There was no sound from within. The children were still asleep. Elizabeth swallowed her disappointment, opened the door to the nursery and stepped into the playroom. She couldn’t wait for them to awaken—she would have to be satisfied with a last look and a goodbye kiss. She moved silently to Sarah’s bedroom, tiptoed to her bed and knelt down to study the toddler, memorizing the way she looked so that she could carry the picture in her heart and mind forever. Her heart swelled. She pressed her lips together to hold back the sobs rising in her throat and reached out to touch a wisp of brown hair that lay like silk thread on the pillow.
Sarah stirred. She blinked her round, brown eyes once, twice, then focused them sleepily on Elizabeth. “Mama?”
“Yes, darling.” Elizabeth rose to kiss the toddler’s soft, warm cheek.
“Mama!” Sarah threw the rag doll she was clutching to the floor and flung her arms around Elizabeth’s neck, hugging tightly. Knifelike pain slashed through Elizabeth’s chest, lacerating her heart. How could she bear to be parted from this child? She lifted the sleep-warmed toddler into her arms, kissed her hair and buried her face in the sweet-smelling softness to hide her tears.
“I phought you went away with the bad mans, Mama!” Sarah sobbed the words and tightened her grip around Elizabeth’s neck. “I phought you went away like my ofver mama, and got deaded!”
“Sarah!” Elizabeth sank down on the edge of the bed, tightened her arms about Sarah’s small, trembling body and rocked back and forth shattered by a new pain—the pain of a mother that could not protect her child from hurt. What would Sarah think when she was jailed? How would it affect her when she went away and didn’t return? Oh, God, give me wisdom to help her!
“Sarah? Sarah, darling—listen to Mama.” Elizabeth stroked the toddler’s hair and rocked her until she quieted. “You must not be frightened if…if I have to go away. Sometimes people do. Sometimes something happens and they…they have to leave. Even if they don’t want to. Like your mama.” Elizabeth ignored the pain that was ripping her apart and searched for a way to make the toddler understand. “Your mama got sick, Sarah. Very, very sick. And when that happens—sometimes people die. They—they go away. And though I’m not ill, I—”
Sarah released her grip on Elizabeth’s neck and sat up straight and tall on her lap to face her. She lifted her little pointed chin in an astonishingly accurate imitation of Elizabeth’s own gesture and shook her head from side to side. Her small little mouth was set in a determined line. “Mama went away with the bad mans. And then she got deaded.”
Elizabeth stared at the toddler. “Sarah, what—”
“Well! So you are awake, Miss Sarah. I thought I heard you.”
“Nanny, Mama’s here!” Sarah twisted about on Elizabeth’s lap and beamed happily up at her nurse. “She waketed me up.”
“So I see. Didn’t I tell you last night your mama would be coming back soon? All that fussing and carrying on over nothing.” Anna Hammerfield walked over to the bed and gently tapped the end of Sarah’s tiny nose. “A waste of time—that’s what it was—a waste of time.” She shifted her gaze to Elizabeth and smiled. “Good morning, madam.” She crossed to the window and pulled back the curtains to let the early morning sun stream in. “It’s going to be a lovely day.”
Her warmth was a soothing salve to Elizabeth’s bruised soul. At least she would know—wherever she was—that the children had a good nanny caring for them. “Good morning, Mrs. Hammerfield. I—”
“Can we go phwing, Nanny?” Sarah gave Elizabeth a quick hug and slid off her lap to run and look out the window.
“I might consider it…if you go tell your mama you’re sorry for interrupting her.” The nurse winked at Elizabeth. “A child with poor manners needn’t expect any favors from me.”
Sarah stared at her nurse, then turned and ran to Elizabeth. “I’m sorry for ’ruptin’ you, Mama.” She dropped a polite curtsy, placed her small hands on Elizabeth’s knees and peered up at her. “Want to come phwing wiff me?”
“Oh, Sarah…” Elizabeth’s heart broke. She brushed her finger lovingly down the child’s soft, silky cheek, fighting for composure. “I’d love to come swing with you, darling, but I—I can’t. I— Aunt Abigail is not feeling well, and I must sit with her.”
The little girl’s face clouded. “Will she get deaded, Mama?”
Elizabeth stared at the solemn little face. “I don’t know, Sarah. I hope not.” She took the child’s small hands in hers. “But if she does, we mustn’t be sad for her, for she will go to heaven to live with Jesus. And when we go to heaven we will see her again.”
Sarah studied Elizabeth’s face, thinking that over. Finally, she nodded. “All wight, Mama.” Her voice was solemn. “I won’t be sad. I’ll go phwing.”
