Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
In the library, Zachary watched Elizabeth pull the drapery aside of a hidden alcove that looked out over the city.
“Thank you,” he said, warmth radiating throughout his body.
“For what?”
He raised a brow. “Your name dropping. And I know the punch spilling was no accident and not something you’d do.”
Genuine compassion lit her expression as she lowered her eyes and drew a circle with the toe of her satin slipper on the marble floor.
“It was terrible of me. To tell you the truth, I’ve never done anything like that before, but it did feel good to slight her.
Mother Superior might give me many penances. ”
How Elizabeth wormed into his heart. He liked the way her face turned up when he spoke, with no trace of practiced artifice in gesture. “Far be it from me to insist on your fasting and almsgiving. For me, your charity was liberating.”
“You’ve done so much for me. You needed saving, and I had the ability to perform the task.” Elizabeth sighed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I rescue stray cats and dogs, too.”
“Good to know where I rank.” Zachary flashed her a grin. “And you must call me Zachary.”
“I must, must I?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why is that?”
He took a moment to reply. “I can’t really say, except it would please me enormously.”
“Then Zachary it will be.”
“Any may I call you, Elizabeth? Miss Spencer is so formal.”
“Elizabeth is acceptable.”
Zachary grinned. He liked the hint of pink that washed over her cheeks as she waved an airy hand over the wash of buildings.
“Peter Minuit found this land some two hundred and fifty years ago, when he weaseled Manhattan from the Canarsie Indians. It’s hard to believe there were steep hills and rushing streams and heavily wooded glades and glens, and bobcats be found prowling the cliffs from the East River.
Did I tell you how refreshing it is to get out of the ballroom?
I abhor those men, and all their false platitudes.
With you, I can have a real conversation. ”
“I can imagine the tediousness of being pursued by so many,” he teased.
She wrinkled her pert nose like there was a bad smell. “Are you kidding?”
“Can’t believe you lost your Havemeyer admirer?”
She snorted. “My allergy to orchids? Genius. Poor fellow wet his pants, running out the door. Oh, and you should have heard the dreadful excuses he made for waking up beneath the flowerpots in our conservatory.”
“I gather your conversations with your other admirers were stimulating?”
She took a step from him and then whirled, her frown beholding an endearing and formidable concentration. “The steel magnate’s heir’s brain operates on a level we mortals cannot comprehend.”
“And the duke?”
She shook her head sadly. “Is a member of a huge and formidable tribe of idiots whose authority,” she dropped the tone of her voice to mimic a British condescending aristocrat, “in human matters is dominant and controlling. His occupation is not restrained to any singular topic or action but encompasses the whole. It’s his duty to have the final word on everything, regulating fashion and opinion of taste, ordaining limitations on speech and regulating conduct. ”
She looked up at him ruefully and then smiled. “He's a confident idiot, written a book on How to be a Complete Moron because he’s mastered the art.”
Her mere presence brought him happiness. She was the antidote to his isolation, his underlying anger to keep the world away. “Far be it from me to go up against your wit.”
“Since we are revealing confidences, I have a secret to share.
When I was a child, I discovered a hidden door that led to a long hallway, leading to a back stairway exit from our home.
I played there all the time with my dolls, hiding from my mother.
Through the walls, I sometimes heard many scorching tales from maids as they were cleaning the rooms on the other side.
“An eavesdropper.”
“It wasn’t intentional, and I couldn’t reveal my hiding space. Often, I placed my hands over my ears or moved farther down the corridor. I needed distance, if you understand what I mean.”
“Far be it from me to target a moral and virtuous woman,” he teased.
“Given that you are my captive audience, tell me more about the Indians. Is what they say true?”
Zachary looked out over the landscape of New York and imagined what it must have been like two hundred years before with the same plight expected for the Indians in the west. “The Indians have had much of their homeland taken from them; their way of life threatened into nonexistence. I have respect for the Indians. Anytime a man comes along and says ‘savages’ were all bad is wrong. I ate, hunted, and shared what I had with the best of them. They are honest, hospitable, and faithful. What I admire most is they do what they want without subterfuge.”
Elizabeth followed her well-manicured finger as she drew it along the window rail. “That is different from what the papers allow.”
