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“You have pushed me too far this time, Frances. No more.”
“I should have gone to the stables,” she said, and he drew up a bit, for she didn’t appear to be speaking to him in particular.“
“Yes,” he said, “you probably should have.”
“I am stupid.”
He smiled at that observation and let his mind rest briefly, very briefly, on the notion that perhaps she had wanted him to find her. Then she said, “Go away, my lord!” in a strong, very certain voice, and his own stupid notion disappeared in a flash.
“No.” He strode toward her and she jumped to her feet, scurrying behind the bolts of material until her back was pressed against the wall. Hawk stopped.
“Come to bed, Frances. Now.”
She shook her head, and her beautiful hair swirled about her pale face. “No,” she said, her voice a small whisper. “No,” she repeated, her voice stronger, more assured.
“You really have pushed me too far this time. Now you will willfully disobey me?”
“I have never pushed you, far or otherwise,” she said. Striving for calm, striving for some way to ... to what? She looked at the scissors on one of the tables, and smiled pitifully. She met his eyes in the wavering candlelight and moistened her lips.
“You hid here before, didn’t you? You do not count that act as willful, or pushing me?”
“I am not willful.”
“So you give me unwillful disobedience?”
She drew herself up. He was toying with her, baiting her. “I do not want to give you anything. I want you to leave me alone. I want you to leave Desborough Hall tomorrow and return to London, to your mistress.”
“But you are not yet with child, wife,” he said very softly.
“Not for want of your trying!” Her voice neared a shout, and Hawk quickly turned and closed the door.
“If you do not lower your voice, I will gag you. I will have no talk amongst the servants, do you understand me?”
“Go away!”
She saw him look thoughtfully at some strips of cloth on one of the tables, and she lowered her voice, repeating, “Please, just go away.”
“Ah,” he said, “there is some obedience in you. Come.” He held out his hand toward her.
She didn’t move a muscle. Her eyes were wide and frightened. That bothered him, but not that much. He felt his sense of ill-use surge to the fore, and said coldly, “Now, Frances, I will not tell you again.”
“You are an animal!”
“So you have the grave misfortune of allying yourself with an animal. It is done.”
Still she didn’t move. Hawk laid the candle on a table and walked slowly toward her. She tried to duck past him, but he was prepared this time, and jerked her against him. He felt her fists pounding against his chest, and he shook her until her head snapped back on her neck. “Stop it!” He tried to calm his anger at her, but it was difficult. “Do you want me to gag you?”
She shook her head against his shoulder.
In one quick motion Hawk blew out the candle, hoisted Frances over his shoulder, and left the sewing room. He took her to his bedchamber.
She was shaking. With fear or fury? he wondered.
He said nothing more, merely kicked his bedchamber door shut behind him and carried her to his bed. He dropped her onto her back. She was still dressed in her beautiful blue gown.
“Take off your clothes,” he said, staring down at her. “Now.”
She hesitated, and he added coldly, “I shall rip them off you if you do not obey me.”
