Free Charlotte Louise Dolan by The Substitute Bridegroom

scar hidden by the pillow, Elizabeth had the same look of purity undefiled, as if she had never known the petty strife of this world, never known a man’s touch, so that he hesitated, feeling guilt that he was the one who had vandalized her beauty by his thoughtless actions—feeling guilt that he was the one who had taken her innocence away and turned her into a woman.
    He felt himself to be as much a barbarian as the soldiers who stabled their horses in the houses of Spanish grandees and used ancient statues and valuable paintings for target practice, reveling in the wanton destruction of all that was fine.
    Even so, he knew he would disturb Elizabeth’s peace again this evening. There was no way he could play the gentleman and sleep in the adjoining room.
    But for a while he found sufficient satisfaction just in watching her, in admiring the smooth curve of her ivory cheek, her dark-blond hair curling around her slender neck, her blue eyes open now gazing back at him, her red lips curving into a smile, her slender arms reaching out to him ...
    He bent his head and kissed her gently on the lips.
    “A soldier’s wife waiting patiently at home deserves a better welcome than that,” she murmured.
    He could hear laughter in her voice, and all his feelings of guilt evaporated. With no further hesitation, he slid under the covers and took her in his arms. For the first time in years he felt he had truly come home.
    * * * *
    “You are up early this morning, my dear.”
    Elizabeth looked up to see her husband entering the breakfast room and only with great effort prevented herself from leaping to her feet to fill a plate for him. He had, as she had anticipated, made it quite clear that a St. John was capable of looking after himself in such simple matters.
    “The weather was so beautiful, I could not bear to delay my usual morning ride a moment longer than necessary. I am afraid you have been finding this a very poor place to visit, since it has done nothing but rain the entire time you have been here.”
    The look of gauntness was gone from his face, erased by three days of stuffing him with every tantalizing delicacy that Cook could come up with ... and perhaps the three nights of sleeping in her bed had helped remove the signs of tension, thought Elizabeth.
    Unfortunately, there were still times when he got a faraway look in his eyes, and she knew he was thinking about the war. Every day he read the newspaper accounts of the conflict, though he never commented upon them. Sometimes she wished Squire Higgens would burn his copies, although she knew such thoughts were unworthy and diminished her as a soldier’s wife.
    Darius joined her at the table, his plate piled high with kidney and eggs and a mountain of toast. “You have managed to keep me tolerably entertained, in spite of the poor weather.”
    He looked at her with such a wicked glint in his eye that she could feel the heat rushing to her face and knew she must be blushing redder than a holly berry.
    Before she could think of something witty to reply, he continued. “And Dorie has done her best to alleviate my boredom. So far she has beaten me at spillikins, patience, and checkers, and now wishes me to teach her to play piquet. I trust you will invite me to join you in your morning ride to save me from that dreadful fate?”
    “Of course, you are always welcome to join me,” she said without thinking.
    He did not reply, and she looked up from her plate to find him once more grinning wickedly at her, but this time, instead of blushing, she laughed out loud.
    Breakfast continued in such a spirit of amiability that she felt guilty for rushing through it. Although it was selfish, she really wanted to leave before Dorie woke up. The last three days Elizabeth had not had a moment alone with her husband, except when they closed their bedroom door at night, and just for this morning, she felt a deep need to leave their fifteen-year-old chaperone behind.
    By the time she