Chapter Four #5
Obviously, her future husband was insensitive and uncaring and she felt the powerful return of her self-protection.
Embarrassment filled her. What had she expected from him as she spilled her innermost feelings?
Compassion, sympathy at the very least? Mayhap an apology for her sorrows?
Instead, he had brushed past her without a word, and she was deeply hurt.
But the hurt ignited an unsettling loathing and she vowed that her confession in the chamber would be her very last. Never again would she give him the opportunity to rebuff her feelings.
She showed him the master chamber coldly, watching him inspect the bed and wardrobe. Her father’s clothes were still in the cabinet and he gestured to them.
“These will be removed immediately to make way for my possessions,” he said. “We will have to move another wardrobe in here for you. There is not enough room in this one for both of us.”
She looked at him. “My things are in my room. We will not share a wardrobe.”
“Nay, we will not, but we will be sharing this chamber and it will prove bothersome for you to constantly be moving from one room to the other to retrieve your belongings.”
She gazed at him as if the thought of sharing a chamber with him had never occurred to her. “I do not intend to share this chamber with you. You may have it to yourself.”
He slanted her a glance. “You will be my wife and you will share my chamber. This will be our chamber.”
“I do not want to share your chamber,” she repeated, her jaw ticking stubbornly. Marrying him was one thing, but sharing his chamber was entirely another. “I will demand my privacy, my lord. Husband or no.”
“And I will demand my wife, whenever I please. We will not discuss this, my lady. I have made my wishes known.”
“As have I,” she backed away from him, her hatred blooming. “I do not wish to share your chamber. I will not.”
“Aye, you will.”
She turned on her heel and marched from the room. Quick as a flash, Alec bolted after her, throwing her up over his shoulder and hauling her back into the bedchamber. Tossing the kicking, shouting bundle onto the mattress of the oversized bed, he threw himself atop her.
Peyton fought and twisted and beat at him, but it was like striking iron.
His hands captured her wrists as his body pinned her firmly to the bed and he waited patiently for the tirade to die down.
Movements lessened as Peyton exhausted herself, although Alec was surprised to realize how strong she was.
As petite and fragile as she appeared, her strength was amazing.
When her movements diminished to hard panting and angry grunts, he cocked a reproving eyebrow.
“That will be enough of that,” he rumbled. “The future is dictated to you and all of the protesting in the world will not change what is to be. The sooner you accept it, the better.”
She refused to meet his eye. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek as he spoke, his voice low and quiet. But the power behind the tone was unmistakable and she was frightened and infuriated further.
His reaction to her confession in the painting room stayed with her, his cold response.
She tried to tell herself that it did not matter, that she was merely marrying him because she was being forced to and that the chances for emotional attachment were impossible.
Yet there was a small part of her that wanted to hear a word of sympathy, to let her know that he understood her loss just the slightest. The idea of spending the rest of her life with a man as cold as the Welsh snows was depressing.
“Are you rational enough that I might let you up?” he asked quietly, breaking into her tumultuous thoughts.
She nodded once. Promptly, he pushed himself up and Peyton bolted from the bed, straightening her gown as Alec resumed his position before the wardrobe. “Now, as I was saying. Before we leave here today, I will set the servants to clean out this wardrobe and….”
“I hate you,” she whispered, interrupting him.
He paused to look at her. “What did you say?”
Peyton turned her gaze to him then, the sapphire blue eyes blazing. “You heard me. I said I hate you. I shall always hate you. I hope the reward of St. Cloven is enough to balance the animosity of your wife.”
He stared at her, reading her anger and a great deal of pain, although he wasn’t sure where the pain was rooted.
Was it because he had asked about her betrothed?
Because he had forced her to speak of a tragedy she was still coming to grips with?
He wished he could tell her of his own brush with sorrow, but he simply wasn’t ready to. Not yet.
Strangely, he felt a genuine twinge of remorse at her negative declaration. He did not want her to hate him, just as he did not want to hate her.
“Time will tell, my lady,” he replied softly.
She left the room and he let her go.
*
The ride to Blackstone was silent. Ivy sat before Ali, quiet and befuddled while Peyton and Alec all but ignored one another.
The birds in the trees twittered noisily and an occasional rabbit scuttled through the underbrush, but astride the massive chargers, the four riders were as still as stone as each one was lost to their own thoughts.
Peyton wasn’t particularly concerned with Alec’s thoughts at the moment, merely her own.
The whole world was unbalanced; she was to marry a cold, unfeeling man whom she loathed.
Ivy had not spoken since Ali had carted her from the ale storehouse, adding more troubles to her confusion.
Fretting over what had happened between her sister and the black soldier set her head aching again and she was eager to be alone with Ivy if only so they could commiserate their miserable futures.
She found herself damning the satchel of valuables that had been left behind on their hasty retreat from Blackstone.
Had they been careful enough to count their baggage, the mistake would not have been made.
Alec Summerlin would not have been forced to return their parcel, and their grand scheme to disillusion Baron Rothwell would have succeeded.
The uncomfortable silence stretched into endless miles.
Then, somewhere in the midst of the silence Ivy’s voice could be heard.
Much to Peyton’s surprise, she realized that her sister was making an attempt at conversation with Ali.
She cast her sister a curious glance and was shocked to note a smile on Ivy’s lips as she spoke.
Ivy wasn’t merely chatting; she was actually pleasant.
