Twilight 0f Memory (Historical Regency Romance) Read online

  Damon followed her down the hallway. It was a trap! He had no idea what her game was this time, but he'd be on guard, not be duped again. If she intended to seduce him tonight it was because she had an ulterior motive, though for the life of him he couldn't imagine what it could be. But he'd long since learned his lesson with Elizabeth. Once a fool, perhaps. Twice a fool, inexcusable. Thrice a fool… No way in hell!

  As the coach made its way toward Government House, Damon's attention shifted between sultry smiles, long-lashed eyes, and speculation as to why Elizabeth would want to consummate their marriage. His plan to change her feelings towards him from bitterness and hatred into love and desire had not yet been implemented, which made him suspicious. She wasn't behaving this way out of love for him. But until he learned her reason, he'd keep his distance, though it would take all the willpower he could marshal if she decided to get inside his breeches.

  Elizabeth patted his thigh. "You haven't said what you think of my costume, my lord pirate king. Do you think I look like a gypsy queen?" She gave him a glowing smile and waited.

  Damon peered into mischievous green eyes. "You know more about gypsy queens than I so you tell me, are you dressed like a gypsy queen?"

  Elizabeth shrugged. "Not any I've ever seen, but then, I designed the dress to catch your eye. So, did it?" She toyed with the ruffles along her neckline, then looked up at him and waited.

  "The dress is fine," Damon grumbled. "I'm sure every man there will notice." He intended to look away but her unhampered breasts swaying seductively with the motion of the coach held his attention. Hellfire and damnation, he wanted to fill his hands with all that soft, female flesh. Instead, he pressed his knotted fists to his knees and raised his gaze.

  "You're very edgy tonight, and this is our one evening out to enjoy," Elizabeth said. "I doubt Lord and Lady Ravencroft will ever be invited to mingle in British society again."

  Damon slid her a sideways glance. "Would that really bother you?"

  Elizabeth tipped her head in thought. "If truth be known, no, but if the evening is too dull, I've come prepared." She lifted the chain with the vials out from beneath her blouse.

  Damon eyed them dubiously. "Prepared for what?"

  "Righting a wrong." She nudged his shirt aside, and with the tip of her finger, brushed it over the tattoo above his heart. "It is an elegant rat, but since it bothers you, I'm prepared to tattoo something over it, perhaps a flower. The stem would drape along here." Her fingertip slowly trailed along the length of the rat's tail.

  Damon grabbed her wrist to stop what she was doing. He was on the verge of shoving all that flimsy stuff up her legs and having his way with her in the coach. If it had been any other woman doing the things she was doing he would have, but Elizabeth had a plan, which, it appeared, was to either consummate the marriage or drive him to insanity.

  "Does my touch bother you that much, my lord pirate king?" Elizabeth said, musingly. "I was only inspecting my handiwork."

  "The inspection's over." Damon clamped her hand against his thigh and held it there.

  "Pity because I have an idea for another tattoo. It came to me on the train when I was watching you wash your... umm... self. It would be a dragon, a sort of sleepy thing with scales and drowsy eyes, but whenever something awakened this sleeping dragon it would rise up. But I'm afraid you'd have to sit very still for this one."

  Damon looked straight ahead, determined not to be lured into this trap she was setting. But while he managed to ignore her verbal taunts, he couldn't dismiss the feel of her hand on his thigh. The irony was, he'd fancy this playful, wickedly teasing side of her if he were her beloved husband, but he wasn't, and it seemed he never would be. But she was right. He had treated her badly since they first met. He'd never considered her for anything more than a mistress from the onset. If she hadn't spoiled him for any other woman he could simply walk away at the end of their agreement, but from the moment she'd burst into his life he had no desire for any woman but her. He could consummate the marriage and tie her to him forever, but then he'd be nothing more than a puppet dancing on the end of his strings for her favors.

