The Pits of Passion Read online

  She would have revenge, she decided. She would make him pay the piper now that he had danced on her virtue. Planning her actions carefully, she resolved to go to the Magistrate the next day.

  Chapter 2

  Elizabeth told the Magistrate her story, pacing, fuming and becoming angrier all the time. The Magistrate listened patiently, his eyes drifting frequently to the swelling roundness above the neckline of her gown. He was an older man, in his fifties, but not past the age of dreaming. When Elizabeth had finished, she stood expectantly before him, waiting for him to declare himself.

  “Well,” the Magistrate said, tearing his eyes away from her tempting bodice. “A very sad story, I’m sure. And especially for one of your station, yes, very sad. Ahem.” He folded his hands into a steeple over his belly, deeply pondering the question before him. “Have you ever seen this trick?” he asked, showing her the people inside the church. Elizabeth glowered at him. “Well, yes, ahem,” he said. “What is it exactly you want me to do?”

  “Punish the man!” she exclaimed. “Throw him in the gaol or hang him or make him marry me or something!”

  “Ahem, yes I suppose we could hang him by his, uh .....”

  Elizabeth gasped, horrified.

  “Well, maybe not,” the Magistrate added. “Hm, yes, well, I guess the best course of action would be to arrange a wedding, then. Quick, you know, just in case….” he eyed Elizabeth’s belly. “Well, don’t fret my dear. Tell you what. Return here to my office tomorrow at three and we’ll have the bounder and have him do right by you.

  We’ll make him take his medicine, all right.”

  With the sentence handed down, Elizabeth felt little comfort. She nodded to the Magistrate slowly, wondering if she had done the right thing. But still, she thought, it was unthinkable to let the rogue get away without punishment. She would teach him to treat her lightly.

  He would find out what it was to tamper with the Montgomerys. A plan formulated in her mind. He had ruined her chance to marry anyone of her choice, so she would ruin his. He would find himself no better off with a wife than without. She vowed that once the marriage had been performed, he would not touch her again.

  “Tomorrow at three,” Elizabeth agreed. She lifted her chin and turned to go. The Magistrate rushed to open the door for her, standing on his tiptoes so he could get a glimpse down the front of her gown. Elizabeth smiled up at him gratefully and left.

  Back in her own mansion, she began to ransack her wardrobe, searching for a gown that would be appropriate for her wedding. She pulled out a green velvet dress with a gathered waist and tiny seed pearls sewn delicately along the sleeves and neckline. The color was a pale sea green and the velvet shimmered when the sun caught it.

  Unfortunately, the bodice was ripped, and Elizabeth threw the gown on the floor.

  The next one she chose was a blue taffeta, a striking gown that showed off her honey hair to great advantage. The color was magnificent, a brilliant royal blue that seemed to add grace and dignity to her full, ripe figure. But the bodice of this one was also ripped, and Elizabeth threw it on the floor beside the first.

  The rest of her wardrobe went much the same way. Before she was done, Elizabeth had a mountain of velvet and brocade and silk heaped on the floor, every gown with some little flaw or bothersome trait that she would not abide. She glared at the pile angrily. Surely she must have something appropriate.

  She carefully drew out her mother’s wedding gown. It was an exquisite creation of lace and silk and polyester and Elizabeth held it up to her happily. This was the one. It was high necked and long sleeved, yet clung to her body like a wet rag, showing all the curves and hollows she possessed. This would be the gown to tempt Mr. Elliott sorely, allowing him to know what he had abused, yet puritan enough to deny him that which he beheld. Elizabeth hung the gown up carefully and rang for a servant to come and hang up the rest of her gowns.

  She waited for the time of her wedding with trepidation. As much as she wanted to exact revenge on Mr. Elliott, she wondered how the impending marriage would affect her. Could she keep to her vow and stay painfully aloof from him, or would his hands just by one touch drive her to the edge of her control? She hoped she could with-stand the forces she was setting in motion. She thought again of the selfish, inconsiderate way he’d used her and her anger flared anew. The ruthless blackguard! The cowardly rogue! The rotten son-of-a-bitch!

