can have yourself a proper soak. It will help with the soreness.” She headed for the door.
“Wait!” Panic overrode Elizabeth’s embarrassment. She took a deep breath as the woman looked her way. “Why was I left here alone? Where is Mr. Randolph?”
“Alone? Well bless my soul, child! You wasn’t left here alone. Your husband set me to watchin’ over you ’cause you was took ill, is all. He’s waitin’ on you down in the common room. You’re to join him there as soon as you’re able.” She pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway. “He’ll be at the table in front of the fire. He always sits starin’ at the fire.” The door closed behind her.
An odd sort of quivering began in Elizabeth’s knees and spread throughout her body. She dropped into the chair behind her and stared at the door. What had she done? How could she explain to this Mr. Randolph that she had been forced by circumstances to accept his offer of marriage? She couldn’t tell him about the betrothal agreement her father had signed—or about Reginald Burton-Smythe’s attack—or running away. He might send her back.
Elizabeth’s stomach roiled. She took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. This time the nausea wouldn’t be denied. She dropped the dress and shoes she still clutched in her hands and leaped for the washbowl. She reached it just in time.
She felt better—at least physically. The proprietor’s wife had been right; the warm bathwater had taken a little of the stiffness and soreness away. Elizabeth dropped her hairbrush into her open bag, leaned closer to the mirror and pushed her ivory hair comb into the piled-up mass of her still-damp hair. A few rebellious curls popped free and fell onto her smooth forehead. Why, just this once, couldn’t her hair behave? Elizabeth scowled, tucked the offending curls back under the confined tresses, then pulled a creamy length of lace from her bag and draped it around her throat to hide the ragged scratch left by Reginald’s attack. With the sleeves of her dress hiding the bruises on her arms, that took care of everything but her face. There was nothing she could do to hide that reminder of Reginald’s cruelty.
Elizabeth shuddered, closed her bag and stared down at the large gold ring resting on the table beside it. When she put that ring on her finger she would be ready—there would be no further reason to delay her meeting with Mr. Randolph. A fit of trembling seized her. Before she lost all courage, she snatched up the ring, slid it onto her finger and hurried from the small bedroom.
Dear heaven! She could not identify her own husband! Elizabeth bit back a nervous giggle and gripped the banister for support as she skimmed her gaze over the men in the common room. One of them, seated at a table in front of the fireplace at the far end of the room with his back toward her, seemed to be staring into the flames. Was that he?
Any inclination toward laughter, nervous or otherwise, left Elizabeth in a rush. The man’s long legs, crossed at the ankles, stretched out toward the fire, and one broad, long-fingered hand rested on the table. Her heart fluttered as she noted the powerful look of that hand. She suppressed a sudden, intense desire to turn and run away, descended the last step, and crossed the room.
“Mr. Randolph?”
“Dearest!”
Elizabeth froze as, with one fluid motion, the man leaped to his feet, spun about, grasped her upper arms and drew her close. Shock held her motionless. But only for an instant. She began to struggle. “Unhand me, sir!”
The grip on her arms tightened. “Stop fighting! Breams is watching.”
The words were snarled under the man’s breath as he pinioned her to his broad chest. Elizabeth struggled harder, the feel of the man’s powerful hands upon her driving all coherent thought from her mind. Fear writhed like a living thing in the pit of her stomach. Her pulse roared in her ears. Her head began to spin and she felt herself falling toward the deep, dark vortex of a whirling darkness. Terror gripped her. She forgot the man and fought the smothering darkness. When it receded, there was the firm, hard, security of a wooden chair beneath her. She drew a long, shuddering breath.
“Are you all right?”
The words were curt, abrupt, and full of distaste—but there was an underlying note of concern in Mr. Randolph’s deep voice that made Elizabeth nod her head. It wasn’t much of a nod, for her head was still spinning, but apparently it satisfied him for he removed his hand from her shoulder and moved away to seat himself on the other side of the table. Her breath came more easily when he had gone.
“You’re certain you’re all right?” His voice now held an impatient note of inquisition. “You look quite pale.”
“I—I’m fine. If I might have a moment…” Elizabeth closed her lips firmly to prevent the sobs that were clawing at her throat from breaking free. She had nearly swooned again! What was wrong with her? Tears welled up behind her closed eyes. She swallowed painfully, fighting them back.
“It seems I startled you. I apologize for that, but I had to keep you from ruining my plan. You see, I am known here. And, as these people know only that we are newly married—not that we are newly met—they would naturally expect our meeting, after the disaster of last night, to be a loving one.”
Elizabeth clamped her jaws tightly together, using the pain it caused to stifle a sudden, strong impulse to laugh. Their meeting had certainly fallen far short of such expectations! Her lips twitched.
“You find our situation amusing?”
A shiver of fear slithered down her spine at his cold tone. “No, I do not, Mr. Randolph. I only—” The laughter bubbled up and burst from Elizabeth’s throat. She couldn’t stop it. Horrified, she buried her face in her hands while the uncontrollable hilarity poured from her.
The table jerked and her new husband’s chair scraped against the floor. “Your nerves are overwrought. I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself.”
The whispered words hit Elizabeth like a splash of cold water. The laughter died. She jerked her head up and stared at Mr. Randolph’s rapidly retreating back. Of course she was overwrought! Who wouldn’t be, in her situation? Still…Elizabeth’s spurt of anger dissolved into worry. Why had she swooned? Was she ill? Something was wrong with her. She blinked away tears, leaned back against the turned wood spindles of the chair she occupied and stared down at the fire on the hearth. So much had happened so quickly. So much had changed! Surely it was natural that she should be—
“The arrangements are made. Mary will be bringing our meal promptly. Please comport yourself as a loving bride while she is near.” The whispered order startled Elizabeth as much as Mr. Randolph’s quiet return. She jumped and looked up at him. An expression of extreme distaste crossed his features as their gazes met for the first time. “You’re beautiful!”
The words were an accusation, not a compliment. Elizabeth stiffened with shock at his rudeness. “Thank you, Mr. Randolph. You make a pleasing appearance yourself.”
A small, mocking bow of her husband’s dark, handsome head acknowledged her cool, impeccably correct response. “No doubt others will comment on what a lovely couple we make.”
Elizabeth’s chin lifted at the undertone of dislike in his voice. She stared fully into his acrimonious gaze, then sighed heavily and clasped her hands on top of the table. She’d been nothing but trouble to the man—how else should he feel about her? “Mr. Randolph, I realize I have made a very poor beginning in our…er…relationship. And I offer you my sincere apology for all of the embarrassment and trouble I have caused you.” Her cheeks warmed. She looked down at the scarred tabletop. “I understand that I swooned last evening, and I am mortified, sir, that you were forced to carry me into the inn.”
She looked back up at him. “I wish you to know that I have never swooned before, and that I am not weak or sickly. Also, I want to apologize for my actions upon our meeting earlier. They were out of character for me. And, last, permit me to say that you were most gracious and kind to provide such thoughtful care for me last evening. I am truly grateful.”
“You are telling me that your fainting spell