Zachary waved a hand. “In life, I’ve found each man is a person to himself, and you’ll find good, bad, and indifferent wherever you go.”
“What is their life like?”
“The women oversee the home, cooking, cleaning, and building her family’s house, dragging heavy posts whenever the tribe moves. Men are hunters and warriors, responsible for feeding and defending their families.”
He paused in thought. “For the promising young men there is a painful tribal initiation. No man can be a warrior until he goes through O-kee-pa, or Medicine Lodge ceremony. They hang him from a pole with splints and skewers running through his flesh. Blood trickling down his white and yellow clay-clad body in a four-day ritual.”
“Is it true the tortures to white settlers?”
“Do you want the sanitized version or the real account?”
“Go ahead.”
Zachary was beginning to understand that Elizabeth had the hungering curiosity of an omnibus. “They disfigured female captives, took turns despoiling them. Noses burned off to the bone. Children skinned, sliced, mutilated, and burned alive.”
“My God. Is the west all horror?”
He shrugged. “For the most part, it’s beautiful. Rambling wild geese across a western sky, rivers churning and thrashing a thousand feet below, a cathedral of stars caressed by a sickle moon to sleep beneath and a bed of soft mosses to rest my spine. Could there be anything more luxurious?”
Their gazes collided, the flames in his eyes darkened as his pupils dilated. In the meager light, his eyes fixed upon her.
Elizabeth had not the slightest wish to embrace that threat or to cultivate it. Yet for one sweet moment, she caved to her fantasy. “You shouldn’t–”
He caught her chin in his hand and stroked the curve of her jaw with his thumb.
Her skin grew hot, her mouth went dry. She was unable to breathe.
Steady now. He lowered his head, his lips hovering above her.
Was he going to kiss her? She had never been kissed before.
At least, she couldn’t remember being kissed.
What would it feel like? To be really kissed.
Luscious anticipation and the slow burn of curiosity and desire curled through her.
He took her in his arms, crushed his mouth to hers, kissed her longingly and deeply, igniting a bone-melting fire that spread through her blood, consuming her.
His fingers splayed across her back, molding his rock-hard body against hers, and making her spine tingle.
Unable to halt the overwhelming stirrings ensnaring her heart, she moaned into his mouth.
From the time she’d clapped her eyes on him, her fascination for him knew no bounds. And touching him now, she was incapable of resisting the fierce attraction between them.
She had dreamed of this, touching him, and he, touching her. Tentatively, she placed her arms around his neck, breathing in the spicy scent of him. He captured her mouth again in a light, teasing kiss, deepening the forceful demand of his mouth every bit as raw and unapologetic as it was seductive.
Images flashed. The sickening odor of noxious fumes, hairy, hands ripping her dress, scraping over her skin, pinching her nipples, clawing between her legs.
“No. I-I cannot do this.” She thrust him away from her. Hands trembling, she froze her arms to her sides. Her heart raced, nearly exploding. How could she explain her strange behavior? How could she fight the blurred fuzziness to clear her vision when every inch of her body screamed in pain.
He drew a ragged breath, straightened, and gave her distance.
“I want you to know you are a beautiful and bright young woman. I’d never take advantage of you.
” Silence loomed like a heavy mist, broken only by the orchestra striking a new set.
“You are remembering what happened to you?” He handed her his handkerchief.
“I can’t remember,” she cried. “All I recall is a raspy voice. I’ll never forget that voice, and then the pregnancy and the humiliation.” She couldn’t look at Zachary anymore. Couldn’t see the wrath piercing at her with a marksman’s precision. Couldn’t face the shame.
Her composure finally broke, swallowing frantic gulps of emotion. He started to reach for her, stopped, as if sensing a touch would break her.
“You endured so much, Elizabeth.” He looked into her eyes with an intimacy and connection that Elizabeth felt all the way down to her toes.
Tears spilled from her lashes and washed down her cheeks, causing her breath to tremble in her chest.
Zachary clenched and unclenched his hands. “None of this is your fault. If I ever find the coward who did this to you, I’ll kill him.”
She dabbed her eyes again, dampening his handkerchief. “Please forgive my weakness. It does not bring out my best qualities. Could you just hold me?”
