The Unwilling Bride. Margaret Moore
Читать онлайн книгу.
of success, Constance changed the subject. “Perhaps we should discuss the wedding.”
“Very well,” Merrick said, nodding his agreement. His features relaxed a fraction, enough to tell her he preferred this subject to politics, or at least her political opinions. “I wish to be married within the week.”
If he’d grabbed her and bitten her, she couldn’t have been more shocked. How could she make him hate her enough to break the betrothal in that short a time? “That’s impossible!”
Merrick merely arched his straight black brows. “Why? You knew we were betrothed, did you not? And that I was to marry you as soon as I inherited the title, if not before. I see no reason to delay.”
“I do,” she retorted, her dismay turning swiftly into indignation. “We need time to prepare food for the feast—”
“The larders are well stocked,” her uncle interrupted. “Indeed, Constance, if Merrick is eager—”
She was anything but eager. “What about our guests? It will take at least a month to invite them, gather responses and prepare accommodations.”
“The only guests I care to have at my wedding are already here.”
“And then there are the wedding clothes…”
Merrick’s dark gaze impaled her. “It wouldn’t matter to me if you were married in your shift.”
Her breath caught for an instant—but only that. “It would matter a great deal to me, my lord,” she declared. “After being delayed for so long, I expect my wedding to be worth the wait.”
“I hope to make it so, my lady.”
Even though she was as incensed as she’d ever been, when he said those words in that low, husky voice, an unwelcome frisson of heated excitement flowed through her traitorous body. But she snuffed it out quickly. This whole discussion was proving that he was still the same selfish, spoiled brat, concerned only about his own needs and desires.
Therefore, she would give him a selfish need, if that was what he required. “Such celebrations are useful for creating alliances. Our wedding could be a valuable opportunity.”
“I wasn’t thinking of my marriage as a political opportunity.”
Only a financial one, she supposed. Why else would he be in such a hurry? If he were truly chivalrous, if he cared at all about her feelings, he would have asked her when the ceremony should be.
“I believe she’s right, nephew,” Lord Algernon seconded, albeit warily. “Perhaps it would be best to move more slowly.”
Constance could have kissed him. “Yes, my lord. I would rather not have our wedding marred by accusations of scandalous and undue haste.”
Merrick’s gaze flicked to the other noblemen. “If you will excuse us, my lords, I would have some words with my betrothed. Alone.”
Alone? Was he mad? Or that sure of his power?
Her uncle and Lord Algernon exchanged brief looks, then bowed a farewell and hurried out the door. So much for their help, she thought sourly. But she had stood alone before a powerful, arrogant man before, and she wouldn’t give in now, not when her freedom was at stake.
“It isn’t right for us to be alone together before we are married,” she declared, heading after the noblemen. “This is most improper.”
The lord of Tregellas moved to stand in her way with surprising, and surprisingly lithe, speed.
“My lord, you may not care about my reputation,” Constance said through clenched teeth as she glared at the man in front of her, “but I do and—”
“I promise you nothing improper will occur, and unless you give me cause, any man or woman who dares imply that your reputation is less than spotless will have to answer to me.”
The sheer forcefulness of Merrick’s response stunned and silenced her.
He reached for one of the stools along the wall and swung it forward as if it weighed no more than a feather, placing it in front of the table. “Please sit down, my lady.”
She crossed her arms. “I prefer to stand, my lord.”
“Very well.” Merrick mercifully stayed where he was. “Do you have some objections to the marriage itself, my lady? If so, I would hear them.”
He spoke so coldly and so severely, she was absolutely certain he would demand her dowry in forfeit if she refused to marry him. “No, my lord,” she lied. “But I would rather not marry so quickly. After all, it’s been fifteen years. We barely know one another.”
To her surprise, his features relaxed a little. “Forgive me, Constance. My suggestion came from my great joy at being home and here with you again. I left a pretty little girl, and I’ve come home to find a beautiful, intelligent woman.”
Was she supposed to be flattered? “Perhaps if you’d come home even once in fifteen years, my appearance and the fact that I’m not a silly fool wouldn’t be so unexpected.”
He stiffened and the little vein in his temple started to throb again.
Good, but she must go carefully.
Yet instead of flying into a fury, Merrick merely shrugged his broad shoulders. “My father made no effort to see me, so I made none to see him.”
What of his betrothed? Had he ever once thought of her until his father died? “He was still your father. As his son, your duty—”
“Don’t!” Merrick snapped.
His dark eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. “Do not ever try to tell me about my duty, my lady,” he warned, his voice low and rough. “Do you think my presence here would have made any difference? Do you honestly believe I could have influenced my father, or made his last days better? I more likely would have killed him.”
Constance could only stare at him, aghast, as she realized he meant what he said. She’d known there was little love between father and son, but she hadn’t expected so much naked hate.
Merrick raked his hand through his long dark hair. “I gather my vassals and tenants weren’t eager to see my father’s son return.”
As it had so often, her concern for those under the lord of Tregellas’s power arose within her and subdued any thoughts of her own troubles. “They’re understandably wary, my lord. After all, they haven’t seen you in years and have no idea what kind of overlord you’ll be.”
“As you, having known my father, are no doubt wondering what sort of husband I’ll make, and likely fearing the worst. I shouldn’t be surprised that you asked for more time before the ceremony.”
She nearly choked. What was he, some kind of seer or mind reader? Or had she been too obvious?
“Did my father…” He hesitated for the briefest of moments before continuing. “Did my father ever lay hands on you?”
It would have been no thanks to her absent betrothed if he had. “My dowry was apparently worth more to him than my maidenhead.”
Merrick winced at her blunt words.
“That was the sort of man your father was, my lord,” she said without regret for causing him pain. She’d suffered often enough while he was God knew where.
Merrick regarded her steadily and spoke with what sounded like completely sincere conviction. “I know about my father’s sinful nature. I vowed long ago that I would never treat any woman, whether high born or low, as he did. As long as I am lord here, no woman need fear death or dishonor at my hands, or be afraid of me.” His voice dropped to a low, husky whisper. “As for my wife, I will be faithful to her until my death. I will honor, respect and cherish her. She need never fear violence or degradation at my hands.”
Constance took a wary step back. Against