“Aunt Abigail would like that, darling.” Elizabeth pulled the child close for another moment, then she cleared the huskiness from her voice and smiled brightly for Sarah’s sake. “Now, you get washed up and ready for breakfast, while I go peek in on Mary. I want to see her for a moment before I return to Aunt Abigail.”
“All wight, Mama.” Sarah skipped over to her nanny, then turned and looked back at Elizabeth. “Will you come wead me a stowy today, Mama?”
“I’ll try, Sarah. But I can’t promise.” Elizabeth blinked away the tears that burned her eyes. “Anna, if I’m unable to return—”
“I’ll explain to Sarah, madam.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth turned away from the nurse’s kind, but curious gaze and started for the baby’s room. She didn’t want Sarah to see her cry and tears were threatening to overflow at any moment.
“Will the bad mans come again, Mama?”
Elizabeth froze. Sudden, sickening terror gripped her. She hadn’t thought— So much had happened, so quickly, she hadn’t even considered the possibility of Reginald’s returning. Where was he? Would he come after her again? Would he carry out his threats to kill Justin and Sarah because she had run away from him? Where was Reginald Burton-Smythe? The words seared into her brain like red-hot coals. She turned and opened her mouth to answer Sarah, but no sound came. She couldn’t speak.
Anna Hammerfield glanced at her, then leaned down and lifted her charge into her arms. “Such a one you are for asking silly questions, Miss Sarah. If there was a bad man—and mind you I’m not saying there was—” she carried the little girl across the room and sat her on a stool next to the washstand “—it wouldn’t matter. Your papa is home now.” She lifted warm water from the hearth, poured it into the large basin and began to wash the toddler’s face. “And your papa will not let any bad man in his house.” She put a suspenseful tone in her voice, hunched her shoulders and peered around the room. “And if one should sneak in—” Sarah’s eyes widened and she squirmed on the stool “—then Mr. Buffy will bite his ears off!” Anna Hammerfield laughed and plucked at Sarah’s ears with the warm, wet cloth.
Sarah squealed, and giggled and drew her shoulders up to protect her ears. Mister Buffy, responding to his name, jumped from his basket in the corner and ran in circles around the stool, barking and jumping up to lick Sarah’s toes.
Elizabeth threw the nanny a look of gratitude and rushed from the room.
“Jeanne!”
The old woman’s head craned around at Elizabeth’s urgent whisper. She frowned when Elizabeth crooked her finger and beckoned her to the door, then set aside the petticoat she was mending, rose to her feet and moved slowly across the room on her stiff, arthritic legs.
“Yes, mum?”
Elizabeth motioned her closer to the partially opened door. “I don’t want to disturb Miss Abigail, but I must speak with Mr. Randolph. Please ask him to come out into the hallway.”
“Mr. Justin isn’t here, miss. He went to the library to—” She stared agape as Elizabeth whirled about and ran toward the staircase. “Such goings on!” Jeanne pursed her dry, wrinkled lips in disapproval, shook her head and closed the door.
Elizabeth’s legs trembled with exhaustion as she hurried down the stairs. At the bottom she leaned against the newel post for support and paused to catch her breath. “Please, Lord…make Justin…listen…to me.” It was all the prayer she had breath for. She placed her hand over the stitch in her side, pushed away from the post and rushed across the entrance hall. Her heart pounded as she neared the library—the thought of Justin’s hatred and disgust unnerved her. She stopped beside the open door, tucked her wayward curls behind her ears, fixed her thoughts firmly on Sarah and Mary and stepped into the room. She could face his scorn for them. He was searching through the books that lined the shelves on the far wall. Her steps faltered at sight of him.
“Justin?”
He spun about. Fear leaped into his eyes. “Abigail?” He dropped the book he held and rushed toward the door.
“No! No, Justin. It’s not Abigail. I’m sorry. I should have thought—”
He lifted his hand to stop Elizabeth’s apology, then raked it through his hair as he blew his breath out in a long sigh. “Thank God! I can’t seem to make myself accept the fact that I might lose her.” For a moment their gazes met, then Justin turned away. He picked up the book he had dropped and slid it back into place on the shelf, found the volume of poetry he wanted for Abigail and turned to leave.
Elizabeth moved to the center of the doorway.
His brows knit together. “Was there something you wanted?”
Elizabeth blanched at his tone but stood her ground, forcing herself to meet his contemptuous gaze. “Yes. I want to speak with you.”