“You are far from weak.” He moved closer. A sparrow’s wing wouldn’t have survived in the space between them, and she could feel the sensation of him through every inch of her skin.
“Please,” she begged.
He slid his arms around her and tucked her head beneath his chin.
His body was coiled as tight as a bowstring, and he said nothing more.
Yet to her, he offered a tenderness, conveyed in his caring touch as they entwined their fingers.
The shape of his hand fit hers, every joint and solid tendon and hard muscle designed for perfect alignment.
Beating in the pulses of their wrists came strength, comfort, and hope.
She would remember the feel of his hand around hers for the rest of her life.
“I-I want you to know that I’m not a wanton. To drag knives over my skin, to feel something other than degradation?” she said in a broken whisper.
“I believe you. There are evil men in this world. You were tricked. To me, you are innocent and very much like the lotus blossom,” he whispered.
“Lotus blossom?”
“Chen told me of the flower that rises from the mud and blooms in exquisite beauty, symbolizing perfection and purity of heart and mind.”
“Thank you. Do you know how refreshing it is to finally share my degradation with someone who believes me?”
“And not be judged by it? No. For me, your confession is like getting stoned with popcorn.”
She pushed from him, but he held her. “You think to make fun of me?” she accused.
Strong fingers lifted her chin. He brushed away a tear. “Miss Spencer, I want you to think how trifling your professed disgrace is to me.”
A world of complexities pulled her heart away from the gloom. His nearness, his acceptance of her, after so much loneliness was like pulling her out of the quicksand and into the wild richness of air.
“Your mother and especially your father should be searching for the person who did this crime, not condemning you. If I ever find the bastard, he’ll find my Colt revolver planted in his chest.”
Something broke inside her. The relief that kindness existed in the world. How he negated all her fears and sufferings, lifting the heavy burden she carried. “I cannot thank you enough.”
Alva Spencer’s blistering and piercing cry galvanized them. “Elizabeth, what are you doing with this detestable profligate?”
Zachary shoved Elizabeth behind him, cursing himself for being caught unaware.
“Thank God, we found you before the wagging tongues ruined your reputation,” her mother said, her skin flushed and her mouth pulled tight. She reached behind Zachary and yanked her daughter from the alcove.
Zachary moved a step toward Elizabeth.
Elizabeth shook her head, straining against her mother’s cruel grip as she was dragged from the library. “I’ve done nothing to be ashamed, Mother.” She turned her head, beseeching Zachary. Do not do anything.
Edward Spencer’s harsh glare fell on Zachary.
“I have invested heavily in you.” The financial baron let the threat coil over and strangle him.
The banker would pull his financing. His company and dreams destroyed.
“My daughter is from a different element of society, a society in which—you are not worthy.”
Small black magpie eyes glared up at Zachary. The beefy, red-faced financial bully, drunk with wealth and power, who bawled orders to stock markets, directors, courts, governments, and nations had spoken. Tread carefully. One misstep might find Zachary floating in the Graniteville swamps.
“I want your promise as a gentleman to stay away from my daughter. She has been through a lot.”
Zachary’s hands fisted with the remembrance of the man’s cruelty.
How Elizabeth was sent away in shame for a misfortune out of her control.
That the man didn’t seem to have a care that his daughter almost drowned or could have died in childbirth as long as she didn’t tarnish the family’s reputation.
Most reprehensible was the fact that she was denied her child.
“Financing is paramount to a new entrepreneur. Without it, the venture could be fatal,” Spencer emphasized, mistakenly ascertaining Zachary’s hesitation.
A vein throbbed in Zachary’s neck from the veiled threat.
Bedecked in her alluring gown, but most importantly, her confession.
It made him hurt to see her face so ravaged by emotion.
It was an impossibility for him to stay away from her.
But stay away from her, he must. Her father was right.
She was beyond Zachary, from a different world.
A world he had yet to prove himself in and may never prove himself.
She must marry within her class, and for all the good things life might afford her.
Zachary nodded his assent.
Why did bile burn his throat?
The gods were not inclined to let him be, leaving the goddess, Elizabeth, to weave her enchantment.
But his rational mind echoed with loud and clanging warnings.