A Convenient Bride For The Soldier. Christine Merrill
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arrogant, snobbish, and dictatorial.
‘If you do refuse me, there is always Nash Bowles,’ he reminded her again in that mockingly reasonable voice she might be hearing every day for the rest of her life, since she could think of no other way out of this mess than the one he had presented to her.
‘Nothing would be as bad as marrying Sir Nash,’ she agreed. ‘Not even marrying you.’ She could not resist adding the final riposte and was pleased to see the flash of annoyance in his eyes.
‘You are no gift, either,’ he said, not bothering with courtesy. ‘But if you will promise to leave me alone afterward, I am willing to do the right thing and save you.’
He spoke as if she was a gnat to be waved away, or an annoying child who needed to be sent back to the nursery. ‘I am willing to accept,’ she said, holding her head high and giving him a cold look that would tell him he was twice as bothersome as she could ever be. ‘If you will swear to leave me alone as well.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Do not worry yourself, Miss Knight. I have no intention of disturbing your privacy.’ There was a significance in his tone that she did not fully understand. It was as if her request had actually hurt him in some way that all her other insults had not.
She gave him what she hoped was a worldly smile, that he might think she had intended what had just changed between them. But, in truth, she did not. It probably had something to do with the things he’d threatened her with when he’d rescued her, if one could even call that a rescue.
Did married people ravish each other? That did not sound right. She could not imagine her father and stepmother ever did. And she was quite sure she did not want to ravish Mr Challenger.
There were paintings on the walls of this very room that showed scenes similar to those on Sir Nash’s snuffbox. But they had to be exaggerations. There were far too many satyrs involved and she seriously doubted that the men of London were actually hiding cloven hooves inside their boots.
Her future husband had turned his back on her speculating and walked to a corner of the room to pull on a bell rope. He did not turn back to her as they waited for the arrival of the servant he’d summoned, leaving her nothing more than silence and a view of his rigid spine and squared shoulders. If he would only relax, just a little, she’d have admired the masculinity of his frame. But at the moment he looked less like an embodiment of strength and more like a man who had just been caned and was braced to take the next blow without flinching.
By the time a maid appeared, the rigidness he displayed had passed to George like an infection. If they did not find some way to manage with each other, when the time came to marry, they would look more like waxworks than human beings.
Mr Challenger turned and addressed the maid with military stiffness. ‘Rose, take Miss Knight to the dressing rooms and find her clothing appropriate for a lady. Then see to it that Snyder gets her out of the club and away before anyone knows of her presence here.’
The girl gave a quick curtsy of assent.
Mr Challenger turned back to her with a smooth half pivot. ‘I will call on your father in the morning. Once I have his assent, I will take care of the licence and the matter will be settled in no time.’ Even though they were only in the presence of a servant, he offered a deep bow. It had none of the irony that his earlier proposal had held. But there was a mechanical quality to the movement that made her think of the tin man who appeared on the hour out of their mantel clock back home. ‘Until I see you again, Miss Knight.’
‘Mr Challenger.’ She imagined herself as the tin girl that came out of the other side of the clock to meet him, offering the same perfectly controlled curtsy. But as she dipped, she lost her grip on the tablecloth she was still wearing and revealed far too much leg than was proper.
Frederick Challenger’s control slipped in response. A quick flick of the eyes downward was followed by a glance heavenward and a tight grimace of disapproval.
Before he could unbend enough to complain aloud, she gathered the cloth close about her again and hurried out of the room after the maid.
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