Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) by Lily Silver Page B

right. I’ll teach you.” The count caressed her
cheek with a light forefinger.
    Elizabeth grew still. His caress, his nearness, his manner
were too familiar. “Are you—are you my legal guardian, s-sir?”
    He studied her for a torturous moment, as if debating the
answer in his mind. “I suppose in a manner of speaking, I am.” He confided,
then paused before adding, “I’m your husband.”
    She gasped in outrage. “That’s impossible—“
    “It’s the truth.” He countered, his intense blue eyes
softening in commiseration. “I would never trifle with you on such an important
matter, my dear.”
    Elizabeth stared at the man, unable to think as the
frightening absurdity of it washed over her. Married—it was so permanent. “I’m
too young to be married, I’m only sixteen.”
    “You are eighteen, Elizabeth. The year is seventeen
ninety-eight, not ninety-six.”
    Elizabeth nibbled her lower lip, her mind working furiously
for a way out of this mess. Married, yet tainted—there was the rub. “You don’t
have to keep me, sir.” She spoke rapidly, desperate to barter her release. “You
can have the marriage annulled. No one would blame you after what happened—I
can take care of myself, I’ve been doing it for most of my life. I’m strong--I
can find work, and-and, you could remarry—someone who isn’t tainted—“
     Two long, lean fingers pressed against her lips to stop her
impulsive rambling. She shivered, recognizing the steely resolve in those bonny
blue eyes.
    “There will be no annulment.” The voice that had been velvet
became stone. He removed his hand from her lips. “You are my wife, not a horse
to be traded at the market. And you insult my integrity by suggesting I should
cast you aside for what someone did to you. What happened is not your fault.
You must never believe for a moment that it is. I should be the one begging
your forgiveness. It’s pointless when I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”
    An awkward silence stretched on after his emotional
outburst. Elizabeth didn’t understand why he should feel her abduction
reflected badly upon him.
     Recovering quickly, he rose from the bed and took to
tugging the covers up about her with jerky movements. “Lie back and rest.” He
commanded in a clogged timbre, as if his throat ached and he found it painful
to speak. He turned away from her and stalked to the door.
    “Wait, might I ask one question, sir?”
    Turning on his heels to face her, an ebony brow sliced
upward at a dangerous angle.
    “How long have we been married?”
    “Not quite a month.”
    “And, how long have I been ill?”
    “That’s two questions.” He warned, taking a step nearer the
bed. “You were abducted after the wedding ceremony, while I was detained
elsewhere on business. So, the answer to both questions is the same; we’ve been
married and you’ve been ill for over three weeks.”
    Elizabeth blinked. What seemed a sparse few days in her mind
had been nearly a month?
    She rose up on an elbow as more questions rose to the
forefront. “But how—“
    The count’s eyes narrowed. “I told you to lie down and rest
quietly, and that is precisely what you are going to do.” With that, he left
the room.
    Elizabeth experienced a pang at his retreat. She felt safe
when he was near. She felt an inexplicable panic whenever she awakened and
found herself alone in this strange place. Deep down, she knew he would not
hurt her; he’d protect her if need be, with his very life.
    Perhaps that was significant; she felt safe with him,
trusted him on a purely instinctual level. He had been kind to her. He was
wickedly handsome. And young--she was fortunate in that respect. She could have
awakened to find herself married to some foul smelling . . .
    The count strode into the room with a purposeful mien. He
held out a parchment.
    Elizabeth took the sheet from him. It was a certificate of
marriage—dated two years into the future. Dr. D. O. Beaumont, Count