Justin’s face tightened. “I don’t care to hear anything you have to say, Elizabeth. Go back upstairs to Abigail.”
She drew her breath in sharply. His cold, autocratic dismissal bringing an anger surging up in her she didn’t know she possessed. She had had enough. She pulled the door closed and fastened her gaze on his. “No.” Surprise at her defiance spread across his face. Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I’ve come to find out where Reginald is, Justin. What, if anything, has happened to him. And I’ll not leave until you tell me.”
Justin’s body stiffened. The muscle along his jaw jumped. “You dare ask me about your lover? Under the circumstan—”
“You have misjudged the circumstances! And me. However, I have come to neither explain, nor defend myself, since you have made it abundantly clear that you wish no explanation.” Elizabeth drew a deep breath to calm herself, then rushed on. He looked ready to throw her bodily from the room.
“In spite of what you think of me, Justin. In spite of what you believe to be true. I am asking you to tell me what you know of Reginald’s whereabouts. Not for my sake—” she hurled the words at him as he drew breath to respond “—for Sarah’s. She is in danger!” Elizabeth’s voice broke and hot tears stung the back of her eyes but she kept her gaze fastened on his as she waited for his answer.
Justin swept his gaze over her face. Her lips trembled. She lifted her chin. His face tightened. “All right, Elizabeth—for Sarah’s sake.” He motioned her forward. “Come away from the door, I’ll not have the servants eavesdropping. They’ve grist enough for their gossip mill.”
Elizabeth almost fell to the floor with relief. He would listen! He would know how to keep Sarah safe! Her legs trembled as she moved forward as Justin had asked. She blinked back tears of thankfulness, stopped in the center of the room to grip the back of a chair for support and looked up at him.
He turned away. “All right, Elizabeth—explain yourself. Exactly how is Sarah in danger? And what does Burton-Smythe’s whereabouts have to do with it?”
Justin’s voice was like ice, but Elizabeth was so grateful he was willing to listen to her she didn’t care. “He threatened to harm her.” Her voice shook so badly she had to stop for a moment. The look in his eyes as he turned back to face her didn’t help. “He threatened to kidnap her or—or worse.” She couldn’t look at his face. She dropped her gaze to her hands, they looked small, white and ineffective against the back of the chair. She pulled air into her lungs—she had to say it. “He also threatened to have you killed.” Her voice was a mere whisper.
Justin went rigid. “And why should he do such a thing?”
“To make me go with him.”
Dead silence followed her whispered words. Elizabeth forced herself to look up at him. Her knees went weak. She had never seen such cold contempt in anyone’s eyes. She dug her fingers into the back of the chair as pain slashed through her.
“He was obviously successful.” Justin ignored her gasp, placed the volume of poetry on the table beside him and walked to the fireplace. He leaned back against the mantel and folded his arms across his chest. “If this story is true, why didn’t you call for help?”
“Of whom?” Elizabeth took refuge from the pain in anger. “You were out of town and Owen is an old man. He could not have stopped Reginald. And I did not want to see him harmed trying to do so!” She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “It would not have helped anyway. Reginald said if I didn’t go with him he would return again and again until his vengeance was complete. And then he would take me.”
“I see.” Justin’s voice was thick with sarcasm. “If I understand you correctly, you are saying you were forced to go with Burton-Smythe to protect my family, my staff and myself. Is that it?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth’s heart tore in two. He didn’t believe her.
“Admirable of you I’m sure.” Justin gave her a thin, cold smile and crossed one ankle over the other in a pose of complete relaxation. “Why didn’t you leave a message?”
Her message! She darted a glance at the Bible on the rosewood table. Thank heaven he hadn’t found it—it would be unbearable! Elizabeth looked back at him. Her mouth went dry. “There was no opportunity. He never left me alone.” For the first time she was not being completely honest with him—and she could tell he knew it. The knowledge of her duplicity was in his eyes. She looked away.
“I see.” Justin’s voice was absolutely glacial. “A most ingenious story, Elizabeth. One that absolves you of all duplicity, or guilt, in either running off with your lover or plotting my demise. It also furnishes you with the perfect excuse for coming in here and asking me for your lover’s whereabouts. You are a very clever woman, Elizabeth—whatever else you might be.”
She lifted her head and stared at him, stunned by the way he had twisted her words into something utterly opposite of the truth—and then the shock gave way to outrage at his incredible arrogance. She straightened to her full height and fastened her gaze on his cold, cold eyes. “I have answered your questions, Justin. Now I ask one of you. Are you so anxious to be right in your judgment of my character you would blind yourself to the truth—even if it means harm to your daughter?” She neither expected, nor waited, for an answer. She gathered her long skirts into her hands and walked toward the door.
