Page 54 of Yielding to Love

“I will come. You have no cause to drag me.”

He released her wrist at once, then walked ahead of her. She followed, a cold ball of fear rising in her chest. He opened the door to his bedchamber and, with an exaggerated, mocking swoop of his arm, invited her in. She stepped inside. She jumped when he shut the door and latched it.

“Frightened?” He laughed harshly. “How odd. You weren’t last night.”

“I’m not frightened.”

He regarded her a long moment. His gaze was intense, as if he were digging around in her soul. Then his lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Why don’t you want me to talk to the colonel? Afraid he’ll refuse? Would you prefer to elope? It makes no difference to me. A run to Gretna Green or—”

“No!”

“There is no choice. Although your chastity is doubtful, you are Colonel Harrington’s sister, a gentlewoman, and I’ve lain with you.”

He doubted her chastity? She blinked away a sudden welling of tears. He had good reason to doubt. “I have the right to say no. I don’t want to marry you.”

“And yet you climbed into my bed.”

“Major—”

“Camellia,” he wagged his finger at her, “I believe we established that you are to call me Crispin.”

“Stop.” It was hard to explain herself when his whole bearing was one of mocking disdain. “It was not my intention to compel you to ask for me. I didn’t think you would.” She couldn’t tell him she’d been relying on his dishonor. “I won’t marry you. I don’t intend to marry at all.”

“Just a tup then?” He sneered. “You wanted me to oblige you in bed? And you thought I would not mind doing so?”

It was as awful as he made it sound. But she nodded.

“We have to marry.” He nearly spat the words. “You may not care a fig for me, but you could be carrying my child.”

She shook her head. “I’m not. I—I took care of that.”

“You took—?” His eyes flared, then narrowed. “Whores’ tricks?” His voice cracked. “You even know whores’ tricks?”

She gasped, then retorted, “Harlots have to use ‘tricks’ for the convenience of men like you!”

“I didn’t ask for this!” Voice thinned to a whisper, he demanded, “Do I owe you a shilling?”

“Why are you being so hateful?” He was not only insulting her, but also Marianne. “Precautions are used by perfectly respectable wives.”

“Which you are not. You’re nothing but a pleasure-seeking—”

“Pleasure? No woman could possibly find pleasure in”—she threw her hand out toward the bed—“in that!” Her voice caught. “Don’t judge my pleasure by yours. It was awful! You couldn’t even be bothered to kiss me!”

His head drew back. For a fraction of a moment, a shadow passed over his face. Then he dropped his hands to his sides and clenched his fists. “Get out.”

“It wasn’t a trap,” she murmured. She couldn’t bear his misconceptions. “I was only—”

“Your motives don’t interest me.”

“Please don’t say anything to Neville.”

“We’ve both been very clear we don’t want to be shackled to each other. Now, get out.”

*

Crispin quit the Harringtons early the next morning. He said polite goodbyes with the excuse he was overdue at his brother’s. He felt like scum as he shook Old Harry’s hand, pretending he had not betrayed his former commander in the vilest way. He bowed to Miss Harrington, but could not bring himself to look her in the eye. Not after the heinous things he’d said to her. As Mercury bore him off toward London, Crispin marveled that the animal could still carry him, freighted as he was by self-loathing.

There had been blood on the linens. He’d found the stain when he got into bed, proof he’d taken Miss Harrington’s maidenhead. She’d been an innocent.