  On the wedding day, Elizabeth dressed carefully, aware of the seductive quality she cultivated. She had bathed in scented water, using lilac and lavender salts, with a touch of frankincense and myrrh. Her hair was piled regally on her head, soft tendrils of honey dripping to her shoulders. She looked more desirable than she ever had before. Catching a dove-gray cloak about her, she went downstairs to where Trevor had the carriage waiting.

  When they reached the Magistrate’s office, she looked for some sign that Mr. Elliott waited within. When she found none, she stepped cautiously out of the carriage. The seriousness of her deed was beginning to come clear to her, and her heart began to pound beneath the white silk. Striking a pose of quiet arrogance, she walked sedately into the Magistrate’s office. The sight that met her eyes disconcerted her. She closed the door behind her and turned to face three men, each appraising her in their own way.

  The Magistrate tried to hide his leering lust behind a look of compassionate understanding. Unfortunately, his compassion extended to the bulge in his pants as well. The second man, the head constable Elizabeth realized, was short and slight and had decidedly double-jointed wrists. He surveyed Elizabeth with a critical, contemptible gaze, but his eyes often wandered back to the countenance of the third man. Mr. Elliott towered far above the other two men, his dark handsome face carved into a redoubtable glare. It made Elizabeth redoubt too. As unwilling as Mr. Elliott appeared, though, he was dressed impeccably in black pants and a stark white shirt and lace cravat. The outfit was simple and only served to accentuate the hard, muscled lines of his body. Suddenly he looked more dangerous than Elizabeth had remembered.

  “It would appear, madam, that we have something to straighten out between us.” His tone was level, serious yet mocking.

  “Yes, it appears so,” Elizabeth said arrogantly. “I told you that you would pay for what you did to me, and so you shall. You will pay for my virtue with your name.”

  “I?” he asked incredulously. “What I did to you? I did nothing but save you from the drunken lust of a worthless peon. I did nothing but hide your shame in my jacket. Which, by the way,” he said meaningfully to the Magistrate, “has not been returned to me.”

  “Lies!” Elizabeth shouted. “All lies! He took me by force, using me like a strumpet, and that after I returned his precious coat! I warned you, Mr. Elliott, and now you shall pay for your indiscretion!” She turned her magnificent flashing eyes on the Magistrate. “Please get on with it. I have no desire to stand here arguing with a rogue and a liar.”

  Looking somewhat perturbed by the accusations that flew about his chambers, the Magistrate quickly rifled through his bible. He peered cautiously at the gentleman who stood thin-lipped and rock silent, then at the beautifully willful girl and shook his head.

  This would be a match, thought he, to knock all of London on its ass.

  The ceremony was quick and simple, without the embellishments Elizabeth often dreamed girlish dreams about. At the ending pronouncement, the limp-wristed head constable--Mr. Pramburg was his name--produced a golden band and slipped it on Mr. Elliott’s finger.

  “No, no, you fool!” the Magistrate said. “Put it on the girl’s finger!”

  “The girl?” Mr. Pramburg asked confusedly. He looked at Elizabeth coolly. “Oh yes.” With his long narrow fingers, he slipped the ring from the man’s hand and put it distastefully into Elizabeth’s palm. He sniffed once as he turned away.

  Elizabeth put the ring on her own finger, squeezing the adjustable sides together until it fit perfectly. Then she looked at the man who was now her husb
and. Her husband! He towered above her, his black brows scowling down at her. Again Elizabeth wondered if she had tempted fate too far.

  “Ahem,” the Magistrate said. The couple turned toward him. “I believe it is customary to kiss the newlywed?” He arched his brows hopefully. “May I?”

  Elizabeth cast her sea-green eyes down modestly, not protesting, and the Magistrate stepped forward eagerly. Putting his hands about Elizabeth’s tiny waist, he leaned down, his lips aching to cover hers. Just then he glanced upward at the bridegroom and the thunderous look on the other man’s face made him turn aside and plant a fatherly kiss on Elizabeth’s cheek.

  “Now me,” Mr. Pramburg said, and stepped up to the newlyweds.

