Twilight 0f Memory (Historical Regency Romance) Read online

  Damon gave a short, cynical snort. "You never stooped to me when you were a servant in my house. Why should I expect you to do so after we're married?"

  He was right. She hadn't stooped to him then. She'd mocked him, and taunted him, and even tattooed a rat on his chest, and he'd not so much as mildly chastised her for her impertinence. Now, he was offering her a chance to gain a jute plantation and become an independent woman, with the possibility of tapping into buried memories, the absence of which had haunted her for years. Only by returning to Shanti Bhavan could she learn the truth and come to terms with a past that continued to elude her, and for that, she was willing to endure a brief, unconsummated marriage. "Very well, I'll agree to this provided your solicitor draws up a separate contract between you and me about Shanti Bhavan, and that you give your word to my father, in writing as a pre-nuptial agreement, that the marriage will not be consummated for three months. At which time it will be dissolved."

  "Believe me. I don't want this marriage any more than you. It's purely the means to an end."

  ***

  Lord Sheffield smiled at Elizabeth. "I'm glad you've accepted Damon's offer. In time you'll realize what a wise decision you've made. And Damon, I don't know what you did to convince this young woman to be your wife, but I'm pleased you did. I cannot think of a finer man, or one I'd welcome more as my son-in-law."

  Elizabeth eyed her father with concern. "Your solicitor does understand about our three-month trial period, doesn't he?"

  "About not consummating the marriage?"

  "Well... yes. It must be in writing."

  "I don't know why you'd put such a severe restriction on a physically sound man, Elizabeth—" Lord Sheffield turned his gaze on Damon "—or why you'd allow Elizabeth to do it, Damon, but it seems the two of you have come to this decision, so my solicitor will include it in the pre-nuptial agreement."

  "It's what I want, Father. I barely know this man. It's only because you're so certain about him that I'm willing to marry him at all. This way, if we don't get on after three months, an annulment will be simple."

  "I guarantee, if you keep your husband out of your bed, you will not get on at all. You cannot expect a man to remain faithful if you refuse to submit to your marital duty. A man has certain physical needs that you are yet unaware of."

  "Don't underestimate your daughter," Damon said. "She seems a very astute young woman, wise in the ways of life."

  "What are you implying, Lord Ravencroft?" Elizabeth clipped.

  "Please, it's Damon. And it was a compliment."

  "I fail to see it that way. You deliberately—"

  "Elizabeth!" Lord Sheffield broke in. "That's enough." He turned to Damon. "Like I said, Elizabeth tends to be outspoken, but I assure you, she is innocent of men."

  "Then as my wife I'll make it a point to educate her." Damon held her gaze. "I have no doubt she'll be an apt pupil."

  Elizabeth bristled. "How could you possibly make that assumption? We've only just met."

  "That may be, but it feels as if we've known each other for years, don't you think?"

  "It's funny you should mention it," Lord Sheffield said. "You two seem... well... acquainted, and I wondered if perhaps your paths might have crossed in India."

  Damon addressed Lord Sheffield. "Perhaps we seem like acquaintances because at the ball the sight of Elizabeth took me by surprise, but I believe she noticed me as well." He looked askance at her.

  Elizabeth glared at him. "Had it not been for the flashy jewel in your turban I would not have noticed you at all."

  Damon gave her a dark smile. "It seems I'm marrying a woman who covets my jewels."

  Elizabeth shot him a look of dire warning. "I don't covet them. I just can't help but notice them when you display them in such an ostentatious manner."

  Damon eyed Elizabeth with amusement. "You have agreed to marry me, Elizabeth, so something about me must have caught your fancy? I'm curious to know what it is. According to your father you've shown no interest in any of your suitors."

  "Since you're pressing the issue, something about you did catch my attention, though not my fancy. It was your eyes. Their color reminded me of someone I met in India a long time ago, an arrogant, egotistic, self-absorbed man I'd just as soon forget."

  Damon held her unwavering gaze. "But have not been able to, it seems."

  "Unpleasant memories hang on longer than pleasant ones. I'm marrying you because I no longer wish to be a burden to my father."

