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Their stalemate elapsed for lengthy seconds. Yet, she did not budge.
Edmund raked his hair, expelling forceful air through his flaring nostrils. “Could you come down so we can talk?” His hat must have fallen somewhere. The strange thought crossed her mind as she looked seriously at him. “Please.”
The magic word he said last did the trick. The Earl used the term sparingly enough.
There was no reason why she should trouble the other passengers after all. Reluctantly, she exited the vehicle. The blasted man closed its door, and the transport rode on its way.
They found themselves standing alone on the road in the middle of nowhere. Far behind, a carriage approached. With the earldom’s crest, no intelligence was required to understand Thornton brought the luxurious vehicle to take her back.
“What makes you think you have the right to come after me?” She wanted to yell at him, scream her frustration, but she did neither. She spoke with a low, contained vehemence.
He stood in the middle of the dusty ground, legs braced, fists on his tapered
waist, his jaw held high. His mussed hair was swinging in the breeze, and his coat flapping around him. Otilia clenched her muscles and blocked the invariable effect he had on her.
The carriage parked at a discreet distance. “Get into the carriage,” he dictated, ignoring her question. “We are going home.”
Home? She owned no such thing and had not for at least six months. “It is not my home. It is your house, to which you forced me to go.”
“We are not discussing this here,” he growled. “Get inside.”
She tilted her chin up a notch. “No.”
At that minute, the carriage morphed into a symbol of the gilded cage in which the arrogant man wanted to squash her. Squash her into a life pre-ordered, pre-determined, pre-arranged. Pre-unhappy. All those luxuries tossed at a mistress in lieu of a more meaningful life. In her head, she abhorred the crested monstrosity and everything it represented.
“Do it, Otilia, before I do so myself.”
“I have told you from day one I would undertake a position.” Despite what happened between them, she did not lose sight of her plans.
“And I have said you would not.” He started prowling towards her.
If he came too close, her sore willpower would be undermined. So, she stepped back. “What you want is your problem.” Turning, she walked in the direction of the distant mail coach. “Mine is to continue my journey.”
In large strides, he posted his broad frame in front of her. “You are under my protection, and I did not allow you to leave.”
She did not flinch. Giving him a wide berth, she proceeded. “I am above age. I need no one’s permission.”
“You do. You are my—”
That made her pause and swivel to him. Her eyes fulminated him. “Ha.” She laughed at him humourlessly. “What am I? Your convenient diversion?” she flung.
“No,” he denied. “We have this nameless thing going between us.”
“Not anymore, no.” Decisive, she trudged ahead to her destination. “We part ways here.”
“Did you not hear a word of what I said yesterday?” He managed to near her and, facing her, placed his hands on her shoulders.
Her eyes darted pure enraged vexation. Never mind the touch tempted her, she looked at his large hands and back to him. “Take your hands off me!” she hissed as if the contact incited aversion. He lowered his hands, and she stepped back for the second time in as many minutes.
His words did her in. She completely lost control. The temper she was trying immensely hard to contain burst.
“You designed the bright idea for me to become your mistress!” Her shout came at the top of her lungs.
His rugged face crumpled. “It is just a way to provide for you.”
Her scoff, unladylike as it came, expressed her contempt for how she would be ‘provided’ for in this. “By lying on my back?”
The scowl on the avenging angel’s face denoted quizzical reaction. “Nothing will change,” he reiterated.
