Tender Torment (14 page)

Marisa wore a tight-fitting ivory pelisse with several short capes trimmed in ermine, her accompanying hat and muff matching
the fur of her capes. She smiled demurely as she walked in a dignified cadence up the aisle with her father. Her dress was
simple but elegant, and it both surprised and impressed Straeford. His bride might be a mere merchant’s daughter but there
was no denying that she had the beauty and quiet good taste of a noblewoman.

Never falterkig for a moment on her way to the altar, Marisa gracefully accepted the earl’s arm and together they faced the
minister. Although she could feel her heart beating frantically inside, she appeared outwardly calm and poised as the ceremony
began. She struggled bravely to maintain a placid, confident façade as her eyes glanced quickly at this tall, dark figure
of a man who stood next to her, now gripping her hand firmly, almost painfully at this, the most important moment of her life.
Then an eerie feeling flashed suddenly within her, making her wonder if she had ever even seen this man before—really looked
at him. Actually, he was a stranger to her, and this was the first time that she became acutely aware of that fact.

The sacred words that would forever unite them one to the other echoed solemnly within the towering inner walls of the church.
As their vows were exchanged, each phrase was magically repeated first once, then again and again, until the sounds of their
voices became unintelligible, muffled noises which rose upward and disappeared somewhere within the dark spiraling arches
of the Gothic structure. When the earl slipped a band of emeralds and diamonds over her delicate finger, Marisa wanted desperately
to hear the strains of an organ or a chorus of angelic voices to glorify that instant. In just a matter of a few fleeting
moments she had become a countess. But the ceremony was bereft of music, people, warmth and love, she reflected, only because
this man decreed it so. How much more wonderful it might have been if only he… She was curious to know whether he felt anything
at all with regard to this wedding, to its significance, to her. When her eyes turned to meet his, she could find no warmth
within them. Instead, only a cool appraisal appeared, making her wonder if they always gleamed like chips of green ice.

No kiss was exchanged between them at the conclusion of the ceremony. They simply turned to those present, the earl receiving
the outstretched hands of the gentlemen present while the ladies joyfully hugged the new countess and kissed her on the cheek.
Expressions of good luck followed them outside in the cold February air
which sent the entire wedding party scurrying to their carriages.

Inside the head coach, the newlyweds sat facing Lady Maxwell and Angus Loftus. “Tine service,” Loftus pronounced as he rubbed
his hands together to warm them. “Only wish you hadn’t insisted on such a small one. Why, we could have packed that church
and afterward there’d have been such a celebration, the whole town would have known about it.”

“I believe the
Gazette
will provide adequate coverage of the whole affair. You needn’t worry, my good man. Publicity will be ample,” the earl sneered.

Lady Maxwell’s timing and diplomacy prompted her to intervene. “I understand that you’ve provided a banquet for the occasion.”

“Oh, it’s quite a menu, all right,” Loftus boasted, “but then, why not? After all, it’s not every day my little girl gets
married—and to an Earl of the Realm at that!” He patted his daughter’s cheek and beamed with pride.

Embarrassed by her father’s shallow comments, Marisa stole a quick look at Straeford to detect his reaction, but he was paying
her father no attention at all. Instead, his face bore a glazed stare of indifference as he watched the winter countryside
pass beyond the carriage window. She breathed easier, knowing that the earl held Angus in low regard and kept mental tally
of the unpolished man’s social blunders. Hoping to avoid any mortification her father might cause, Marisa found herself struggling
to steer and control the conversation to protect her parent from the earl’s disdain.

Angus would have been deeply hurt if he had known his daughter’s concern on this matter, for he just assumed he was admired
as well as loved and respected by all his children since he had dedicated himself to the goal of providing them with every
advantage possible. The supper he had ordered for that evening was yet another example of his desire to lavish his family
with all that his money could buy. It was an extraordinary banquet consisting of at least a half-dozen of the most delectable
dishes, including turtle soup, crab salad, potato puffs, mint-glazed carrots, asparagus a la Polonaise, white
breast of turkey and veal Marsala. Special servants had also been engaged for the occasion. Dressed in formal livery, they
quietly served the meal with an almost military precision.

