. Five hours of pretending to read a book she could not even name the title of. And all the while Austin had sat across from her, sleeping.

She would have gladly welcomed sleep, but she could barely sit still, let alone close her eyes. She spent the entire journey staring at her book, her heart desperately trying to convince her mind to accept the offer Austin had made weeks ago-to be lovers in ways that would not result in the conception of a child.

But as much as her heart begged her mind refused to listen. It would only take one slip in control-control that somehow eludes me when he takes me in his arms-and I couldfind myself with child. And I know that child's fate.

An icy shudder ripped through her. As much as her decision hurt, she could not subject Austin to the torment of their daughter's death.

Austin stared at the innkeeper. "I beg your pardon?"

"There's only one room, your grace," the elderly man repeated.

He truly had to fight the urge to pound his fists upon the stone walls. Damn it, what else could go wrong? But even as the question entered his mind he banished it. Better not to ask.

And no point taking his frustrations out on the innkeeper. It wasn't the elderly man's fault that his inn was full. After issuing instructions to the footman to deliver the necessary baggage to the available room, he allowed the innkeeper to lead him and Elizabeth up the stairs.

The room was small but cheerful, the space nearly wholly occupied by a comfortable-looking bed covered with an intricately embroidered cream coverlet.

"There's fresh water in the pitcher, your grace," the innkeeper said. "Will you need anything else?"

Austin pried his attention from the bed and the wealth of thoughts it inspired. "Nothing else, thank you."

The innkeeper left, closing the door behind him. Austin watched Elizabeth fiddle with the ties on her bonnet. She looked at him and offered an uncertain half smile.

"This is a… tad awkward," she said.

He approached her, his eyes riveted on hers. "Awkward? Why is that? We're man and wife."

Crimson stained her cheeks. "I cannot share a bed with you."

"So you've said. But unfortunately there is only one bed. And two of us."

"I shall sleep on the floor," she said in what he believed she intended as a confident voice, but the slight tremor gave a clear indication that she was rattled.

Good. She was not as calm as she appeared. He'd just spent five miserable hours, and the notion that she might be miserable as well cheered him considerably.

He took another step toward her. Her eyes widened a bit, but she stood her ground. Another step closer and he detected her sharp intake of breath. Two more strides and he stood directly in front of her. Her golden brown eyes flickered with apprehension, but he grudgingly had to admire her spirit in not backing away from him. But damn it, he longed to shake her composure. As she'd shaken his.

Lowering his gaze to her mouth, he whispered, "It isn't necessary for you to sleep on the floor, Elizabeth."

"I'm afraid it is."

"Because you don't trust me not to seduce you?"

"I trust you," she whispered. "It's myself I cannot trust."

The ache in her voice snapped his gaze back to hers. He studied her, the vulnerability glimmering in her eyes, the need and desire shadowing their golden depths, and his breath stalled. He sensed she was trying desperately to hide it, but the evidence was there in her eyes. She wanted him. Desire shimmered from her like warm sun rays, beckoning him.

He lifted his hand to touch her, but curled his fingers into a fist and resisted the powerful urge. Her eyes told him he could seduce her, but he couldn't endure the pain of having to let her go again. Of hearing her say afterward that she planned to leave him. As much as he wanted her, her betrayal still hurt too much.

Turning from her, he walked to the window and dragged his hands down his face. It occurred to him that Elizabeth's visions were a double-edged sword. On the one side, they'd helped lead him to Gaspard who would in turn hopefully lead him to William.

But her premonitions had robbed him of his marriage. His wife. The chance for a future filled with happiness. And children. They'd left him with nothing but anger, pain, betrayal, and a heartache so deep he didn't know if he'd ever stop hurting.

He heard her crossing the room and he turned around freezing when he found her standing no more than a foot away from him. She appeared equally startled by this sudden nearness, and equally riveted in place. He had only to reach out to touch her… to take one step forward to hold her in his arms. His brain ordered him to move away, but his feet remained rooted to the spot as if someone had nailed his shoes to the floor.