  "Then we'd better discuss the wedding arrangement," Lord Sheffield interjected. "We have an unusual situation on our hands with Damon presenting himself as a prince."

  "I'm glad you brought that up," Elizabeth said. "Just who am I to marry? Lord Damon Ravencroft or Prince Rao Singh?"

  "Actually, neither. You'll be marrying Lord Edmund Carlisle, who will eventually become Earl of Westwendham. You'll be married by the captain of the steamer. The captain agreed to allow you to board the steamer under cover of darkness the night before embarking. He'll marry you right away, then Damon will dispense with the whiskers, and you'll present yourselves aboard ship as Lord and Lady Ravencroft. After Damon has cleared his name, you'll return to England as Lord and Lady Edmund Carlisle."

  "Or as Lord Carlisle and Lady Sheffield," Elizabeth corrected. "Make absolutely certain that the pre-nuptial agreement includes the clause about the three-month trial period."

  Lord Sheffield released a long sigh. "Yes, Elizabeth, it will be done." He turned to Damon. "I warned you she was headstrong, but I trust marriage will mitigate some of those tendencies. She'll be a good wife once she knows what's expected of her."

  "I do know what's expected of a wife, Father." Elizabeth turned to Damon. "And I want you, Lord Raven... Damon, to give my father your word, in my presence, that you will not attempt to consummate our marriage for three months."

  Damon looked at Lord Sheffield. "I give you my word, William, that I will not consummate the marriage for three months, unless, of course it's Elizabeth's wish."

  Elizabeth gave him a sharp look. "Why did you add that?"

  Damon shrugged. "You might change your mind. Headstrong women are often impulsive. Besides, we'll have three weeks at sea to get better acquainted. By the time we reach India we should know each other... intimately."

  Elizabeth eyed him with vexation. "We may know a little more about each other by then, but I assure you, we will not know each other intimately."

  One corner of Damon's mouth lifted. "We shall see."

  CHAPTER 7

  Lady Edmund Carlisle swept open the door to the stateroom, expecting to find a two-room suite, and found instead, a single room with a berth barely wide enough to accommodate two people. She turned and confronted Damon. "I expected separate staterooms, or in the very least, separate beds."

  Damon eyed her dispassionately. "Then you'll have to change your expectation."

  Elizabeth looked at the narrow berth. There was no way they could share it without coming in contact with each other—her back touching his back if they lay on their sides facing away from each other, and if they rolled over and face each other, their lips would be inches apart.

  She paused on that thought long enough to remind herself that what happened in his bedchamber when she was clearing away dead mice, and again the night she was dancing, would never happen again. She couldn't remember what made her lose her inhibitions when he'd kissed her those times but she knew with certainty it would never happen again.

  She made a brief survey of the stateroom: a captain's chair, a dresser with several drawers, a 'throne' with a chamber pot, a wash stand with a basin, pitcher and small mirror above, but no privacy screen, which meant she'd have to dress and undress in front of Damon, even be forced to use the commode in his presence. The thought of sharing such intimacies with the man she was trapped into marriage with brought an acrid taste rising in her throat. "You gave my father your word in writing you would not consummate the marriage."

 
Damon closed the door. "True, but I didn't agree to sleep in separate beds."

  Feeling as if Damon were invading her private space just being in the closed quarters, Elizabeth backed away, putting some distance between them. "I refuse to sleep in that bed with you. It would be far too intimate. I demand you get me my own cabin."

  "You demand?" Damon's eyes fixed on hers in a visual standoff. "You're in no position to demand anything, gypsy girl. You're no longer under your father's protection, you're under mine, so what you demand is immaterial. I chose these quarters so by the time we reach India I'll be intimately familiar with every inch of you. I'll know precisely when you go to sleep and when you wake up. I'll know whether you sleep soundly or turn restlessly in the night. I'll know when you bathe and when you use the commode. I intend to know more about you than you know about yourself so by the time we reach India there'll be no way in hell you'll trick me again."