  Giving Elizabeth a catty sneer, he jumped up and smacked Benjamin a good one on the mouth.

  “Ahem,” said the Magistrate, and Pramburg backed off. Elliott wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and Elizabeth turned back to the Magistrate.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You have been most kind and you shall be rewarded. The Montgomerys do not easily forget those who serve them.”

  “You mean the Elliotts, don’t you madam?” Benjamin asked coolly. “Mrs. Elliott?”

  Elizabeth looked haughtily upon her husband without answering. Instead, she stepped to the door and waited for him to open it for her. When he did, she whirled out of the office in a flurry of petticoats.

  Outside Trevor was asleep at the reins and Elizabeth slapped him sharply with her crop to alert him to her needs. She had had a white crop made especially to match her gown. Trevor blinked down at his mistress and awaited her directions.

  “Home, Trevor,” she said as she stepped into the carriage. She would have slammed the door behind her, but Benjamin caught it and climbed in beside her. With a lurch, the carriage was off.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  Benjamin cocked one eyebrow at her mockingly. “I’m going home with my wife,” he answered cheerfully. “Now that we are married we’ll be sharing everything. Community property and all that.”

  “What?” Elizabeth shrieked. “I forced you to marry me to lend a name to the brat I may be carrying and to deny you a desirable marriage as you have denied me. Beyond that, my interest in you stops. Trevor,” she called, tapping her bridal crop on the side of the carriage, “stop so Mr. Elliott can get out.”

  Trevor stopped, but Mr. Elliott refused to leave. “Trevor,” he said confidently, “drive on home.” Trevor drove on. Elizabeth fumed in the corner of the carriage, unsure of how to deal with her husband.

  “By the way,” Benjamin asked, “where do we live? I have heard of the wealth of the Montgomerys, but I have neglected to notice what holdings they have.”

  Elizabeth stared sullenly out the window of the carriage. She vowed to turn an icy shoulder to this brigand that took her troubles so lightly. Benjamin, however, was not going to be put off. He slid across the seat and pressed his wife close against the side of the carriage. She felt the hard strength of his muscled thigh next to hers, and fought to maintain her cool control. She would not allow him to see how he disconcerted her.

  “Has anyone ever told you what a beauty you are?” he asked huskily. His mouth was only inches from her cheek, and she could feel his warm breath caressing her skin. She kept her gaze averted deliberately, fearful of turning into his waiting arms. His hard chest excited an even pressure on her side and arm, and she thought she could feel his heart beating against her shoulder. A tingling sensation began in her toes and coursed through her body until her head reeled.

  “No,” she moaned beneath her breath. She tried vainly to struggle against the tide of passion that threatened to engulf her. The touch of his body against hers, his breath on her cheek, the almost tangible nearness of him was proving too much for her. She felt his hand on her arm pulling her, turning her toward him.

  “No,” she said weakly.

  Suddenly the carriage lurched roughly and came to an unsteady halt. Elizabeth seized the moment and leaped from the carriage, not knowing Benjamin was hot on her heels. When she would have bolted the huge oaken door against him, he forced it back open and came on. She flew through the main entry of the mansion, past the puzzled servants, and hurried up the carpeted stairway. Still he came after her. Almost in tears, she threw her bedroom door closed behind her, but Benjamin followed. Once in her virginal chambers, he closed the door and turned the key. Then he focused all his attention on Elizabeth.

  “There is nowhere else to go,” he said sardonically. “Since you are my wife, I expect you to start acting like it. It’s the least you can do for this underhanded hoax you have perpetrated.”

  “Hoax?” she managed. “This is no hoax. Perhaps you sought to trick me, but now that the tables have been turned, it is you who cry trickery. You have used me as a wife once already, and that against my will, and you will not have the opportunity again.”

  “I used you, madam?” He laughed sarcastically. “This is only the second time in my life that I have set eyes upon you, nor have I ever even kissed those cherry red lips, yet you denounce me as a mad ravisher and even accuse me of fostering a child upon you. In truth, Mrs. Elliott, I do not even know your name!”