“Elizabeth?”
She halted, then turned and met his furious gaze.
“Have you been in touch with Burton-Smythe since you have been in this house?”
Her heart filled with hope. Had she shaken his certainty of her guilt?
“No, I have not.”
“Then how did he know where to find you?”
She could almost hear the jaws of the trap he had set for her snapping closed. Elizabeth stared at him while her foolish hope died—he would never believe her. Still, for Sarah’s sake…for his sake…she had to continue to try. She took a deep breath. “He told me he overheard a conversation at your sister Laina’s birthday celebration in which you mentioned my name and the fact that we were married in March. It was enough to bring him searching for me.”
Justin’s face went slack with surprise. He stared at her a moment, then lowered his brows in a deep scowl. “Either you’re telling the truth, Elizabeth—or you’re the most damnably clever liar I’ve ever met! What do you mean ‘it was enough’? Why would Burton-Smythe come searching for you?”
His continued skepticism broke the last of Elizabeth’s control. She snapped out the answer. “Because we were betrothed and I ran away!”
“Betrothed!”
The word was a surprised, outraged roar.
Elizabeth, suddenly realizing what she had blurted out in her anger, gave a startled gasp, whirled around and rushed for the door. She was brought up short by Justin’s firm grasp on her arm. He spun her about to face him.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“T-to sit with Abigail—”
His eyes narrowed.
Elizabeth shivered.
Abruptly, he released her arm. “Go sit down, Elizabeth.”
She had never seen him so angry—not even when he had accused her of plotting his murder. She walked back to the chair and perched gingerly on the edge of the seat, poised for rapid flight should it prove necessary. Summoning her courage she looked up at him. He was standing in front of the door, his face a perfect picture of controlled fury.
“This has gone far enough. You are not leaving this room until I have the truth, Elizabeth. All of it.” His voice was quiet. Deadly quiet. “You may begin by telling me about your lover.”
“Do not call him that!” Exhaustion, worry, fear and frustration all combined to push Elizabeth over the edge. She jumped to her feet and stamped her foot on the floor. “Reginald is not my lover. I loathe him!”
Justin lifted one dark, well-formed eyebrow in disbelief.
She wanted to rip it from his face.
“You were betrothed to a man you loathe?”
“Yes!”
“I think you had better explain.”
He had gone back to his cool, disbelieving tone. Elizabeth glared at him. The man was absolutely maddening! “Very well.” With a toss of her head she threw caution to the winds. What difference could the truth make? He hated her anyway. She pulled herself to her full height. “My father is Ezra Landis Frazier.” That caught him by surprise—both of his dark-brown eyebrows had shot skyward.
“Of Frazier and Stoneham in New York?”
His voice was incredulous.
“Yes.” Elizabeth felt a moment’s satisfaction at his shock—and then a crushing disappointment. How ironic it would be if he gave credence to her story because of her father’s position. She had thought better of him. Too agitated to sit, she walked around to the back of the chair and turned to face him. She felt safer with a solid piece of furniture between them.
“Obviously, you know of my father. And if you do, then you know that he is a wealthy man. However, he is not satisfied with his present riches. For some time now he has desired a particularly valuable waterfront property located beside his present warehouse. That property is owned by Reginald Burton-Smythe.”
Justin crossed his arms over his broad chest, fastened a cynical gaze on her, and leaned back against the door to listen.
She clenched her hands. She wanted to shake him. Anger at his attitude drove her into her story. “Father offered, time and again, to purchase the property, but Reginald refused. Father became obsessed. He hatched plot after plot, devised scheme after scheme to acquire that waterfront acreage—all to no avail.” She drew a deep breath and looked full into Justin’s eyes. “And then one night Father brought Reginald home and introduced him to me.”
Elizabeth faltered. Her anger dissolved in the flood of painful memories her words released. She looked down at the chair, then back up at Justin. Telling him was going to be harder than she thought.
“Go on.”
His eyes were narrowed. He was watching her closely. Elizabeth looked away. Her face suddenly felt stiff and unnatural. She stared down at her hands to avoid Justin’s suspicious gaze. “Reginald became a frequent guest at our house…and then my suitor, though I begged Father to refuse his request to court me. I— There was something about him…” Her throat convulsed and her stomach began to churn. Elizabeth swallowed hard, moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and lifted her gaze to Justin’s face. “On my eighteenth birthday, he asked for my hand in marriage. I refused.”
