Page 21 of A Substitute Wife for the Prizefighter

“Tell me, has Frank taken up with this Daphne girl?” Benedict pursued coldly.

“Lord no! Nothing of that sort, I’d swear an oath on it.”

Benedict snorted. “Frank’s a fool if he didn’t try to get Maggie out of it years ago. She deserved better than the life he gave her.”

Jack stopped abruptly in his tracks. “Aye well,” he said sharply. “There’s not everyone can turn their backs on their family as readily as you, Benedict,” he said harshly. He held the lamp high. “This is you here, isn’t it?”

Benedict didn’t answer, just towed Lizzie in the direction of the wagon, bundled her up the step, and slammed the door shut behind them.

8

Lizzie woke gradually the next morning to the awful realization that she was pressed against a man’s warm back. Staring with horror at Benedict Toomes’ broad, tanned shoulder blades, she hastily snatched back her arm that had been firmly wrapped about his waist. What was she doing? She shuffled back from him as surreptitiously as possible. Luckily, the sheets were not the crisp cotton she was used to but were instead a soft flannel which did not rustle.

She hoped devoutly Benedict was still fast asleep and unaware of her sleepy embrace. It must have been due to the cold in the night, she told herself firmly. It had certainly had nothing to do with the kissing. That kiss. Her fingers touched her mouth distractedly. If it could be thought of as a kiss. Before last night, Lizzie had thought of kisses as a chaste salute bestowed upon a relative’s cheek. She had, had no notion that men could twist something so simple and wholesome into something … altogether different.

Her cheeks burned when she remembered how she had allowed him to take such wanton liberties with his tongue. She had not protested or even tried to stop him, she thought guiltily. She had simply held still and let him have his wicked way. She pressed her hands to her face. Oh, why had she not pushed him away?

Thank heavens he had not sought to further his acquaintance with her by such methods once they had returned to the wagon. It seemed his brother’s news had dampened his ardor, for he had turned his back while they had mutually undressed and they had climbed into the bed alongside each other in perfect silence.

Rolling on her back, Lizzie reached down to untangle the cotton nightgown which had tangled itself about her legs.

“Keep still, can’t you,” rumbled a low voice, startling her considerably. Lizzie froze, catching her breath. He was awake? When she made no response, he turned to look over his shoulder at her. “What are you doing?” he complained. “Get back here.”

Lizzie stared at him. “What do you mean?” she faltered.

He shot her an exasperated look. “I’ve another half hour before I need to get up. Come back and keep my back warm.”

Lizzie was aghast. When he turned his back to her again in wordless expectation, she gazed at him a moment before reflecting it could be a good deal worse. Inching closer, she checked the ribbon ties at her throat were still secure and then stopped before they actually made physical contact.

“And the rest,” he prompted irritably.

Lizzie leaned the rest of the way forward with a protesting murmur, acutely aware of the fact she was naked beneath her long nightgown. The thin, well-worn cotton was the only barrier between them, for though he had kept his long underwear on last night, his upper body was entirely bare.

“You should wear a long-sleeved vest to bed,” she told him, wishing she did not sound so breathless. “Then your back will not be cold.”

He grunted. “This is better.”

Lizzie blinked, but there was really no response she could make to that. At least he wasn’t demanding that she hug him around his middle. Had he drifted back off to sleep? The steady rise and fall of his breath seemed to indicate as much.

Lizzie marveled that he could be so comfortable with a strange bedfellow when she felt most peculiar all over. She was not sure she would ever grow used to sharing a bed with a man, though common sense told her this was now her reality as a married woman. She lay still as possible, barely breathing in the hope Benedict Toomes would forget what was plastered to his back, namely her.

She was just starting to breathe a little easier when he gave a sigh and sat up in the bed. Lizzie rolled back in alarm, blinking up at him. The morning light was barely showing through the covered window, but she guessed it was early. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. “You may as well stay abed a while,” he said, standing up and scratching his muscular belly.

Lizzie hurriedly averted her eyes. “Are you going into the fair already?”

He murmured some agreement as he washed in the cold-water leftover from the previous evening and dragged on his clothes. “I’ll be back in an hour or so and bring you some breakfast,” he said, glancing at her. “Get some more sleep, but first come and bolt the door after me.”

Lizzie nodded, though she doubted she would sleep so much as a wink. He opened the door and ducked out, slamming it shut after him. Lizzie lay in the still dark interior and breathed out a sigh of relief. She had shared a room with her cousin, but never a bed. The intimacy would take some getting used to. She crawled out of bed and bolted the door before returning to the mattress where she flung out her arms and legs in a full stretch. She had only a single cot in Sitwell Place, not a wide one like this one. She would close her eyes a while and then ponder what to do.

When next she woke, it was to a banging on the door of the wagon. She gasped and cast about her in confusion a moment before remembering where she was. Sitting up, she threw back the covers and stumbled toward the door, pausing only to throw her shawl about her shoulders and conceal the nightgown.

Peering out cautiously, she saw it was old Ma Toomes scowling up at her ferociously. She wore a large coal shovel bonnet this morning to match her shabby black dress. Lizzie could have sworn she had been wearing a man’s cap the previous night, but it had been dark next to the campfire so she could not be sure.

“What?” she squawked catching sight of Lizzie. “Still abed, my fine lady?”

“Benedict told me to sleep in,” Lizzie replied with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Huh!” the old woman snorted. “Well get up, then; you can’t loll there all day. We’ve things to do.”