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“Good God, is that you, Bristol?” Whitlow spoke as if he could hardly believe his own eyes.
Elizabeth inwardly tensed at hearing the name by which her father-in-law referred to the other man.
Could the earl possibly mean theDukeof Bristol?
Elizabeth only knewofSterling Bishop, had no idea what he looked like because the duke was rarely seen socially. Indeed, Elizabeth had not set eyes on him during the five years she had been out in Society, first as an eighteen-year-old debutante, then a little over three years as Thomas’s wife, and these past ten months as his widow. But that did not mean Bristol and his close ducal friends, known collectively as the Ruthless Dukes, were not a constant source of gossip and speculation amongst the ladies.
Indeed, Elizabeth had received a letter just two days ago from one of her married friends telling her that two of the Ruthless Dukes had recently married. Elizabeth was sure Bristol had not been named as one of them.
Having now set eyes upon him, it was not at all difficult for Elizabeth to understand why. Bristol might be handsome and extremely wealthy, but a single glance at this tall and imposing gentleman, recognizing the cynical sneer of his top lip and the cold and haughty manner in which he viewed the world in general, told Elizabeth that it would take an exceptional woman to meet the no doubt severe criteria of becomingthisman’s duchess.
Or perhaps one that was completelyunexceptional, Elizabeth mused.
Possibly a mousy little creature, and one who would never say a single word of dissent or give a look of criticism to her arrogantly toplofty husband.
As for the performance of such a cold man in the marital bedchamber…
Elizabeth instantly had a vision of a silent Bristol, wearing a long nightshirt similar to that worn by the faceless woman in thebed beneath him, briskly pushing up both those garments before he thrust his cock inside that lady’s channel. That same silence would prevail as he thrust a few times before spilling his seed inside in the hope of producing an heir. Afterward, he would withdraw his softening cock and straighten his nightshirt before rising from the bed and retiring to his own bedchamber. Again, all without speaking a word.
Color heated Elizabeth’s cheeks when her gaze was caught and held by Sterling Bishop as he observed her through narrowed lids. She became even more flustered when he raised a mocking dark brow in silent query as he continued to look at her with those pale and piercing green eyes.
As if, Elizabeth acknowledged with an inner wince, he knew exactly where her thoughts had taken her.
Dear God, she sincerely hoped not.
Thomas, having been taught from when he was a very young man that it was not acceptable for a woman to allow her thoughts to linger on such intimacies, let alone enjoy the physical act of lovemaking, had refused to talk on the subject with his wife.
To that end, despite their love for each other, their own lovemaking had always been muted in restraint. Enjoyable, of course, because the two of them were in love with each other, but Elizabeth had always known there could be more, if only Thomas would allow it.
She wondered if she was being fair by assuming the autocratic gentleman she now knew as being Sterling Bishop, the Duke of Bristol, was as cold inside as he appeared on the outside. Sometimes the most outwardly controlled people were inwardly a mass of seething emotions simply waiting for the right key to turn and set them free.
Not that Elizabeth thought that she could ever be that key for this haughty man.
Besides, what would she do with a man whose heart and emotions appeared to be as frozen as ice?
CHAPTER TWO
Indeed, Bristol continued to hold her gaze for several long and piercing seconds more, after which he gave a barely perceptible inclination of his head in her direction before turning his attention to her father-in-law.
He removed his hat before speaking. “Introduce me to this lovely lady, if you please, Whitlow.” It was an order rather than a request.
One her father-in-law, surprisingly, did not take exception to, as might have been expected. Instead, the earl actually gave what looked to be a gleefully pleased smile. Not a pleasant sight at the best of times, when some of his teeth were missing and others yellowed from lack of cleaning. But the intent behind that smile was all the more disturbing when Elizabeth could think of no reason for it.
Lord Henry Marshall, the Earl of Whitlow, was not a man who was often given to showing humor of any kind. In Elizabeth’s presence, at least.
He had made no secret of his disapproval of his son’s wife when the couple returned to London a week after their elopement. Nor had that attitude changed in the years since. The disapproval had remained at a manageable level whilstThomas was alive to act as a buffer against his father’s deliberate rudeness toward his wife. But in the ten months since her husband’s death, Elizabeth’s life as Thomas’s widow and Christopher’s mother had become unbearable.
Three months ago, she had decided she could not suffer her father-in-law’s cutting remarks a moment longer and had removed herself and Christopher to the Whitlow estate in Cornwall. The two of them had lived peacefully together here for all that time, Christopher loved the freedom of his daily visits to the sandy cove a short distance from the house, where Elizabeth built sandcastles and collected shells with him.
Unfortunately, the earl had decided to join them a week ago and had immediately resumed his bullying and insults to and about her.
If she could have, after Thomas died, Elizabeth would have taken herself back to her parents’ house. It might be small and overcrowded, with two of her younger sisters still unmarried and living at home, but it had always been a house full of love.
The earl, when Elizabeth told him of that wish, had been only too happy for her to leave. But he also made it clear that if she chose to do so, she would not be taking his grandson and heir with her. Unfortunately for her, her father-in-law had informed her, Thomas’s will had appointed his father, the eleventh Earl of Whitlow, as Christopher’s paternal guardian until he reached the age of one and twenty.
She knew Thomas would not have made the stipulation with any intention of hurting her or doubt in her ability as Christopher’s mother. But Thomas had been brought up to respect the earldom and, consequently, his father—even if that father was not always respectful to Thomas or his wife. As such, Elizabeth knew Thomas would have seen naming his father as guardian to any children in their marriage as being the correct thing to do.
Elizabeth very much doubted Thomas had ever thought he would be dead at the age of five and twenty.