  Elizabeth was determined not to be intimidated by this man who now held legal power over her, power she'd granted with a few words hastily uttered in the presence of the captain moments before. But even though she was powerless if Damon intended to get his way, she'd not give in to him easily. "I absolutely refuse to sleep in the same bed with you. I'll sleep on the floor!"

  Damon walked over to her and trailed a finger along the side of her face and across her tightly pressed lips, leaving them tingling. "Fine, do that. It'll make it easier for me to keep my hands off you."

  "If we had separate staterooms it would be easier yet. I'd be no threat if I happened to awaken during the night and be tempted to draw my knife and shove it between your ribs," Elizabeth said, feeling a sense of pleasure that her presence was causing him distress.

  One corner of Damon's mouth tugged in a cynical smile. "Ignoring the fact that you no longer have your knife, it might be easier, but I couldn't study you the way I intend to."

  "I hate you," she hissed.

  In one long stride Damon stood a breath away. Clasping her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. "That's precisely why we will share this stateroom." He released her chin and started unbuttoning his shirt.

  Elizabeth's heart began a staccato beat. "What are you doing?"

  "Taking off my clothes."

  Elizabeth looked at him in alarm. "Why?"

  "Because I intend to go to bed and I don't sleep in my clothes." He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it on the bed.

  Elizabeth stared at the tattoo above his heart, remembering the wretched look on his face when he'd learned she'd tattooed a rat, and his hasty departure. At the time, she felt a need to go after him and tell him she was sorry for whatever grief she'd caused. Now, she was glad she'd caused him misery, hopefully as much as he was causing her.

  Catching the direction of her gaze, he walked over to where she stood and placed his hand over the tattoo. "I carry it like a brand."

  Elizabeth eyed him guardedly, wary of what he intended, standing half-naked before her. He'd also blocked her path to the door. "What do you want from me?"

  "I want you to put your hands on my chest."

  "Why should I do that?"

  "Because I want to look in your eyes and see the expression on your face when you feel my heart beating beneath your palm, knowing it's a heart you'd like to see stop, then I'll commit to memory that expression because it may save my life someday." He took her hand and placed it over his heart and held it there at length. "It's a strong heart, and it's guarded by a rib cage and a band of solid muscles, but even a butter knife from the dining table could slip between my ribs."

  Damon's heart pulsing steadily beneath Elizabeth's palm, it was the span of several heartbeats before she realized he'd removed his hand, yet her palm remained pressed against his chest. She snatched it away, but she couldn't quell the restlessness she'd felt with each heavy beat of his heart. Nor could she dismiss the intimate moment that passed between them when she'd looked into his eyes, eyes so compelling she hadn't realized she'd been holding her palm to his chest of her own will.

  He knew her weakness now, and it was his gain. In future, she'd be on guard. "Perhaps I'll strangle you instead. That too would give me pleasure."

  "I'll keep that in mind." Damon crouched in front of her, and before she could react, he ran his hands up her legs.

  "What do you think you're doing!?" She kicked out a foot, attempting to strike him.

  Damon grabbed her ankle. "Checking for knives.

  "You know I haven't got a knife. Why are you doing this?"

  "Because what you stole from me set my life back years and left my gateman dead and I want the assurance I won't meet the same fate while I sleep."

  "You admitted I'm not responsible for what happened to your gateman."

  "Yes, but if you hadn't invaded my home to steal my opal my gateman would still be alive and his wife and children would not be under my care." He released her ankle and stood.

  As her skirts settled around her legs, Elizabeth said, "You needn't worry about finding a knife in your heart because I don't have one, though the image that brings gives me a small amount of pleasure."

  Damon looked steadily at her. "I'm not sure I believe you. When your hand was over my heart I didn't see what I expected."

  Feeling a renewed sense of bravado, Elizabeth said, "Good. I haven't lost all my gypsy ways, so if you'll give me half that bedding I'll make up my bed on the floor."

  "I said I wouldn't touch you."

  "You've said a lot of things, but I'd sooner sleep on a bed of nails than share a bed with you. You also gave my father your word you'd treat me well, which means with respect."

  "The only word I gave your father was that I wouldn't lay a cruel hand on you or consummate the marriage for three months. Everything else was implied. If this marriage is consummated it will be because you willingly let me bed you."