He could see every pale gold freckle on her nose, every soot-colored eyelash surrounding her beautiful eyes… eyes he didn't want to look into because they'd fooled him too many times. His gaze dropped to her mouth and he immediately recalled the sensation of her soft lips crushed beneath his, parting to accept the thrust of his tongue. Desire slammed into him and he clenched his hands, forcing them not to reach out. Damn it, he had to get out of this room.

"You sleep in the bed," he said, sidestepping around her. "I'm going downstairs for a drink. I'll find somewhere else to sleep."

She flinched, then stared at him. "It is not necessary to flaunt your… sleeping arrangements in my face."

He paused with his hand gripped on the doorknob. "I beg your pardon?"

"Naturally I don't expect you to remain celibate for the remainder of our marital union, but I'd appreciate your discretion."

An emotion he could not decipher glittered in her eyes. He made her an exaggerated formal bow. "I see. Your generous willingness to share me overwhelms me, and should the occasion arise, I shall endeavor to be discreet. However, for tonight it is my intention to sleep in that chair"- he inclined his head toward the wing chair in the corner-"but first I want a brandy." Or two. Three was not outside the realm of possibility.

He left the room, closing the door behind him, then drew a ragged breath into his lungs.

Bloody hell, he suspected an entire bottle would probably be necessary.

The packet docked in Calais late in the afternoon and Austin and Elizabeth were the first to disembark. He set out to arrange transportation to Marck and immediately realized what an asset Elizabeth was. She conversed in flawless French with the stable owner and ten minutes later they were presented with a handsome curricle pulled by two matched bays. God only knows what would have been brought had he been the one to order the transportation.

At once grateful and irked Austin climbed onto the leather seat. Before he could reach down to assist Elizabeth, the stable owner helped her climb onto the seat. Austin noted the admiring warmth in the man's eyes and sizzled a glare at him. Bloody hell, he needed to master the French phrase "stop staring at my wife, you bastard." Clearly unfazed the man merely grinned then sauntered away.

Grabbing the reins, Austin set the curricle in motion and turned his thoughts to the mission that lay ahead. They would arrive in Marck in approximately an hour. If all went well, he'd locate Gaspard and finally get answers to the questions plaguing him-about the blackmail notes and perhaps even William's whereabouts.

They hit a rut in the road and his shoulder bumped Elizabeth's. Stealing a sideways glance at her, he noted that she appeared pale and her hands were clenched. There was no way in hell he was going to bring her along on his meeting with Gaspard. The man was dangerous. He'd have to find an inn at which to leave her. He suspected she wouldn!t like it, but-

She grabbed his arm. "Austin."

Turning, he saw genuine fear in her eyes. "What is it?"

"We must hurry."

Alarm edged down his spine at the urgency in her tone. "Why?"

Pressing her fingers to her temples, she shook her head. "I'm not sure. It's not clear. But he's close by. And I know we must hurry." Her face turned chalky pale. "Please. It's a matter of life and death."

Austin nicked the reins, setting the horses off at a gallop.

Elizabeth held on tightly to her seat as the curricle raced down the path. Fleeting images flashed in her mind, none of them clear, but all of them dark and menacing.

"When we reach the village, I'm leaving you at an inn," Austin said his face tense from concentrating on driving the speeding curricle.

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, he reined the horses to a halt. They stopped before a fork in the road. Trees lined both paths. They looked identical.

"Damn it." Austin raked a hand through his hair. "Which way?"

Elizabeth stared alternately at both paths, but felt nothing. "Help me down."

He looked at her for the space of two heartbeats, then jumped to the ground to assist her. The instant her feet touched the ground, she ran to the fork. Drawing a deep breath, she knelt, closed her eyes, then placed her hands on the ground.

Images slashed through her mind and she forced herself to relax, to try to get a clear picture. It took several minutes, but when the vision appeared, it was crystal clear.

And devastating.

She saw herself. Bleeding. Losing consciousness. Dying.

Dear God, what was she going to do? If she told him what she'd seen, he would never allow her to go with him. He would insist upon bringing her to the village-and the time spent doing that would mean they'd be too late.

She knew someone was going to die.

But she also knew that if she went with him, she probably would not come back alive.

Opening her eyes, she stood and turned to face him. "We need to take the left fork."