  No. She'd have to come to him willingly as his wife or not at all. Which was ironic. From her eager responses to him three years before he'd assumed she'd give herself to him with little more than an intimate touch and a passionate kiss. He'd also made it clear on the steamer that when she did give herself to him, it would be as the wanton hussy he'd assumed her to be. His cruel words were now branded on her mind, and she seemed intent on holding them there.

  CHAPTER 11

  The coach pulled to a halt at the entrance to Government House. The coachman stepped down and opened the door, and Damon escorted Elizabeth into an enormous ballroom where a caller announced, "Lord and Lady Ravencroft." The reaction from the attendees was entirely predictable. Dead silence as all eyes fixed on them. Then gradually, the murmur of voices rose, accompanied by heads bobbing behind fans, and palms cupped around attentive ears.

  Elizabeth slowly scanned the room. The gypsy queens were dazzling in their opulence, looking much like giant taffeta bells bedecked with beads, trifles, trinkets, and other garish baubles. Even their flashy faux crowns, by comparison, made hers look elegant. And the pirate kings strutted their stuff, like peacocks in tall boots, with breeches curving over portly bellies and molding to plump thighs, and ruffled blouses revealing pale white chests with sagging muscles.

  Elizabeth eyed the pirate king standing beside her, acutely aware of his overwhelming masculine demeanor. She also realized he was not going unnoticed by the females in the room. The realization that this quintessential specimen of a man was her husband in name only made her body come alive in ways she didn't welcome.

  She hadn't realized her fingers had tightened on his arm until he covered her hand with his, and said against her temple, "You are the reigning queen here tonight, Elizabeth. There's not a woman in this room who doesn't envy your beauty."

  Elizabeth laughed aloud at his wrong assessment. "The women in this room are not envying my beauty. What they see is a dashing pirate king wearing temptingly tight breeches who they want in their beds instead of the sexless popinjays at their sides." She gave him a playful smile and waited for his response.

  Peering down at her, Damon said in a sober voice, "If you want this marriage to remain unconsummated I suggest you stop the teasing."

  Elizabeth wondered if perhaps she'd carried her charade too far. Still, there was time to set Damon straight. The evening was too young to be burdened with figurative consequences. "It's all in fun. However, I'll stop teasing while you escort me around the dance floor."

  Damon said nothing, only covered her hand with his and started strolling around the floor, while she nodded and smiled at couples as they passed, as if Damon was the pirate king who reigned supreme, and she his queen. As they continued to stroll while waiting for the music to begin, Elizabeth was acutely aware of eyes on them—not direct stares, but subtle looks, snatched glances, raised brows. Tongues were wagging. But then, she was the only gypsy at the ball who could claim that title, and she was promenading around the dance floor with the only pirate king who looked capable of commanding a crew of hard-edged buccaneers.

  Deciding to ignore the scandalmongers, Elizabeth turned her attention to the splendid specimen of a man escorting her around the room. "The impression I got when I told you about this event was that you'd sooner be drawn and quartered than subjected to the indignities of arriving here as a pirate king. What made you change your mind?"

  Damon peered down at her. "I figured I'd better come protect you from yourself."

  Elizabeth gave him a saucy smile. "Were you afraid the wild gypsy girl you wrestled to the ground at the horse fair would surface and create a stir?"

  Damon patted her hand. "Something like that."

  The music started, and Elizabeth turned into Damon's arms. As he guided her around the dance floor to a slow waltz, the feel of his hand moving up and dow
n her spine was a heady reminder of the first and last time she'd danced with him. Images of that ill-fated evening unfolded in her mind. Disguised as a prince from the Punjab, she'd been drawn to the sight of him, even while a slow awareness began to dawn. From that point on, he'd made her life a living hell. At least initially he had.

  The past few weeks had been a buffer, and when she looked at him now she felt no animosity, only a kind of sadness that her need to prove herself to a clan of gypsies had changed both their lives irrevocably, sadness that is, along with a growing desire to feel Damon's arms around her, bizarre as it was. She also had to remind herself that if her passions became unleashed as they had the night she danced to the gypsy music, the marriage could be consummated, tying them together in a union neither wanted.

