Her anger eased as she willed it out the tips of her fingers, just as she’d learned to do as a child, when her brothers enraged her. She’d discovered long ago that the way to best handle a male was to stay rational, in spite of his irrationality.
She opened her eyes, her gaze searching out and locking on his with determination. She would make him listen to her. When Elizabeth continued, she was pleased to hear the evenness of her tone. “I did not behave dishonorably. Foolishly, yes, but not dishonorably. How can you think I would willingly tie myself to a man who had made clear that he did not want me?” She gestured to herself with an open hand. “Do you find me so displeasing yourself that you can believe no other man would desire me, or have me to wife?”
He watched her for a long moment, then broke the contact of their eyes. Slowly he shook his head, his attention on some distant object in the sky. “Nay, Elizabeth, I do not believe such a thing. I am most certain that you have been desired by many.” Then his jaw tightened in anger as he turned back to her. “Therein lies my dilemma. Why, then, did you allow me to dine with you, when you knew Stephen would not approve, that he had ordered you not to?”
Not now or ever would she willingly have him know how attracted to him she had been. He would only use that knowledge against her. “I... He should not have ordered me. I do as I will, not as others choose.”
Ah, this Raynor could well believe. Elizabeth did seem to cherish her own wishes all too well. “And thus here we are, trapped,” he said, putting his hands to lean hips. “Because of a fit of pique.”
An unexpected needle of pain pierced her throat at the word
trapped.
She told herself not to be foolish. Raynor had never made any secret of his feelings about their marriage.
But then he continued, his dark eyes studying her carefully. “Is that all there was, Elizabeth? Were you simply angry with Stephen for telling you nay? At the time, I thought you might... You seemed to...” He stopped, as if uncertain of how to go on.
As what Raynor was trying to say hit home, Elizabeth flushed. Dear heavens. She put her hand to her burning cheek. He had guessed at her attraction to him. 'Twas what she had most feared.
Then, doing her utmost to hide her embarrassment, Elizabeth raised her head high. It really mattered very little that he knew. What did matter was how she reacted to that knowledge. She spoke coolly, hastily. “My lord Warwicke, there is no point in denying that I was, shall I say, interested in you.”
He opened his mouth to reply, and she raised her hand to forestall him. “But I must tell you that your behavior toward me has changed my feelings greatly. You are rude, overbearing, and disdainful of women. What meager attraction I felt for you has certainly been laid low. You may rest assured that I have no designs on you.”
She stood there looking up at him, her regal bearing an open challenge.
Raynor knew he should be pleased by what she had said but he was not. He felt an unexpected rush of irritation. Which was completely ridiculous, because he wanted nothing between himself and Elizabeth.
Unbidden, he knew a flashing memory of the kiss they had shared. But it wasn’t the passion of the moment that haunted him so relentlessly. It was the tenderness, the protective instincts that had risen up to claim him.
In frustration, he reached for her. He would show her and himself that she was nothing to him. He would wipe those softer emotions from his memory, prove that he felt nothing for her beyond the physical, no more than he would for any beautiful woman.
As Raynor pulled her to him, Elizabeth guessed his intent, and resisted, but only briefly.
The moment his mouth touched hers, she sighed and melted against him like warm honey. His body reacted with alacrity. His pulse quickened, and a fierce river of pleasure rushed through him, making him deepen the kiss.
His mouth left hers, and he pressed hot kisses to her long, delicate throat. Elizabeth gasped, holding him to her. And he felt his own passion heightened by hers—what pleasured her, pleasured him.
The knowledge hit him like the dead-on blow of a lance.
He stiffened, drawing away from her. Elizabeth’s lips were swollen from his kisses, and her eyes were heavy with desire. Even now, as her expression began to change to one of surprise and bewilderment, Raynor wanted to kiss her again, to draw her further into that state of longing.
With an incredible force of will, Raynor took his hands away from her back. This was not what he’d wanted. He was trying to show himself that Elizabeth was insignificant, just another woman, a body to take.
Then why was the thought of giving her joy more compelling than that of taking his own?
Somehow, somewhere, things had gone dreadfully awry, and Raynor had proved nothing of what he meant to.
Confusion made him awkward. He stepped away from her. “We...” he started, then cleared his throat when his voice emerged rough and husky. “We had best get back to the others. With the bridge out, we must needs find another or try to ford the river with the oxen and wagons.”
Elizabeth stood looking at him in obvious agitation. “Raynor, what is going on? Have you lost your wits?”
Truth to tell, Raynor felt as if he had. But right now he did not know what to do about it. There was no answer he could find that she would understand, so he remained silent. He was out of his depth with this woman, and knew it.
She tried to meet his gaze, but he avoided her as he went to his horse. Seeing that he would not reply, Elizabeth stamped her foot and mounted her own mare, starting down the road ahead of him at a gallop.
He made no effort to catch her. Raynor knew there was nothing he could say to pacify her.
All he did know was that this could not happen again.
Chapter Five
O
n the second morning of waking in a tent, Elizabeth emerged to discover that they were only a few miles east of a village called Westcott. She knew that if they kept traveling in this same direction they would pass within a very few leagues of her brother Henry’s main holding of Claymoore before nightfall.
She had not spoken to Raynor at all since that first afternoon when he had kissed her. And though it galled her to approach her husband with even the smallest request, she wanted to see her brother and his family. It wasn’t an unreasonable query, as they would be so very close, and who knew when she would have an opportunity to visit them again?
Yet it was not easy to think of asking Raynor for anything at this point.
She flushed with shame as she remembered what had happened the day they raced. Raynor had kissed her, then turned on her as if she had somehow wronged him.