Marisa found it difficult, however, to enjoy her wedding feast to the fullest. Seated next to her new husband, she seemed
unable to rid herself of the many doubts that nagged her regarding his true feelings for her and the adjustments she would
now have to face as his wife. A magnificent multi-tiered cake was set in front of them, helping her to dismiss these thoughts
for the moment. But when her father rose to deliver a champagne toast to the two of them, she was touched by his words and
she found herself again searching the earl’s eyes as they lightly tapped their glasses.

What Straeford thought of the whole affair she could only guess for his characteristically stoic expression remained etched
on his face throughout the entire proceedings. Even when they were alone and on their way to their newly acquired home on
Berkeley Square, he remained almost sullenly silent until the carriage pulled up before their residence. In his enthusiasm,
Angus Loftus had even managed to acquire the mansion that had once belonged to Straeford’s mother. He and his daughter had
little realized the painful memories it held for the earl. It was an imposing structure, a three-story town house, with an
iron picket fence surrounding it and two tall street lamps standing at either side of the entrance gate. When the carriage
came to a halt, the main door opened and Jenkins, the newly engaged butler, smiled broadly to welcome them. Inside, they made
their way along an elegantly decorated corridor to the drawing room where a cozy fire burned invitingly in the hearth’s grate.

“The house has only been partially furnished,” she said. “I hope that what I’ve done so far is to your satisfaction. Possibly
you might even have some suggestions as to the rest of the decor…”

“I? This is
your
home, my dear. I shall be a mere visitor from time to time. You may do as you wish with it.”

“But this was once your home.” Marisa’s brow wrinkled in a puzzled expression. Surely he recognized
her father’s efforts to restore completely everything that once had been Straeford’s.

“I barely recall it and it holds no special significance for the Straefords. My father bought it years ago simply to please
my… the countess because she felt she needed a home in the fashionable section of London. And now your father has seen fit
to purchase it as a wedding gift.” He gave a short laugh laced with irony.

Marisa seated herself in one of the mauve wingback chairs as Straeford poured two glasses of sherry from the crystal decanter
set on a nearby table. As he handed her a glass, he proposed a toast. “Let us drink to our mutual good fortune on this our
wedding night, my dear wife.”

That was the first time she had heard him use that word and he said it with a peculiar ring, Marisa thought. Obligingly, she
rose to lift her glass to his and, as she sipped her drink, her eyes received a penetrating gaze which made her instantly
uncomfortable. It was a slow and complete appraisal of her entire body, and it caused her to turn away from him and fidget
with her goblet nervously.

She was a remarkably beautiful woman. As she stood near the fireplace her ivory satin dress seemed to change colors in front
of the flickering fire. Her delicate white neck and smooth shoulders were bare except for the tiny capped ermine sleeves and
a single strand of pearls she wore about her throat. Her complexion was milky and translucent in appearance, her hair a glorious
gold.

Straeford continued to survey her classic figure during a long moment of silence that made Marisa think her nerves would snap.
She forced her eyes to meet his squarely.

“My lord,” she said, swallowing hard.

He replied with a deep but unintelligible mumble that shook her confidence.

“My lord… I…”

“Yes, yes! We’ve gotten that far twice around.” He seemed amused at her faltering attempts to get to the point.

“I… I must speak forthrightly with you.” Her voice was now breathless, and her composure completely deserted
her when his eyebrows arched arrogantly and that satanic glint streamed from his eyes.

“By all means, please do. Isn’t that an essential ingredient of wedded bliss? An honest, straightforward discussion between
man and wife.”

His mocking manner was loathsome, but she had to make him understand her feelings at this moment.

“We barely know one another, my lord… and… well, two people thrown into a marriage like this need time to learn one another’s
ways and…”

“On the contrary, I think we know each other well enough at this moment to be able to share our marriage bed together. What
is this talk about needing more time? What difference will time make?”

