While Passion Sleeps Page 4

  At the note of kindness in his voice, her heart contracted painfully. Those men were wicked, wicked creatures spreading ugly, vicious half-truths, she told herself vehemently. And then, because she was, after all, an unworldly, naive, and bewildered child, she broke into tears and threw herself into Nathan's arms.

  Alarmed and astounded by Elizabeth's obvious and unexplained distress, Nathan's arms tightened instinctively around her slim body. "My love, my love, hush," he murmured into the bright golden-ash waves that tickled his chin. "What has disturbed you? Is it that you are unhappy leaving your home? Please don't be—I will make you happy, I promise I shall." Almost grimly, he added, "No matter what!"

  Mortified that she had given away so ignominiously, Elizabeth tried to stifle the sobs that racked her body. Looking at Nathan's troubled features with tear-drowned violet eyes, Elizabeth asked wistfully, "Do you love me, Nathan? Truly love me?"

  She felt him stiffen and, unable to understand her own motives, her hands clutched his shoulders. "Tell me the truth, I beg of you! Do you love me?"

  His eyes searching hers, Nathan pushed back a wayward lock of hair that had fallen onto her forehead. "Beth, what is it, my dear? You know that I love you. I wouldn't have married you if I didn't love you more than any woman in the world. You are my hope for the future. And if I find that I can't... I can't... with you, then I am damned."

  "Can't what, Nathan?"

  Nathan pulled her closer into his arms, the expression on his face tormented. "Happiness, if I can't find happiness with you, then I deserve whatever the future may bring me."

  For a long moment he gazed down into her face, and then slowly his head lowered; he kissed her deeply, his mouth warm and reassuring on hers. Elizabeth eagerly returned his embrace, forcing herself to be satisfied with Nathan's avowals for their future happiness. She did believe him. She had no reason not to, and with a sigh she melted into him.

  Nathan's arms tightened about her slender form, his mouth moving across hers. It was a gentle kiss and Elizabeth was sorry when it ended. But too soon, Nathan lifted his head and glanced down at her. His face kind, he asked, "Feeling better now? No more worries about whether I love you or not?"

  A tremulous smile peeped into the violet eyes and convinced he loved her, she returned shyly, "Oh, yes. I mean no!" He laughed at her and she muttered, "Oh, you know what I mean!"

  "I do indeed, my dear!" Reaching out for one of Elizabeth's hands, he carried it to his mouth and kissed it. "Trust me, my love. Everything will be just fine. Trust me."

  Chapter 3

  In spite of the reassuring conversation with Nathan, Elizabeth found the journey across the dark-blue Atlantic to New Orleans a bewildering time. As he had done at the hotel in Portsmouth, Nathan reserved separate accommodations for them on the Belle Maria, and night after night Elizabeth slept alone, as virginal as the day she left her mother's womb.

  It was a subject she could not bring herself to discuss with Nathan. But the question hovered on her lips a dozen times a day. Why? Why doesn't he seek my bed?

  She knew little about marriage, but she knew that theirs was odd. Nathan was kind to her, watching over her and attempting to entertain her on the long uneventful journey. Yet the closeness she thought would come did not, neither a physical one nor a mental one. Nathan appeared to dote on her, but she never felt as if she knew him any better than she had on the day she accepted his offer of marriage. He was polite, he was kind, and he was concerned but he was not a lover.

  It was Elizabeth's nature to blame herself for the lack of consummation; it never occurred to her that the fault lay with Nathan. She blamed herself for her continued state of virginity.

  If only, she thought disconsolately, she was more beautiful, more womanly, instead of a thin stick of a child. If only she knew more of the world, of the ways to please a man. She was certain it was her own inadequacies that kept her husband from her. Upon occasion she was tempted to discuss the matter with Mary, but shyness held her back. It was too embarrassing a confession to be blurted out to one's maid.

