At the first hint of dawn, Justin stretched the stiffness from his muscles, scrubbed his hands through his thick hair, and tried, unsuccessfully, to knuckle the gritty feeling from his eyes. He’d been right. It had been a long, sleepless night.
He rose to his feet, shot a quick look in Elizabeth’s direction, then moved quietly to the fireplace and squatted down to place a few small chunks of wood on top of the glowing embers. He could not discern, with that one quick glimpse, if Elizabeth was sleeping or awake, but he refused to look at her again. The memory of that clinging blue silk was enough to make him keep his gaze firmly fixed on the fire. Hungry tongues of flame began to lick up the sides of the kindling. He laid a few large logs on the greedily feeding fire and quietly left the room.
After getting dressed, Justin hurried back to the red bedroom. Elizabeth continued to sleep soundly. He crossed to the bed, pulled back the covers, and mussed the sheets and pillows. Satisfied his handiwork would fool the servants, he walked over to the chaise.
It was a shame to wake her. She, too, had slept little through the long hours of the night, though for different reasons, very different reasons. Justin’s face tightened. He could carry her, but dare not risk a repeat of that scene last night within hearing distance of his servants. He lowered his gaze from the long, thick lashes that lay like a black smudge on Elizabeth’s creamy skin, to her full, rose-colored lips. His breath shortened. They looked so soft…so sweet… so…tempting.
Justin scowled and moved away. The situation was rapidly assuming all the characteristics of a very bad comedy, with himself in the role of the dupe. It did not help that the role was one of his own making. Never, never, had he imagined he would be drawn to someone like Elizabeth.
The thought brought a surge of anger. He turned and gazed down at Elizabeth. She was a beautiful young woman, and he was a healthy young man. He was attracted to her. That’s all that it was—a normal, healthy, physical attraction. Nothing more. He settled the thought firmly in his mind and moved back to the chaise.
“Elizabeth?”
“Ummm.” She snuggled more deeply under the coverlet.
He bent forward and gently shook her shoulder. “Elizabeth? Wake up.”
Her long, sooty lashes fluttered and swept upward. Her sleepy, dark-blue eyes gazed up at him. Justin’s body responded with a flood of warmth. He jerked upright and stepped back. “I’m sorry to have to wake you.”
Awareness hit. Elizabeth gasped, shrank back into the corner of the chaise longue and pulled the coverlet up to her chin. “Wh-what do you want?”
“Not what you seem to think!” Anger cooled the heat from Justin’s blood. He was doing his best to squelch his baser emotions—the least she could do was give him credit for it! “I’m going down to my breakfast, and I want you to move into the bed. If this charade is going to work the servants mustn’t find you sleeping there on the chaise—nor any evidence of your having done so.” He scowled down at her. “Stop clutching that blanket as if it were a shield! There’s no need. I’ve given my word not to touch you.”
He stormed to the door, grabbed the knob and turned to face her. “And—so you will know, Elizabeth—I am a man of my word. You are secure in my honor. Do not abase it further!” He yanked open the door and stalked off down the hall.
Elizabeth slowly descended the stairs. She dreaded facing Justin’s anger again—hated the prospect of conducting this interview with Madame Duval in his presence. If only she was not forced by circumstances to accept these clothes from him! She felt like a kept woman.
Elizabeth sighed, curled her fingers tightly around the slip of paper in her hand and followed the gray-haired butler across the wide entrance hall to the salon. At least this time she would do nothing to provoke Justin’s anger or foster his dislike of her. She had prepared a very careful list.
The butler rapped his knuckles softly on the wood panel of the door in front of him and Elizabeth drew her breath in sharply. This would be her first test as Justin’s bride, and she was determined she would not fail. She lifted her head high and swept gracefully across the threshold as the butler thrust open the door and announced her.
“Dearest!”
Elizabeth froze in her tracks, her determination dissolving in fear as Justin swooped down upon her, clasped her hands in his and lifted them to his lips. She stiffened and pulled back. At least, she tried to pull back—Justin’s hands held hers like a vise. He pulled her close. “Remember our agreement—loving newlyweds. Act like it!” The harsh whisper steadied her. She nodded and forced a smile.
“Step aside, monsieur!”
A small, brunette woman rushed toward them. Justin gave Elizabeth a warning look, released her hands and moved to one side.
“But non! This cannot be.” The woman’s black eyes glittered. She slapped her hands to her cheeks, tipped her small head, birdlike, to one side and studied Elizabeth.