“I mean… we need more time… at least in our personal relationship… before we… become intimate.” She didn’t like the way
her words sounded as soon as they left her lips.

“Ah hah! I see! You wish to renege on our bargain, is that it?”

“Why must you refer to it as a ‘bargain’? I would respectfully remind you that this day we entered into a
marriage
…”

“… of convenience!” he cut in quickly. Towering over her, he jutted his jaw directly toward hers and snatched her chin between
his fingers. “And it is my convenience to consummate this marriage tonight. Now do be a good wife and go upstairs and prepare
yourself appropriately as an obedient woman should on her wedding night.”

He escorted her to the door and pronounced, “I’ll be up shortly. Now do hurry and don’t disappoint me.”

Perhaps he was right, Marisa thought as she mounted the stairs. What difference would more time make, indeed? She could have
a lifetime and still never be ready for his demands.

Inside her room, Marisa rummaged about a bureau drawer until she found a coarse muslin night dress, a garment she thoroughly
detested. Much more suitable for his temperament, she thought, as she slipped into its long sleeves and buttoned the high
neck. Hopefully, he would
find this more “appropriate” than the alluring sheer gown she discarded in her drawer.

Pleased with her act of defiance, Marisa seated herself before a vanity mirror to undo her hair and brush its long honey-colored
tresses as she pondered his entrance at any moment. She must not be afraid, she told herself. But when the adjoining door
between their bedrooms clicked open, her hand hesitated in midair before continuing its descent on the next downward brush
stroke. In the mirror she could see his reflection. Wearing only his tight white britches, his athletic V-shaped body made
her feel as though she were being stalked in a game of hunt. Suddenly she felt unable to move, and her mouth became dry as
she stared at his approaching muscular image.

A long thin white scar ran through the curling black hair on his strapping chest while a newer red scar coiled along his right
shoulder. She wondered how he had survived that chest wound, but as his hands touched her shoulders she saw the look of displeasure
which kindled within his eyes.

“Is this what the fashion magazines are recommending these days for enticing men into your bed?” He examined her gown, mocking
it as a travesty of modesty.

Marisa said nothing, but tossed an indignant frown in his direction as she rose to douse the candles on the vanity.

“Wait!” he commanded. His arm clutched her waist in a whiplike grip, and she remembered the strength and solidity of his arms
which now grasped her with terrifying ease.

“I wish to see what I bargained for,” he taunted, his words utterly distasteful to her.

She struggled to release herself from his grip and came face to face with him. Two strong hands tore at the front of her dress
and Marisa reeled backward.

“I won’t be humiliated like this,” she said, her voice cracking. “You have no right to deal with me in this manner.”

“Oh, but I do indeed, my dear spouse, have every right to do as I please, or have you forgotten your vows which you solemnly
spoke this very day?”

“Why must you be so heartless, so insensitive?” she protested.

Seizing her arm with one hand, Straeford thrust a menacing finger at her with the other. “Now you listen to me and listen
carefully. I do not take kindly to criticism from anyone. But least of all do I expect it in my own household and from my
own wife. You should be clear on this point right from the start. I expect no defiance from you any more than I would from
a servant. If you are going to have the privilege of bearing the Straeford name, then I am justly entitled to your obedience
to my bidding. And my bidding at this moment requires you to remove that ridiculous and insulting piece of rag you are wearing.
I expect you to do it right now!”

With shaking hands, Marisa slowly unbuttoned her night dress, realizing that she should have expected him to retaliate. Suddenly
her hands were abruptly pushed aside, and before she could defend herself in any way, he clenched the front of her dress with
both hands and ripped the bodice open with a sound that brought a sinking feeling to the pit of her stomach. She shuddered
helplessly as he shredded the remainder of the garment from her shoulders and let it drop in pieces to the floor. Marisa shivered,
aware of her nakedness, powerless to deal with the tears which now threatened to flow.