“Come, Bess,” he said softly. “If you laugh, they will be laughing with you, not at you.”
Thankful for his sudden understanding, she smiled ruefully up at him. “It is hard to laugh when a portion of one’s anatomy hurts.”
“That is indeed true; however, it also aids in forgetting the pain.” He pulled her upright.
“Do you think, my lord?—”
“Justin.”
She laughed. “Do you think,Justin,we might depart from this church with a modicum of decorum?”
“I doubt I would place a bet in the book at White’s; however?—”
“However, we will try,” Elizabeth said firmly.
St. Ryne held out his arm. Smiling, Elizabeth took it and together they walked down the aisle. Seeing them together, smiling, caused several who observed to wonder once again at the root of this marriage.
Elizabeth’s good humor lasted until they entered the carriage that would take them back to Rasthough House, where a breakfast for the wedding party was waiting. She did not understand St. Ryne’s strange humors. One moment he could be insulting, the next understanding. She was uncertain as to how to act with him. She found herself wondering about the marriage bed. Would he be rough with her or patient with her ineptness? She blushed furiously at her thoughts, turning her head away so St. Ryne would not note her embarrassment, for how could she explain?
Delighted with her good spirits as they left the altar, St. Ryne was dismayed to see it fade when they were alone. He consoled himself with the belief he had managed to place a chink in her armor. It angered him, however, to see her turn away from him in the carriage, as if she could no longer stand his presence. Any thoughts he had of not continuing the course he’d laid out for them were swiftly laid to rest. His Kate was not yet tamed.
At Rasthough House, St. Ryne’s countenance was inexpressive as he handed his bride down from the carriage. For her part, Elizabeth kept her eyes downcast until her family claimed her attention. St. Ryne followed them into the house, nodding pleasantly to those arriving guests who’d been invited to partake of the wedding breakfast.
After the last guest arrived, St. Ryne began the play anew: “My lady, it is time we left. Go change into your riding attire so we may be on our way.”
“What!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“Now see here, St. Ryne—” expostulated Lord Monweithe.
St. Ryne raised a hand for silence. “Hurry now, and change. We must be on our way.”
“Are you mad? We have got to stay for the breakfast!”
“Are you begging me, my sweet Bess?” St. Ryne asked.
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Then for sure we cannot stay. I will not tolerate a begging wife.”
“Well then, you can go and I will stay!” Elizabeth said angrily, whirling around to face those of the guests who stood in the hall with them, all agog with curiosity yet embarrassed to be where they were. “Come,” she invited, “let us go in to breakfast.”
“Yes, go all of you to make merry and celebrate this day. My Bess cannot be with you for she goes with me. She is my everything, and I shall protect her with my last breath,” he said loudly, then turned to speak softly to Elizabeth. “Now, do I have to undress and dress you myself, or will you go get into your habit and bid your man saddle your horse? Pack only what is needful in a small portmanteau. The rest will be sent to follow. Our honeymoon tryst should be our secret.”
Too embarrassed to argue publicly with him after the events of the morning, Elizabeth flounced up the stairs to change. She was piqued at his manner, yet also intrigued. Slowly she gathered accoutrements for her portmanteau, stowing them carefully away as she considered St. Ryne’s behavior. She did not know his game and was not sure she wanted to play. Refusing to change, she sat down on her bed, deciding to stall, as she had done that morning with her father.
His patience exceeded her father’s by ten minutes. When he stormed into her room some thirty minutes later, Elizabeth scrambled to her feet. Belatedly she realized she erred greatly in flaunting his order. Taking in the situation at a glance, St. Ryne strode determinedly toward Elizabeth. “So, you prefer to ridebefore me on horseback. Why didn’t you tell me sooner, my love. We could have been off by now. Well, come, it is time to go.”
“No! Wait! I’ll change.”
St. Ryne smiled. “It is too late now, my love,” he said softly. “Now, will you walk down the stairs before me, or do you wish me to carry you?”
“You wouldn’t?—”
“Wouldn’t what? You should know by now there is a great deal I will dare.”
Elizabeth shuddered slightly. Without a word she walked numbly past him and down the stairs. She listened in a daze as he ordered a warm hooded cloak for her, and almost docilely followed him outside to where a groom held his horse. He threw her up onto the front of the saddle then mounted behind her. The Earl of Rasthough stood in the doorway and silently watched his son-in-law, wondering for the first time in his life what would become of his daughter Elizabeth.
CHAPTER 5