  A red curtain of rage descended over Elizabeth’s eyes. That this lying blackguard should continue to protest his innocence when only just the two of them were together was too much. Did he take her for a fool or a forgetful idiot?

  “Aren’t you going to tell me how I have the advantage over you, that I know your name but you know not mine?” Her voice was deadly soft.

  “I beg your pardon?” Benjamin asked.

  “And tell me again how good you are at buttons with your right hand,” she sneered.

  Benjamin’s response was not what she expected. Instead of squirming in the face of his own words or perhaps coming clean of the whole thing, he began to laugh. And he laughed. And he laughed.

  “Mr. Elliott!” Elizabeth exploded angrily. “How dare you laugh at me!”

  Benjamin had half-sat, half-fallen on the bed and looked up weakly at Elizabeth. He wiped the tears from his eyes and tried to wipe away the laughter that still played upon his lips.

  “Dear me,” he said. Fully composed now, he prepared to explain to his furious bride. “I don’t quite know how to tell you this,” he began.

  “Try telling the truth for a change,” she suggested sourly.

  “Yes, well, I guess I could start by saying that I am left-handed.”

  Elizabeth’s ire rose again. Benjamin quickly noted the pale rose of her skin turning to an odd magenta color and he held up a hand. His left one.

  “Wait! Before you berate me again, hear me out. Again I say, I am left-handed. My twin brother is right-handed.”

  The magenta paled to a funny gray color as the full realization struck Elizabeth.

  “Holy shit,” she said under her breath. “Do you mean to say that it was your brother that ravaged me?”

  “Precisely,” Benjamin said.

  “And not knowing, I forced you into marriage when it is your brother who did the foul deed?”

  “Yes. It’s always been that way, I’m afraid. He’d go off and do something wild, like throwing rats off London Bridge onto boats passing below, and I’d always get punished for it. He’s a bit of a bounder.”

  “Lord have mercy on my soul,” she said quietly. “Mr. Elliott, I cannot tell you how sorry I am for this. I can find no words to apologize for what I’ve done. I—I....” Words failed her. She looked miserably at her husband.

  Benjamin came to stand in front of her. She cast her eyes down, unwilling to look at him, but he lifted her chin with a gentle finger. Tears stood in her jade green eyes and threatened to spill down her lovely cheeks. All the anger and hurt were gone from her face, replaced by regret and apology.

  Benjamin looked deeply into her eyes, his fingers gently supporting her chin. He felt as if he were holding a very small, fragile bird that would fly at his slightest move. T
he nearness of her was a torture to him, yet he was fearful of pressing his advantage and perhaps scaring her. Finally he could stand it no longer, and he bent his dark head toward her golden one, his lips covering hers in a gentle caress.

  “You’re not angry with me?” she asked a moment later.

  “No,” he said. “This is one debt of my brother’s I don’t mind paying.” He circled her with his strong arms and pulled her closer. Although still afraid, Elizabeth allowed herself to accept his attentions, hoping that he did not notice the trembling of her body. His touch was like fire through the thin gown, and she hoped he would not burn any holes in it. His mouth took hers again and again, each time capturing more of her passionate soul.

  He pressed molten kisses on the soft skin of her neck until stopped by the lace there. Then, releasing her suddenly, he waited while her gown fell into a heap about her ankles.

  “See, I told you I was left-handed, “ he said passionately. Elizabeth quickly found her chemise following her gown to the floor, and she stood naked to Benjamin’s lazy blue eyes. Fear and confusion rose in her, tempered only by a strange pleasant tingling that seemed to fill every part of her body. Not knowing whether to stand or dart away, she was caught off guard when Benjamin cradled her easily in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently on the silken coverlet and quickly shed his own clothes.

  “Oh my God!” she gasped, staring at him.

  Benjamin looked down. “Oh, yes,” he said absently. “Besides being different handed, my brother and I do have one other dissimilarity. It seems I inherited both his share and my own of the pride of the Elliott’s.” He clucked his tongue. “Perhaps that was why he was always such a juvenile delinquent. Over compensation for an inferiority complex or some such thing, I suppose.”