Page 35 of A Virgin for the Cruel Duke

Selina stood, and took Diana by the arm and the two of them hurried from the room, giving him the privacy to change from the bed-shirt into clothes that did not stink of a sick bed.

He was finishing dressing when Herbert rushed in, not even pausing to knock and clasped his hand.

“Stephen! You are up and about! Should you not be resting? I will send for the physician immediately.”

“Where is my wife, Herbert?” Stephen asked crisply, stepping back from him. “What have you done with Elizabeth?”

“That treacherous witch?” Herbert’s normally pleasant face twisted into an expression of fury. “I’ve had her locked in her room until we could be sure of your condition. Then I shall send to the authorities so we can decide what to do with her.”

Stephen felt himself go hot with rage and grabbed Herbert by his collar and shook him hard. “You damned youngfool. How dare you treat her so? Poison me? There is no underhanded bone in that woman’s body! If she wished me dead she would take matters in hand herself to my face, not feed me poisoned sweets with a sweet expression!”

He shoved Herbert away from himself and stormed from the room, not wanting to wait one more moment to listen to his brother try to excuse his behavior. He could understand being suspicious perhaps, and scared and angry, but to take such actions against Elizabeth while Stephen had been insensible - it was beyond bearing.

When he reached her room he had to summon a servant for the key and then unlock the door, furious all over again that she hadnot been just shut inside but locked away like a prisoner in her own home.

“Elizabeth!” he said, rushing inside and coming to a halt, finding her stood by the window in one of her old plain dresses, her hair long and loose about her shoulders and her face cold and pale in the sunlight. “Are you well, have you been hurt?”

“I am not hurt,” she said coldly, turning her head slightly to look at him. It was as though they had gone back to the beginning and she was cautious and wary of him all over again. “I am your prisoner, sir. I am as well as that can make me.”

His mouth felt dry and his heart was beating strangely in his chest as he approached her. “You are no prisoner of mine. I know that you have no hand in what has happened and I will say so to anyone who needs me to.”

“How can you be so sure?” she asked. Her gaze was distant, as though she were looking at him from very far away. “I am a Barnes. We are a treacherous breed of people. I could easily be behind the whole matter.”

It ran him through to hear the words coming from her own lips, but he shook his head fiercely. “No. You are not behind it. I know it as well as I know myself.”

Oh and it hurt her, it hurt her like she was rending in two to say the words. To not fling herself to his feet and beg him to know her better than his brother did, to not let him embrace her and tell her that all was well.

Elizabeth felt as though she must be trembling all over. Her throat was tight and she ached to be still so cold and distant to him but she must. Had she not brought this danger to his doorstep by being near him? Did she not mean that he must always be careful, always be looking over his shoulder in case another be trying to kill him?

“How can you be so certain?” she said, feeling her numb lips forcing themselves to form the words. “Did it never occur to you that I might hate you just as well as my father does? The man I was forced to marry in order to protect my own family?”

“Is that true?” Stephen asked, sudden and sharp, a look of hurt on his face.

Is that true?

It took so few words then to destroy the trust he had in her. He could never see her as anything but a tool of her family that might be used to hurt him. Elizabeth turned back to the window, feeling her eyes sting with tears. She couldn’t speak.

“Is it true,” Stephen repeated, so close to her now that she could feel the heat of his presence. “Do you hate me, Elizabeth?”

She turned at that, staring up at him in surprise and saw it in his face. He did not think her a murderer. He did not. He still did not.

“I -” she stopped, her throat choking on the words and he touched her cheek with one of his lovely hands, so strong and scarred and safe. “I -”

“You can be honest,” he said softly, his voice warm and kind. “If you hate me, you can tell me. I shall not harm you.”

“You would never harm me,” she said quickly, her tears spilling down her cheeks. “I know that like I knowmyself.”

“Then?”

She couldn’t do it. Not even for his own sake. She shook her head slowly. “I do not hate you.” It was so far from hate, what she felt, that she was too scared to name it yet. It was the other thing, she thought. The sweeter thing.

“Nor I you,” he said, a smile blooming on his lips. “I have missed you, wife.”

At that a soft sound, not quite a sob, tore its way from her throat and Stephen’s smile gave way to concern. “Ah sweetheart,” he said, gently cupping her face and peering down at her. “It’s alright.”

“Is it?” she said, and Stephen pressed a kiss against her forehead as if in response. “Is it alright?”

He was still cradling her face in his hands and, as their eyes met, that irresistible force was back between them, that pull which drew them together even when they had seemingly disliked each other in the very beginning. Elizabeth could taste her heartbeat in her mouth and then Stephen’s mouth was on hers and she was answering his kiss with a sudden fierce hunger that welled within her.

---