  Finally she gathered enough courage to bring up the subject with Nathan. She couldn't even get the words out, but Nathan guessed and, his face wearing a strained smile, he muttered, "Ah... er... yes, of course, I know it must seem strange to you, my dear, but I thought perhaps it would be best if we waited. New Orleans is a lovely, lovely city, and I thought it would be more enjoyable for us if we waited until we reached there to... um... begin our honeymoon."

  Again reassured, and thinking how considerate he was of her, Elizabeth was able to look forward to reaching their destination. But her worry about the lack of Nathan's ardor did not diminish. It plagued and troubled her, and no matter how often she chastised herself for being a forward piece and probably very vulgar and common too, she couldn't help but wish Nathan wasn't quite so forbearing and thoughtful of her.

  The problem was compounded by the fact that, like any romantic young girl of seventeen, she dreamed. Dreamed wild exotic dreams that on waking brought a flush to her cheeks. Too often at night, as she lay listening to the waves breaking against the ship, her mind drifted and she lost herself in daydreams and dreams that frightened and alarmed her. She was a married woman, if not a wife in the true sense of the word, and she should not still be dreaming of a tall, black-haired devil. But she was. It seemed every night he came to her. His face was always shadowed or in profile, but she knew it as well as she knew her own, and it haunted her. The dreams were vaguely terrifying, and in the morning she could never recall what had happened, but she remembered she had been filled with terror, that there had been danger, even pain. What she did remember most was a hard mouth on hers and strange, frightening emotions that were evoked by hard, ungentle hands on her body.

  There was no one she could talk to about these odd dreams, and she was embarrassed that she could recall the man's kisses but not his face or what happened. More than once she started to confide in Mary, but her shyness or the fear of being ridiculed held her back. Yet there was something precious about these dreams that she wasn't certain she wanted to share them with anyone, even someone as undemanding and kind as Mary Eames. Instead, Elizabeth treasured them and looked forward to the night, the dreams... and the man.

  Despite all the fears and uncertainties besetting her, Elizabeth was enthralled by New Orleans. The intricate iron-worked balconies of the houses in the Vieux Carre, the incredible array of items to be found in the French Market, in the numerous shops and stores, the theaters and the various amusements to be found in that beguiling city spreading on the banks of the Mississippi River filled her with pleasure.

  When Nathan again reserved separate suites for them and, somewhat red in the face, suggested another delay before they indulged in the "delights of marriage" (his words), Elizabeth was not surprised. She was gradually accepting the idea that for some as yet unexplained reason theirs was a different marriage; when Nathan felt the time was right she would discover the... er... delights of marriage. She didn't chafe so much against the delay, for she was beginning to wonder if "it" was so awful that Nathan was sparing her the evil moment.

  Still, she wondered about the intimacies of the marriage bed, and on their second night in New Orleans she timidly brought up the subject. They were both preparing to retire after a pleasant day of exploring the city, and, dreading her large, lonely bed, Elizabeth had been unable to prevent herself from asking Nathan to enter her bedchamber and explain, if he would, why they could not even share the same bed—they didn't have to do anything, if he didn't want to.

  It was an awkward moment. Elizabeth again filled with mortification at her forwardness, and Nathan's fair skin turned bright red in embarrassment. They stood staring mutely at each other, Elizabeth appealing in a clinging peignoir of lavender silk and Nathan handsome and boyish in a robe of red-and-black brocade. For several seconds they remained thus, and then Nathan, with a nervous smile, said, "My dearest child, of course I will enter your bedchamber! I merely wan
ted to give you privacy if you wished it and..." He hesitated, swallowed and finished, "If you want me to share your bed, I see no reason to postpone the moment."

  That Nathan was as nervous or even more nervous was evident; Elizabeth's own fears expanded and she wished she'd kept her mouth shut. It was a silent couple who entered that bedchamber, and an apprehensive Elizabeth laid aside her lavender peignoir; clad only in the matching gown that clung to her slender curves, settled into in bed. With huge, purple eyes, she watched as Nathan slowly shed his robe and stood before her wearing only his linen nightshirt. He blew out the candle, and in the darkness Elizabeth heard the sounds of further clothing being removed. Her heart beating in her throat, she waited with a dry mouth for her husband to join her.

