Beauty for Ashes

She blinked rapidly, picked up the moccasins and ran the long, leather thongs that trailed from them through her fingers. What did Justin Randolph’s opinion of her matter? She didn’t want him to like her. Still, it would be nice if they could at least be pleasant to one another. She shook her head at the improbability of that ever occurring and leaned forward to pull the fur-lined moccasins onto her cold feet.

Chapter Nine

T he carriage ride seemed endless. Time dragged. Elizabeth glanced over at Justin, then turned and pulled the window curtain back to stare out at the snow-covered landscape. All of her efforts at polite conversation had met with cold, curt answers and she was not eager to be rebuffed again. The carriage shuddered as a gust of wind hit it. Hail began to pound the roof with icy fists, demanding entrance. The sound was a steady drumming that emphasized the silence.

Elizabeth dropped the curtain, wiggled her toes and smiled to herself at the warm, luxuriant feel of the soft fur that molded itself to her foot. Moccasins. Justin was right—they were comfortable. Yesterday her feet had been painfully cold, but now they were encased in a lovely warmth. Did he ever wear them? Is that why he had thought to provide them for her?

Elizabeth studied this stranger she had married from under her lowered lashes. Try as she would, she couldn’t imagine him in moccasins. His clothes were the latest fashion, the material and cut quietly stating wealth and good taste. Even in the matter of clothing his self-assurance was obvious—he disdained the popular use of breeches and wore trousers instead. Her gaze swept from his Hessian boots to the top of his dark head. His hair was cut so that it just brushed the top of his collar and fell in thick, springy waves about his temples and forehead. The style suited him.