But what really made her want to stay away from him was the way she had reacted. Elizabeth could not have explained it even to herself. Every time Raynor touched her, it was as if she lost all sense of self. He had only to put his hands on her, his lips on hers, and all thought of anything else dissolved. It was as if there were some magical spell on her body, and Raynor were the magician who could conjure it.
Well, Elizabeth was not going to let that rule her. If she could do nothing about her reactions to him, she would simply have to learn to conceal them.
Her husband need not think she would be embarrassed into hiding from him.
With her head held high, Elizabeth walked through the camp. There were four tents erected around a central fire. The wagons were drawn up close behind the tents to make them easier to guard against thieves. She knew Raynor kept a watch posted every night for just this purpose, even though it was unlikely that anyone would be foolish enough to attack the armed party of a nobleman.
The fire had not been lit this morning, so she could only assume they would be eating dried meat and old bread—again. The one good thing was that the weather had turned milder again, so she had slept reasonably warmly.
On asking Noland, who was attending the horses, of her husband’s whereabouts, Elizabeth was told he was in his tent.
She looked toward it where it lay, directly across from hers. Elizabeth would have laughed, were she not so irritated with Raynor. For clearly he had placed it as far from her own as possible.
Unexpectedly, this gave her some insight into Raynor; he was not so very sure of himself as he seemed.
Squaring her shoulders, Elizabeth strode directly to the tent and then stopped. She could hear Raynor’s and what sounded like Bronic’s voices coming from inside. What halted her was that she wasn’t at all sure of the protocol for entering.
One could hardly knock.
Did she simply lift the flap and go inside? It seemed unlikely.
Shrugging, Elizabeth decided to take a direct approach. Loudly she spoke her husband’s name. “My lord Warwicke.”
Silence ensued. Then the tent flap was pulled back and a dark head appeared. Raynor’s eyes fixed on her with chagrin. “Lady Elizabeth? How may I assist you?”
She smiled politely. “I have a boon to ask of you, my lord.”
His tone was wary when he answered, “A boon? What might that be?”
She looked around. Some of the others had come out, and were gazing at them with open curiosity. It was no secret that lord and lady had not so much as spoken for days.
Turning to Raynor again, she smiled and addressed him most cordially. “Might we not be more comfortable inside, my lord?”
Seeming surprised at her pleasant demeanor, but still with an expression of reluctance, Raynor stepped back, holding the flap open for her to follow him. “Aye, come in then, if you desire.”
It was not an enthusiastic invitation, but Elizabeth supposed it was the most she could hope for. She went in, being careful not to touch Raynor as she moved by him. If he was aware of her action, he made no sign.
Inside the tent was the same dim interior as in hers. Two bedrolls lay on the ground. But here both Raynor and Bronic’s weapons rested on a cloak that had been placed beside the doorway.
Bronic stood to the side. He nodded politely as she looked at him. “Good day, Lady Elizabeth.”
She returned the greeting. “Sir Bronic. I hope I have not interrupted something important.” She glanced from one man to the other.
Raynor shrugged. “We were discussing today’s route. After fording the river the other day, we must be certain to take a course that will not force us to do so again, if we can avoid it.”
As he mentioned the fording, Elizabeth could have sworn the color deepened in Raynor’s cheeks. But it was hard to be sure. His face was deeply tanned, and the light in the tent was not good.
She looked to Bronic. It did no good to try to fathom Raynor and his reactions to anything. “That is why I have come to speak with you. My brother lives some few hours from here, and I was hoping we could abide there for a night. I trust it is not out of our path.”
“Where does your brother live?” Raynor asked.
When Elizabeth turned to him, she saw he was frowning. “Claymoore,” she answered. “It is his seat. I do not mean to inconvenience you, but we are so close, and...” Elizabeth stopped and took a deep breath as her voice broke. “I know not when I might see them again.” Her gaze captured Raynor’s.
For a long time, he said nothing, and Elizabeth glanced toward Bronic in appeal. Raynor seemed to listen to him, if no one else.
But no help came from that quarter. Bronic’s expression was intent but noncommittal as he watched the other man.
Finally Raynor answered. “Aye, we will go to your brother. But make note, madame.” His gaze held hers. “We can stay no longer than one night. I have pressing matters to attend at Warwicke, and have already been delayed.”
At his words, Elizabeth’s heart soared. Though she could not fully understand why, it moved her beyond reason that Raynor would do this for her. But she made no outward show, knowing he would not thank her for making much of his kindness.
She simply inclined her head, offering him a smile of genuine warmth. “You have my thanks, my lord.”
* * *
Raynor frowned, his hands tightening on the reins. He did not want to spend the night at Claymoore.
But Elizabeth had asked so politely and reasonably. And Bronic had looked on with such avid interest that he felt churlish for even thinking of refusing. After the scene between them two days ago, when he had made such a fool of himself by catching her up and riding off with her, Raynor felt compelled to be scrupulously fair in his dealings with his wife. It was true he needed to get back to Warwicke, but they would be stopping for the night anyway. It would as well be with her family.
And more than that, if he was honest with himself, he knew he was doing what she asked for another reason. Raynor felt guilt at the way he had treated her when he kissed her. Elizabeth had not deserved that. It was his own lack of control that had upset him.
Raynor now knew that he had best not touch Elizabeth at all, if he meant to keep his autonomy. He had no intention of giving that up for a woman.
And Elizabeth was more threat to his self-control than any woman he’d ever known. She spoke and behaved in ways that were completely foreign and amazing to him. Even that day when he came out and accused her of being attracted to him, she had surprised Raynor. Elizabeth had not become coy, nor postured and denied, she’d admitted the truth and stood proudly before him.