  Nathan's entrance into her bed was gingerly, and after slipping under the satin coverlet, he lay stiffly by her side for several more moments. Then, his own agitation and nervousness nearly tangible, he reached for Elizabeth.

  Tentatively he pulled her next to him, and with butterfly-like pressure began to touch her. His lips were warm and kind, but Elizabeth sensed that there was no passion in him. In the time that followed, that feeling grew. How she knew it she wasn't sure, she just knew that Nathan's uncertain and hesitant caresses were halfhearted, as if he wanted to please her, wanted to be passionate—but could not! He fumbled with her small breasts, his hands moving with increasing agitation over them and his mouth pressing harder against her lips. Elizabeth tried to respond, but Nathan's inept and reluctant touches, instead of arousing passion, caused her to become even more uncertain and frightened, unable to take any enjoyment from the strange but not unpleasant sensations his touch on her body aroused. As the moments passed and Elizabeth lay next to him in bewilderment and embarrassment, not certain what should happen next, what she should do or what he would do, Nathan's caresses grew frantic, and Elizabeth had the oddest feeling that he was in the grip of angry frustration, his body pressed hard against hers. With gentle accommodation, hers gave no resistance, but that did not satisfy him. If anything it upset him further, for his movements became more and more frantic, his hips thrusting wildly against hers, the warmth of his body seeping through her nightgown, his hands pulling her tightly to him.

  Nathan seemed to become aware of the nightgown for the first time then, and with a muttered comment he bunched it up around her neck, his touch on her naked flesh startling her and filling her with agonizing shyness. But nothing changed. He continued his strange, frantic caresses until Elizabeth wondered if this was what Melissa had meant by letting her husband satisfy his base emotions, as it was certainly embarrassing having his hands on her breasts and hips. Nathan didn't seem to be enjoying it very much either.

  After several more minutes of the same activities, with an anguished sigh Nathan rested his damp forehead against Elizabeth's cheek and said in a muffled voice, "Perhaps I can do better tomorrow night, love. I think that I am tired from our journey. Do not think too badly of me, my dear, that you are not a wife tonight in the fullest sense of the word. I love you, and more than anything I want to make you happy. Believe that, my dearest Elizabeth."

  She was moved by his distress, and she did not realize the significance of the fact that while Nathan lay next to her, there had been no rigid male member to make its presence felt. She kissed him with clumsy tenderness above the eye. Shyly she said, "I don't mind, Nathan. It is pleasant just to have you here next to me. I have not liked sleeping in all these strange places by myself."

  Nathan's arms tightened around her and, pulling her to his side, he murmured, "You are so good and kind to me, Elizabeth. There are not many brides who would be as understanding. Perhaps tomorrow night I will be able to... Well, tomorrow night we will see what happens. For the present let us both sleep." His lips caressed her cheek and he added, "I must confess, too, that it is pleasant having you with me."

  His words satisfied Elizabeth, though leaving her puzzled. What was it he hadn't been able to do? But for the moment she was happy, certain that she and Nathan had taken the first step toward the closeness and companionship she hungered for.

  They spent the next day strolling throughout New Orleans. Nathan was reserved at first, but upon seeing that Elizabeth had no recriminations about the previous evening, he soon relaxed and was his usual self. The day had not resolved whatever had been bothering him the night before, because the night was a repetition of the previous one.

  There was a difference, though—Elizabeth was not as embarrassed or shy. She had some idea what to expect, and when Nathan's hand touched her breast, she did not stiffen in surprise. She even made a clumsy, uncertain attempt to return her husband's caresses, her lips soft and warm beneath his and her small hands lightly touching his shoulders and back. But nothing seemed to do any good, and after several moments of his same fumbling attempts, Nathan tore himself away from her with a groan and said in a tone so low she could barely hear him, "Elizabeth, it is useless. I thought that with you, I could... I could... It appears that Longstreet was right—I am... I am... not capable of bedding a woman! Good God, what am I to do?"

