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“I’m not staying anywhere. I’m leaving.”
He shook his head. “You’re the one who started this game, Miss Russell. You have to play by the rules. You managed to get me to despoil you, and I have to do the honorable thing. We’re getting married, immediately, much as the thought galls me.”
“I’m not marrying you!” Her voice rose in sudden panic. This was all wrong; the sweet pleasure of last night had become something ugly and twisted. “And what do you mean, I got you to despoil me? I tried to stop you.”
“Not very hard. I’ve never taken an unwilling woman in my life. Admit it—this is what you planned.”
“It was not!” She needed to get away from him before she cried. She was very near to tears now, and that would only complete her shame. “If I wanted to marry a lord, I’d hardly pick one who murdered his first wife.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth she froze, horrified. What had she done?
He didn’t move, didn’t even blink at the horrid accusation. “That’s the good thing about being saddled with an unwanted wife. I can always toss you from the battlements as well.”
“I’m sorry . . .” she began, feeling wretched.
“Oh, don’t be sorry, Miss Russell. You’re only saying what everyone has been thinking. In truth, I’m sure we’ll have a lifetime of connubial bliss.”
Why did that sound like a threat? “I’m not marrying you. I don’t care if you . . . if you . . .”
“Fucked you is the term, I believe.”
She glared at him. “If you deflowered me,” she said firmly. “No one need know. I won’t marry you.”
He let out a derisive laugh. “Deflowered? What books have you been reading, Miss Russell? Whatever they are, they aren’t in touch with reality. My reputation is already shit, and I have my own reasons not to seek out a new disgrace. You’re marrying me, whether you like it or not. And don’t think I’m one of your besotted suitors. I already know how bad you are in bed. I’m doing my duty and nothing more, and you’re going to have to pay the price for your indiscretions.”
The rest of his words faded in the distance. How bad she was in bed? What did that mean? That he didn’t want her? That last night had been a disappointment, not the transcendent experience it had come close to being for her? That she had wasted herself on someone who had found her wanting?
He was watching her in silence. She set her mouth in a tight line, refusing to look up. If she did he might see the sudden sheen of tears in her eyes, which were simply tears of exhaustion, she reminded herself. They had nothing to do with his cruel, hateful words.
He moved closer, too close, and she tried to back up but he caught her arm in his hard grip. “Come along, Miss Russell. I have a wedding to arrange, and you need a warm bath and a change of clothes.”
She didn’t listen to him. She couldn’t fight him—his grip was unrelenting. “My . . . my valise,” she said, unable to argue anymore.
It was in reach, and he caught it up. Without another word he started down the path that had been hers alone, the track to her sanctuary, and she stumbled after him, wincing as the stray stones and twigs bit into her feet. When she’d come up here, she’d come at a slow pace, avoiding the sharp bits on the path, but he was pulling her so fast that she had no choice.
There were halfway down the track when a particularly sharp stone dug into her instep, and she staggered, falling against him. “Watch yourself,” he snapped, and then paused. “What the hell are you wearing on your feet?”
She was hardly going to lift her skirts to show him. “I . . . I couldn’t find my shoes.”
He had no such qualms. He reached down and caught her skirts, pulling them up high, and even as she tried to slap his hands away she could see that one foot was bleeding. “You are such an idiot,” he muttered, and picked her up in his arms.
It happened so fast she had no chance to avoid him. She struggled for a moment, until his harsh words sank in.
“If you don’t stop that I’ll spank you, and under these circumstances I don’t think you’d enjoy that at all.”
She immediately stopped struggling. “I can’t imagine any circumstances under which I’d think I’d enjoy it.”
For some reason that brought a sardonic grin from him. “I forgot you’re not a whore. I think that’s one of the first ways I’ll educate you.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t need any education.”
“Let’s end this discussion, shall we?” he said as he continued down the path, for all as if she weighed nothing. She remembered the previous night, when he’d carried her up the broad staircase in Renwick, and her insides began to warm, until she heard him continue. “It’s making me hard, and my only choice would be to disgrace myself in front of Dickens or take you for a quick shag in the woods. And I can think of better ways to spend my time.”
She kept her face averted, refusing to flinch at his casual cruelty. “The sooner I get back to the house, the sooner I can be on my way,” she said icily. “And if you have a problem, think of capons. And castrati.”
His laugh sounded almost devoid of anger. “Even if you’re a dead bore in bed you’ll be entertaining out of it,” he said, continuing down the path.
He was being a right bastard, Alexander thought, the delicious bundle in his arms stiff with anger, and he didn’t know why. To be sure, he had every right to be furious. She’d lied to him, time and time again, trapping him into marriage whether it had been her intent or not. He was furious with her and with himself—he’d known there was something off about her, but every time he questioned her about Lefton she’d insisted the old abbess had sent her for his pleasure.