Justin frowned. There was something in her eyes…
Elizabeth looked away. “Father was incensed, of course. He ordered me to marry Reginald and I told him I wouldn’t. I…couldn’t.” She swallowed again and placed her hand over her roiling stomach. “The following evening, Father summoned me to his study. When I entered the room I found Reginald waiting there for me. He, again, asked for my hand, and when I refused, he—he said I would have no choice.” Elizabeth shuddered. She wrapped her arms around her waist in an unconscious gesture of protection and her voice dropped to a whisper. “He said he would soil me so that no decent man would have me.”
Justin sucked his breath in sharply. The sound drew Elizabeth’s gaze. His stomach contracted. She looked as if she was about to shatter. Suddenly nothing mattered but that she be all right. He pushed away from the door and started toward her. She looked down at her hands. “Elizabeth, you needn’t—”
“He asked me again to marry him—I refused. He struck me….”
Justin stopped. She was trembling violently and staring into the distance and her voice had taken on a flat, faraway quality that frightened him. He was afraid to go to her—afraid his touch would make her swoon. Uncertain of what to do, he stood and watched helplessly as she lifted her hand and touched her cheek—the one that had been bruised and swollen when they met. Something hot and ugly rose up inside him.
“His blow stunned me and I fell to the floor. When I came to, he was on top of me, tearing at my gown.”
She looked up at him then, her eyes filled with fear and horror, and a rage such as he had never known filled Justin. It rose from his stomach into his chest and spread throughout his body. He curled his hands into fists wanting to smash, destroy, hurt something, as she had been hurt. “Elizabeth?” He choked out her name. She looked away.
“My uncle Charles called unexpectedly that night. And when he heard my screams he rushed into Father’s study and pulled Reginald off me before—before—” She stopped and drew a deep, shuddering breath.
The relief was so intense, so unexpected, it made Justin weak. He sagged back against the door, surprised to find that he was trembling.
“If it hadn’t been for my uncle Charles’s unexpected visit, no one would have saved me.” Elizabeth focused her gaze on him. “You see, I was the price Reginald had placed on the waterfront property and Father had agreed. Father had promised me to him.”
The rage came again, black and ugly, the heat of it searing Justin’s heart. “What of your mother? Surely your mother tried to help. Surely your mother did not agree?”
Elizabeth swept her lashes down to hide her eyes. “Mother said it would be easier for me if I did not resist Reginald. She said that all men are alike—and that money can make anything bearable.”
“Dear heaven, Elizabeth!” Justin’s anger exploded. “What sort of people—?” He bit off the rest as her gaze swept back up to his face.
“My parents locked me in my room and ordered the servants to stay away. Father even took my shoes and boots.” Elizabeth’s lips quivered, tears sprang into her eyes. “They meant to keep me imprisoned until the wedding. They didn’t know about the key.” Her chin lifted a notch and when she continued her voice was stronger. “It was Miss Essie’s key. She hid it in the hollow base of my pewter candlestick when my parents dismissed her. ‘Just in case you should ever need it,’ she told me—” Elizabeth’s voice broke on a sob. She turned away to hide her tears from him. “I had forgotten about the key. It was when I started to pray that I suddenly remembered it. It gave me hope.” She wiped away the tears and turned back to face him—her eyes were unnaturally bright.
“I made a bag out of an old gown, hid it in my wardrobe and waited for morning. When Father left to call on Reginald to make the final arrangements for our wedding, I got the key, unlocked the door, and walked away.” She drew a deep breath and expelled it in a long, shaky sigh.
“I was searching for a way out of town when I came to the Haversham Coach House that evening and Judge Braden approached me with your offer. At first I didn’t understand—I thought Reginald had set the law on me. But then I realized some man had arranged to buy a wife…and, of course, I accepted.” She paused and dropped her gaze to the chair. With one long finger she began to trace the pattern of the tapestry fabric. “I knew that was wrong of me, of course, but I was desperate. All I could think of was that I would be safe from them all. And I was—” Her finger stilled. She went deathly pale. “U-un-t-til y-yester-d-day.”
Elizabeth clamped her jaws tightly together to stop her suddenly chattering teeth. She began to shiver uncontrollably. Her eyes widened with fear and the shock of delayed reaction. She lifted her gaze to Justin’s face and opened her mouth to ask him for help, but no sound came. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. In panic she lifted her hand toward him—and then the darkness came.
“Elizabeth!”
Justin leaped forward and caught her in his arms as her knees buckled and she slid down the back of the chair toward the floor.