  Elizabeth's entire body froze and, sitting up in bed, she asked, "Nathan, what do you mean? What does Longstreet have to do with us?"

  His voice bleak, Nathan muttered, "Everything and nothing. I should have told you before we married—given you the chance to cry off. But I was so sure, so very certain, that I could put my relationship with Longstreet behind me. I was so sure that with your goodness and gentleness that I could be like any other man. That my past excursions into the dark side of passion were something I could forget." Bitterly he finished, "It appears that I was damnably wrong."

  Elizabeth sat like a small statue in the middle of the bed, her thoughts tumbling and scattering like ash before a winter wind. There was so much that Nathan was saying that didn't make any sense, but she remembered with a clutch of unease that peculiar conversation she had overheard at Portsmouth. What had that man said? Something about that "Longstreet was enamored of the young man." Frightened and not knowing why, she asked tensely, "Do you want to tell me about it now? Would it help you to talk with me? I would try to help you, Nathan."

  He turned to her and, taking one of her icy hands in his, he said, "I do not think it is something that talking will solve. But, yes, I will tell you about it, my dear... and afterwards if you wish to leave me, I will understand."

  The last thing in the world that Elizabeth wanted was to leave her husband. Even if she did not love him, she was fond of him and grateful to him. He could confess that he was the greatest murderer on earth and she would not leave him; he had always been kind and concerned for her—something no one else ever had been in all her short life. She thought a fleeting moment of the cold austerity of Three Elms, of her sarcastic, domineering stepmother and of her indifferent father, and she shuddered. Nathan would have to harm her physically to make her ever wish to return there.

  Still, when he wept and confessed his intimate involvement with men, with Charles Longstreet in particular, she was repelled and horrified. That two men could be lovers was beyond her understanding. Not even certain of what went on between a man and a woman in the privacy of their bedroom, the idea of two men doing those same things was incomprehensible. Nathan's confession that he was incapable of making love to a woman, that he was in fact impotent with females, only added to her hurt confusion and bewilderment.

  Most of what Nathan explained to Elizabeth that night made no real sense, but if she had been older, more experienced, more aware of what marriage and passion were all about, she might have made a different decision. As it was, filled with youthful confidence, she was certain that, given time and their own wish to make things normal, they would succeed. There was much of what Nathan told her that disturbed her even if the full import did not sink in; nevertheless, when she balanced his kindness to her against the welcome she would receive should she to return to Three Elms, Nathan with his shameful confession was far more appealing than
England and the failure of such a short marriage.

  She couldn't hide from Nathan the feeling of betrayal his words instilled in her breast, nor could she deny that deep inside she was angry that he had risked her future as well as his own. But Elizabeth had been taught to accept the ills that came into one's life, and she was more inclined to accept what came her way than to battle against an unkind fate.

  Her decision to remain with her husband was not an easy one, nor was it arrived at overnight. It had been a shock, what Nathan had told her, and for several days their relationship was strained and uneasy. They attempted to act normally, continuing their exploration of New Orleans and dining in several of the many restaurants to be found there, but always the memory of what had been said that night hung over them like a cloud. There were no more attempts to consummate their marriage, Elizabeth discovering that she dreaded the thought of Nathan's caresses where once she had longed for them.

  She was certain in time she would overcome these feelings, and she tried not to dwell on them more than necessary. They both must strive together to make their marriage a success, and while she was numbed by what had happened, she was looking toward the future. Time, she thought confidently, time would resolve their problems, and in a few years, they would look back on this period of life and smile at their foolishness.

  Nathan was relieved at Elizabeth's decision not to leave him, and he too agreed, perhaps a little too readily, that for the present they would allow the consummation to wait. Ashamed by his own inability to function as he should, he was willing to put the incident behind him and, like Elizabeth, to hope that in time it would go away and they would live normally.

  They were wary in each other's presence, and yet in another way their problem brought them closer together. Nathan felt indebted to Elizabeth because she chose to stand by him; Elizabeth found it in her heart to view his affliction with compassion.