The Touch Read Online Free PDF Page B

congregation, and it succeeded: the thin mouth with its slight sneer, the horrible dark pits of eyes, a malignancy suggested by shrewd lines and shadows. All Alexander Kinross lacked were the horns.
    Common sense told Elizabeth that this was sheer coincidence, but she was far more a child than a woman. Through no fault of his own, Alexander entered Elizabeth’s life with an ineradicable handicap, and she took against him. The very thought of marrying him terrified her. How soon? Oh, pray not yet!
     
     
    HOW CAN I look into those diabolical eyes and tell their owner that he is not the husband I would choose? she asked herself. Mary told me what to expect in the marriage bed, though I already knew it is no joy for a woman. Dr. Murray made it clear to me before I left that a woman who enjoys the Act is as loose as a harlot. God gives pleasure in it only to husbands. Women are the source of evil and temptation, therefore women are to blame when men fall into fleshly error. It was Eve who seduced Adam, Eve who entered into league with the serpent, who was the Devil in disguise. So the only pleasure women are allowed is in their children. Mary told me that if a wife is sensible she separates what goes on in the marriage bed from the person of her husband, who is her friend in all else. But I cannot envision Alexander as my friend! He frightens me more than Dr. Murray does.
     
     
    HOOPS, MISS MACTAVISH had remarked, were out of fashion now, but skirts were still voluminous, held out by layer upon layer of petticoats. Elizabeth’s petticoats were singularly unlovely, made of unbleached cotton without embellishment. Only the evening dress itself had been crafted by Miss MacTavish, but even it, Elizabeth sensed as the maid helped her into it, was unimpressive.
    Luckily the gas-lit hall was dim; Alexander’s gaze passed over her and he nodded in apparent approval. He was clad tonight in white tie and tails, a masculine fashion she had seen only in magazine illustrations. If anything, the black and white served to enhance his Mephistophelian quality, but she put her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her into the waiting lift.
    When they arrived in the lobby she understood a great deal more about the limitations of rural Scotland and Miss MacTavish; the sight of the ladies strolling about on gentlemen’s arms reduced her pride in the dark blue taffeta dress to nothing. Their arms and shoulders were bare, one separated from the other by a puff of silk or a froth of lace; their waists were tiny, their skirts gathered at the back into huge humps that cascaded frills into trains sweeping the floor behind them; their matching gloves came up past their elbows, their hair was piled high and wide, half-naked bosoms blazed with jewels.
    When the pair entered the dining room, it stilled. Every head turned to survey them; men nodded gravely to Alexander, women preened. Then the whispers began. A toplofty waiter guided them to a table at which two other people already sat, an elderly man in what she was to learn to call “evening dress” and a woman of about forty whose gown and jewels were superb. The man rose to his feet to bow, the woman continued to sit, a fixed smile on her otherwise unreadable face.
    “Elizabeth, this is Charles Dewy and his wife, Constance,” said Alexander as Elizabeth sat in the chair the waiter drew out.
    “My dear, you’re charming,” said Mr. Dewy.
    “Charming,” Mrs. Dewy echoed.
    “Charles and Constance are to be our witnesses when we marry tomorrow afternoon,” Alexander said as he took the menu. “Do you have any preferences in food, Elizabeth?”
    “No, sir,” she said.
    “No, Alexander,” he corrected gently.
    “No, Alexander.”
    “Since I know all too well the sort of fare you ate at home, we’ll keep it simple. Hawkins,” he said to the hovering waiter, “a flounder meunière, a sorbet, and roast beef. Well-done for Miss Drummond, rare for me.”
    “Sole,” said Mrs. Dewy,