The Dumont Bride. Terri Brisbin
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lord. Please.”
“Emalie,” he said in a whispered voice. “So sweet.”
“I need to speak to you, my lord,” she begged as she pulled from his embrace. The room around her could not be cold and yet the loss of heat from being in his arms made it feel chilled indeed. She watched the expression on his face and in his eyes change as she stepped back from him. Disappointment appeared in his gaze now.
“You have my attention. What is so important that it can not wait?” His tone carried a sharp edge and Emalie worried about broaching this subject. Mayhap there was another way?
“My lord, I beg your tolerance and patience,” she began as she lowered her eyes. “I had thought that I could simply acquiesce to the demands of this marriage.”
The silence between them grew until she was forced to look up at him. Meeting his gaze and expecting to find disbelief or even anger, she was surprised instead to find a measure of acceptance or understanding in his expression.
“Am I so onerous that you find it, as you say, impossible to acquiesce to your duties?”
“Oh, no, my lord! ’Tis not you. Just that this marriage and its arrangements have happened in such a short time and with so little notice to me that I can hardly believe myself married.” A sad smile crossed his face and so she pressed on with what was probably a hopeless request. “And I suspect that you were surprised by this as well?”
“Surprised? Why would you say that? Marriage is expected of those in our class. The partner and the date of the ceremony are the only questions left awaiting an answer.”
Emalie glanced over at her goblet of wine and reached for it. Sipping it, she tried to regain her calm and focus her thoughts on the thing she hoped to gain from her new husband. Unable to discern a proper approach, Emalie decided to simply ask.
“I would ask that we postpone this…” Unable to say the words, she motioned between them with her hand. “Until we know each other better.”
A choking sound drew her attention. Christian coughed a few times as though he had swallowed his own wine the wrong way. He wiped his eyes and looked at her.
“Lady? You are jesting? A marriage is true only after it is consummated and I will not jeopardize my claim—”
“Your claim to my lands? My title? My people?” A wave of anger filled her and it was impossible to stop the words.
“Aye, countess,” he answered, his voice filled with sarcasm. “What was yours is now mine. And I want no question to be raised about my right to all that was granted to me.”
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