  Oddly, the idea of being free of him was not as all-consuming as it had been, nor was the thought of sharing his bed as abhorrent.

  She shifted her gaze from the dancers swirling around her, to Damon, who was looking steadily at her, and as she held his heated gaze, a flurry of sensual awakening brought prickles of perspiration to dampen her brow...

  "Are you unwell?" he asked. "Your face is flushed and damp."

  She batted her eyes nervously to snuff out the prurient thoughts, but as she continued to hold Damon's gaze, the urge to kiss him was so strong she had to bite her lip to keep from acting on it. "I'm finding it hot in here, with all the bodies swirling around us," she lied.

  "You need fresh air. We'll go outside." Damon took her arm and led her toward a door that opened onto the garden, and as they moved across the floor Elizabeth was aware of heads turning, and eyes following them, and glares and frowns and covert smiles of disdain. She was also aware of Damon's hand curved around her arm, and of the fact that she didn't want him to let her go. She had no idea where this would lead, but she was not only eager to get out of the stuffy room but she'd had enough pointed stares to last a lifetime.

  The entire evening had been a mistake. Why she'd accepted Lady Bourke's invitation she couldn't explain, other than she'd missed some of the pageantry she'd come to know while living in London. Returning to India, with its heat, bugs, varmints, and endless servants running her life, made her long for some normalcy. But tonight was definitely not normal. Nor was her reaction to Damon. At least not normal for her.

  She'd reacted to him years before, but for the first time since she uttered the words that joined them legally as man and wife, she welcomed his touch, and wanted to feel it everywhere.

  Once outside, Damon ushered her to where an ornate concrete fountain stood. Ringed by small gargoyles, the stone figures spewed streams of shimmering silvery water into the air to converge into a pool in the center of the fountain. It was mesmerizing to watch, but as she stared at the fountain, an ominous feeling crept over her, causing her face to feel as if on fire. She raised trembling hands and pressed them against her cheeks as she stared at the arcs of water converging and splashing at the center.

  Damon put his hands on her shoulders. "You're not well. We need to get you home."

  Elizabeth stood frozen, unable to move, unable to talk, as the streams of water spurting from the mouths of the gargoyles turned blood red, and while she continued to stare she began to shake uncontrollably. She turned from the sight of it and buried her face against Damon's chest.

  Damon curved his arms around her. "What is it?" he asked against the top of her head. "Is it what happened inside? It makes no difference what those people think."

  Her face buried against Damon's chest, Elizabeth said, "Are the gargoyles spitting blood?"

  Damon moved her away so he could look at her. "What are you talking about?"

  "The gargoyles. Are they spitting blood? Is the water red?"

  Damon looked at the fountain, then at Elizabeth. "It's just a fountain. Come on, we need to get you home." He ushered her to where their coach was waiting, and after helping her inside, he put his arm around her and said, "Tell me what happened."

  "I can't. I don't know. Sometimes I see things I know aren't there."

  "Things like what?"

  "Different things. It happened at Shanti Bhavan several times when I was there before. I don't know. Maybe I'm going mad."

  "What exactly did you see this time?"

  "Blood coming from the gargoyles mouths. I know it didn't happen, but it was so real." Elizabeth said nothing more as the coach made its way back to Shanti Bhavan. But soon the rocking coach, and the movement of her body against Damon, and the feel of his arm close around her dimmed the memory of the fountain until it faded away, while gradually her body, encircled by Damon's arm, began to awaken to an entirely different need, and before long she was unable to remember what had frightened her so.

  At Shanti Bhavan, Damon, with his arm around her waist, escorted her through the wide entry and up the stairs to her bedchamber. There, he stopped and stood staring at her, his brow gathered, as if uncertain what to do. When he did nothing, Elizabeth glided her palms up his chest and said, "I'm not ready for the evening to end."