“Monsieur!” The modiste whirled toward Justin and stretched her arms forward in an ecstasy of joy. “She is exquisite! She is perfection, non!” She darted forward, placed her hands on Elizabeth’s cheeks and turned her head gently from side to side.
“Zat face! Ah, monsieur! Have you ever seen such beauty!” For an instant the modiste glared at Justin as if daring him to disagree, then she stepped back, placed her hands on her hips, and smiled archly at him. “And the blush, monsieur? A touch of innocence that makes your ’eart beat faster, non?”
Justin smiled and inclined his head in acknowledgment.
Elizabeth cringed inwardly. She wanted nothing more than to leave the room and the excessively flattering woman with the phony French accent—but, of course, that was impossible. She stood with clenched hands and burning cheeks, as the designer gave Justin a smart, saucy little wink, then turned her attention back to her.
“Ahhh!” Elizabeth restrained herself from jerking back as the little woman reached up and lifted a tendril of her hair. “I ’ave not before seen such a glorious color! You wear the sunshine upon your head, madame.”
It was too much. Elizabeth took a step backward. “Please, Madame Duval—I do not wish to seem ungracious, but—”
“Non!” The woman gestured wildly with her hands. “Later we talk, oui? For now, turn. Turn!” The modiste stepped back, narrowed her eyes in concentration, and made little, tight circles in the air with her small hand.
Elizabeth glanced at Justin for help. That warning look was in his eyes again. She took a deep breath and obeyed.
“Oui.” The designer gave Justin a delighted smile. “Observe the height, monsieur.” She flashed her hand toward Elizabeth in a quick, darting movement. “And the slenderness of her!” Elizabeth looked his way. His gaze was fastened on her. The heat rose in her cheeks again.
“Ah, amour!” Madame Duval smiled, clapped her small hands and spun to face Justin. “I ’ave seen enough!”
Elizabeth expelled her breath in relief. Thank goodness that was over!
“It will be an honor to dress your bride, Monsieur Randolph. What is it you wish?”
The modiste’s voice had changed. She was suddenly all business. Elizabeth hurried forward. “I’ve made a list, Madame Duval. My husband is being most generous.” She forced a smile and offered the piece of paper she held in her hand to the designer.
Justin reached between them. Elizabeth started as he seized the paper, then watched with satisfaction as he scanned the items requested. There was nothing there to anger him. She had kept the list to the bare minimum of essentials.
Justin frowned. He read the scant list again, then looked up at Elizabeth. She smiled.
Justin’s frown deepened. Why was she looking so pleased with herself when— Of course! The answer hit him like a bolt of lightning. She had no need to make an extensive list of garments—indeed, she had no need to ask for a single article of clothing. She knew the social embarrassment to him if his wife was inadequately garbed.
Justin lowered his gaze to the list in his hand to hide his anger. How sly! She had adroitly maneuvered things so he would be forced to provide an extensive wardrobe for her without her even having to ask for it. She was playing him for a fool! Well, two could play these games. She would not have complete victory—he would keep control. He crushed the list in his hand and tossed the paper into the fire. “Ladies, if you will be seated, we shall settle this matter.”
Madame Duval perched herself on the edge of a shield-back Hepplewhite chair and looked eagerly at him. Elizabeth stared at the wadded piece of paper as it burst into flame.
“Elizabeth?” Justin smiled when she looked up at him. He indicated a chair. “I understand your reluctance, as a new bride, to test my generosity too far—but your list was far too modest. We shall handle this matter my way.” The words almost choked him. He cleared his throat and turned to smile down into the alert, heart-shaped face of the modiste.
“Madame Duval, it is my desire that my bride have an entire new wardrobe. I do not wish her to wear a single garment now in her possession—lovely though that garment may be. That means any garment, Madame, from the…er…necessary, to the frivolous. Do you understand?”
“Oui, monsieur.” The designer smiled. “I understand.”
“Good.” Justin ignored the gasp of surprised protest that had come from Elizabeth. “Shall we discuss terms?”
“Very wise, monsieur.” The designer’s smile faded. “You have the, uh, conditions, hein?”
“Five of them, madame.” Justin smiled inwardly at the sudden, wary look in the little woman’s eyes. “The first is—you must begin work immediately and set aside all other commissions until my wife’s wardrobe is completed.”
A tiny frown formed on the designer’s forehead. “Very well, monsieur. We can arrange that. An’ your second condition?”
“You must use only the finest of materials—and the designs must be originals that will not be duplicated by you for any other client. Also, the final designs must be approved by me.”
The designer’s eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded her agreement. “Next, monsieur?”