  Elizabeth let out an unladylike snort. "That won't happen because I'll never be a wife to you in the strict sense of the word."

  "You're right. A wife is someone to love, cherish, and respect. A mistress is someone who satisfies a man's needs in return for food, shelter and a few baubles. If you come to my bed, gypsy girl, you'll come as my mistress, never as my wife." While Elizabeth stood glaring at him, he stripped down to his under drawers and lowered himself to the bed, then sat against the pillows watching her with smoldering eyes, like a maharajah waiting for his concubine.

  Her heart pounding painfully, Elizabeth stared at the man she was legally wed to. She hated him, hated him even more than she'd hated Januz the gypsy. Yet, as she stared at the hard contours of his muscular male body sculpted by golden lamplight, she wanted to touch him. She hated him. Yet she wanted him.

  "Now remove your dress so I can see if there's something stashed somewhere else. Do it slowly. You know how. Give me one of your provocative smiles and let your dress slip off your shoulder like you did at the horse fair. It should give you some satisfaction knowing I'll be frustrated with desire for you while honoring my word to your father."

  "My father would have this marriage annulled if he knew what you were doing," Elizabeth said, while ignoring his request to remove her dress.

  "Your father gave me permission to rein you in as I see fit, and I see fit to make sure you don't stick a knife in my heart. Now, remove your dress. I'm an honorable man. I won't force myself on you."

  Primed to walk out, Elizabeth glanced at the door, but before she made a move, Damon said, "You could leave but where would you go? To another man's bed? I'm sure you'd be welcome; you're a desirable woman. Now, undress gypsy girl. Repay me for stealing my opal and condemning me to that hellhole called India until I can clear my name and claim my birthright."

  "It was not your opal. It belonged to the gypsies."

  "Only because they stole it in the first place, but I paid a king's ransom for it, everything I'd saved to clear my name. I was within a month of returning to England when you took it from me. Now remove your dress or I'll rip it from you. If you don't believ
e me, stand there and do nothing and you'll learn early on in our sham of a marriage that I do what I say."

  When Elizabeth still made no move to undress, Damon started toward her. She quickly turned her back to him and began unfastening her dress. Slipping it off her shoulders, she let it drop to the floor, leaving her standing in her corset, camisole and drawers. As she stood with her back to him, Damon left the bed, and like a slave master inspecting his property, walked around her, moving so close she could feel his breath fanning her shoulder and tickling her chest and neck as he slowly came around to face her squarely.

  She lifted her chin. "Are you convinced I'm not armed?"

  "I'm convinced of a lot of things, one being that I want you in my bed." Damon traced a finger along the curve of her shoulder. "You make my blood boil."

  Elizabeth shoved his hand away. "Don't touch me."

  He grasped her wrist and held it. "I have a legal right. I gave your father my word I wouldn't consummate this marriage for three months, but until that time, I will touch the woman I'm legally wed to, where I want, when I want. Now put on your night dress and go to sleep." He stripped the blanket from the bed and tossed it at her feet, followed by the pillow, then stretched out on the mattress, turned his back to her and said nothing more.

  Humiliated, Elizabeth slipped into her night dress, made up a pad on the floor and spent a restless night listening to Damon's steady breathing, furious that he was sleeping, while images of his intense gaze left her feeling aroused in a way she couldn't explain.

  And still, she wished the man who was her legal husband would die a slow, agonizing death while she had the pleasure of watching.

  ***

  The following morning, Elizabeth opened her eyes to the sight of Damon standing at the wash stand, bare-chested and in his drawers, peering into the mirror while shaving. He'd cut off his beard with scissors and was scraping away the stubble. How she'd managed to slip into a sleep so deep she hadn't heard him get up was beyond her. But then, she'd spent a fitful night, twisting and turning against the blanket palette she'd prepared on the bare wood floor, all the while pondering Damon's impassioned gaze as he'd slowly circled her. So disturbed she'd been by her unwanted reaction to his touch that by the time she'd drifted to sleep, dawn was breaking.