  Damon eyed her cautiously, but only for a moment before he covered her mouth with his while backing her into the bedroom. As the kiss held, she let out a little moan of pleasure, and when Damon's hands began exploring places that were tingling in anticipation, it was all she could do to keep from letting him do the things she'd conjured in her mind, hedonistic fantasies of her velvety softness meeting his silk-clad iron, and it would incite a private pleasure from deep within and reveal to her the mysteries of womanhood…

  An act that would bind them legally as man and wife…

  …I don't want the burden of a wife. I never did...

  The reality of what was about to happen brought Elizabeth's eyes popping wide open. Mortified, she pushed against Damon's chest and backed out of reach. When he started toward her, she raised both hands and said, "Stop!"

  "What are you trying to do?" Damon rasped, as he awkwardly attempted to fasten his breeches. "All evening you've been teasing me."

  Elizabeth eyed Damon's short quick movements. "I... this... what happened... I don't know."

  "You don't know? That's it?"

  "I can't explain. Just go." Without waiting for Damon's response, Elizabeth shoved him into the hallway then closed the door sharply and locked it.

  Damon didn't try to force the door, but Elizabeth heard a short burst of expletives followed by the sound of boots marching down the hallway. The reverberation of his bedroom door crashing shut left Elizabeth feeling empty and alone, along with the realization that if she had allowed Damon to complete what she had started, and consummate the marriage, it would be a loveless marriage in which he'd have a string of mistresses, and she'd be nothing more than a means of satisfying his need when his mistress wasn't around. But she refused to dwell on that.

  There were more crucial things to focus on, like finding the opal so she could be free of Damon and the unwanted effect he had on her. She had only two weeks to do so, or lose her option to gain title to Shanti Bhavan and have no choice but to return to her father in disgrace, a woman with a failed marriage. So her fate depended on what happened when the gypsies arrived. And the horse fair was only a week away.

  ***

  In the light of a new day, Elizabeth could hardly believe her behavior the night before, but behaving as she had, she'd been too embarrassed to face Damon, so she stayed in her bedchamber for the rest of the day. But she couldn't avoid him indefinitely. So after dressing in a sedate, high-necked dress, she ventured down to dinner.

  Damon was already at the table when she entered the dining room, and she knew he'd been there for some time as his dinner plates had been cleared, and he was topping his meal with an assortment of sweets. She took her seat opposite him and busied herself with selecting from what the matey was offering on his platter, along with the task of filling her plate with food for which she had no appetite.

  After the matey returned to the kitchen, Damon wasted no time getting to the point.
"All right. What was that all about last night? You were throwing yourself at me all evening, and we both know it wasn't out of love for your husband."

  Elizabeth dabbed at her food. "I don't know why I did it."

  "That's what you said last night, and you have nothing more to offer?"

  "Basically, no."

  "Bloody hell, woman, you had me nearly busting out of my breeches all evening, and when you invited me into your bedchamber and allowed me to do the things I did, I expected relief."

  Elizabeth looked across the table at him. "I'm sorry. The evening was a mistake. It won't happen again," she said, and hoped she meant it. They'd been on the cusp of consummating their marriage, and if truth be known, it was what she wanted, though she didn't know when anger and humiliation had changed to hope and desire.

  Feeling tears misting her eyes, she stared at her plate, refusing to look at him. Still, she felt his eyes boring into her, as he said, "You're my wife, Elizabeth, and I still want you as much as I ever have."

  Elizabeth said nothing because the simple truth was, he wanted her as he would a mistress, not a wife. Whether half-British, or half-Hindu, she was still nothing more than a posh-rat, a woman unworthy of living among gypsies, and unworthy of bearing the heirs of a British earl, which Damon would be once they recovered the opal. But her lowborn status would change when Shanti Bhavan would be hers. The jute would bring in enough for her to live well, and as an independent woman she'd be no man's mistress or wife.

  When she offered nothing more, Damon said, "So that's it? No other explanation?"

  All she could do was nod, miserably, and after a few moments, Damon slapped his napkin on the table and left the room.