Justin shifted his gaze briefly to Elizabeth. “My wife seems reluctant to lighten my purse, but you, Madame Duval, I feel certain would have no such qualms.” He gave the designer his most charming smile to take any insult from his words. “Therefore, you are to decide what is appropriate for a new bride’s complete wardrobe—taking into consideration my position in the community. You will, of course, submit the list to me for final approval.”
Madame Duval’s eyes glittered with excitement. She slipped the tip of her tongue through her lips and swept it from side to side to moisten them. “But of course, monsieur. I will be happy to comply.” She gazed up at Justin. “La quatrième?”
“No red.”
The designer’s eyes flashed. “Monsieur, you insult me!” She leaped to her feet, darted to Elizabeth and clasped her chin in her small hand. “Do you think that I, Maurelle Duval, the greatest designer in all of America, would put red next to that skin!”
Justin dipped his head. “I take it you will abide by my wishes in the matter, madame. In which case—if my wife concurs—the commission is yours.” He stepped forward, bowed smoothly to the irate designer, captured one of Elizabeth’s hands in his, brushed his lips lightly across its back and stepped back. “Ladies, I leave you to your discussion of fashion.” He headed for the door.
“Justin?”
He turned around. Elizabeth was standing and staring at him. She did not look pleased. What could she possibly want that he had not made provision for? He frowned. “Yes, what is it?”
“You said there were five conditions Madame Duval must meet, yet you have given only four. If she is to fulfill all that you require, you must tell her the last one also.”
Was that all she wanted? Justin studied her face for a moment, then swept his gaze to the pile of golden curls on top of her head. “No nightcaps, Madame Duval.” He scowled at the betraying husky note in his voice and lowered his gaze to lock on Elizabeth’s startled eyes. “Not one.” He pivoted on his heel and left the room.
Elizabeth clenched her hands into fists and stared at the closed door. How dare he humiliate—
“Ooh-la-la!” The breathy sigh floated over her shoulder. “To have such a man look at you with such love!” Elizabeth spun about.
“Ah, Madame Randolph, do not be so surprise’, non?” The designer tipped her head to one side and fastened a bright, knowing gaze on her. “I, too, have known the blessing of a loving husband’s strong arms.” Her voice dissolved into a throaty chuckle. “I have not always been so old, and unattractive, chérie.” The designer winked, then laughed with delight as embarrassed color heated Elizabeth’s cheeks.
“Ah, the innocence of youth.” Maurelle Duval’s laughter died. Tears sprang into her eyes. She reached up and touched Elizabeth’s cheek with her small, soft hand. “Enjoy your husband’s love, chérie. The years, they are too quickly gone. Now—” She clapped her hands together briskly. “We must begin. Shall we repair to your boudoir? I have need to take your measurements.”
“What? Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. Follow me, Madame Duval.” Elizabeth led the way across the entrance hall to the staircase and began to climb. Why had Madame Duval said such a thing? It couldn’t be true. There was no married love such as the designer described. Why her own mother had told her there was only what Reginald—
Elizabeth shuddered, wrenched her thoughts from the dark pathway they had started down, and hurried along the upstairs hall toward the red bedroom with the modiste close on her heels.
Elizabeth rubbed at her aching temples and stepped into the dressing room. She had spent the last two hours being measured, studied, exclaimed over and made to walk slowly about the bedroom while Madame Duval made hurried sketches and prodigious lists. Being honor-bound not to expose the truth of her relationship with Justin Randolph, she’d had no plausible reason for refusing his generosity, or curtailing the designer’s excesses, and the nervous tension that stress created had translated itself into a fierce headache.
She poured cold water into the washbasin, dipped in the cloth, then wrung it out and held it to her head as she walked toward the bed. The wardrobe Justin had commissioned would cost a small fortune. How would she ever repay—?
A soft tap on the door made her jump. She frowned at her foolish behavior. Would she never get her nerves under control?
“Yes?” She sighed and removed the cool, damp cloth from her forehead as the door opened.
“Beggin’ your pardon, mum. You— Are you not feelin’ well, mum?” Trudy’s brow creased with concern as she eyed the cloth.
“I’m fine, Trudy. Only a bit of headache. What is it?”
The maid’s eyes narrowed as she studied Elizabeth. “Your husband wishes you t’ join him in the salon. But you look pale, mum. And if you’re feelin’ poorly…I can send word you need rest.”
“No. I’ll go.” Elizabeth handed Trudy the cool, moist rag, walked to the mirror to pinch some color into her cheeks, then headed for the salon to join Justin. The last thing in the world she wanted was to displease him again.