As Peyton watched with growing astonishment, she suddenly realized that Ivy was intent on pulling her into the conversation.
She tried to ignore them, to avert her eyes and ears, but her path had already been chosen.
Ivy sucked her sister into the dialogue.
“Peyton paints beautifully, too,” she told Ali. “You should see her work. Father wanted to sell a few of her portraits at the faire in Petersborough last year, but James would not allow it. Isn’t that right, Peyton?”
Peyton managed a disinterested shrug, maintaining her averted gaze. Ivy was suddenly contrite. “I am sorry, darling. I did not mean to bring up James.”
“Who is James?” Ali asked.
Peyton decided she would answer him, if only for Alec’s benefit. She was eager to reiterate her hatred of him. “The man I love. He was to be my husband, but he was killed. How unfortunate for me.”
Ivy sighed, regretful that she had mentioned the man. She glanced to Alec, noting his even expression as he gazed at the road ahead and she found herself wondering if Peyton had informed him of her previous betrothal. Obviously, Alec wasn’t surprised or concerned with the topic.
“He sounds to have been a wise man. I would not allow my future wife to sell her wares like a common merchant, either,” Alec replied after a moment.
“But they’re beautiful,” Ivy insisted. “Have you not seen them?”
“I have. They will look marvelous displayed throughout St. Cloven and Blackstone.”
“I do not want them displayed,” Peyton muttered softly. “I want them to remain where they are. I shall not have people criticizing my work.”
“They will not criticize it, I assure you,” Alec said evenly. “They will be as enchanted with it as I am. ’Twould make me proud to exhibit my wife’s talent.”
“I am not your wife yet,” she grumbled, but he heard her and leaned close to her ear.
“Tomorrow at the latest we will see that situation remedied,” his breath was hot on her ear, sending involuntary shivers up her spine.
She did not reply, too angry and confused to form a response. Not only was she adamant in her desire not to marry the massive man seated against her, but she was aware that Ivy was acting most peculiar toward the black soldier. ’Twas almost as if she was growing comfortable with him.
If the world was upended before, it was most definitely spinning wildly out of control with the recent addition of Ivy’s behavior. Peyton was having difficulty comprehending all of it.
The group again rode silently for several minutes until Ivy struck up another conversation, hoping to alleviate the somber mood that had been pervasive since they had left St. Cloven. She had no idea that she could not have selected a worse subject.
“Why is it that you do not wear armor, Sir Alec?” she asked the massive blond man. “You are a knight, are you not? And you are unarmed, too. Why?”
Alec passed a glance at her. “It is true that I am a knight, but I gave up warring long ago. I prefer less-violent pursuits.”
“Weren’t you any good?” Ivy asked, remembering what Jubil had said about him but wanting to hear an explanation from his own lips.
Ali laughed softly at the question. “There was none better than Alec. No better knight in the realm, I assure you.”
“But you gave it up?” Ivy was still focused on Alec.
Alec did not reply and Ali sought to change the subject. “I find this portion of the country lovely, much nicer than London. Have you ever been to London, Lady Ivy?”
The conversation took an immediate turn and Alec was grateful.
He had already alienated one lady this day and was close to distancing another had Ali not taken the helm.
With Ivy distracted, he was better able to focus on the events of the day that had led to this point in time.
What had started out as a most pleasant and promising day had decayed into a sullen, uncomfortable experience and he was aware that the change had taken place the moment he entered Peyton’s painting room.
He was puzzled but tried not to let Peyton’s attitude overly concern him.
It would blow over like a storm, he told himself.
Tomorrow she would forget all about whatever unpleasantries he managed to unearth.
Her hostilities stemmed from her painful memories, he was sure.
Mayhap in some way she blamed him, although he could not imagine why.
But the more he tried to pretend her animosity did not matter, the more he realized that it did.
She was so stiff and unmoving in his arms, not at all like the sweet, heated bit of flesh he had kissed that morn.
Every time he thought about the encounter his lips ached to kiss her again and his arms yearned to hold her, seeking the fire that she kindled within his soul.
She seemed to fit against him with odd familiarity and he wondered if the reaction would be the same when next he took her in his arms.
Distracted and silent, he found himself pondering that very question. He did not like the coldness between them.
Blackstone loomed into view not long thereafter, distracting the party from their moody thoughts. Black, haunting, strong, the edifice emerged in the distance like a great preying beast.
Ivy’s confusing behavior and her own resentment aside, Peyton found herself focusing on the massive black bastion with a good deal of apprehension.
With all of her other concerns, the impending wrath of Alec’s father did nothing to offset her turmoil.
She realized there was naught else to do but plead for the man’s mercy and pray his grace was infinite.
She was so consumed with her turbulent thoughts that she was startled when hot breath delicately caressed her ear.
“I shall handle my father,” Alec said softly. “Simply agree with everything I say.”
“What are you going to say?” she asked, feeling her cheeks flush as he purred against her ear.
“Trust me, my lady. I shall not say anything incriminating in the least. Besides, I suspect his anger will be immediately doused when he discovers we have come to our senses and agreed to a betrothal.”
For the first time during the entire journey, she turned to look at him. “That, my lord, is a matter of opinion.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that our decision was mutual.”
Her cheeks mottled a deeper red, remembering how, exactly, they came about that decision.
Noting the pink color to her porcelain cheeks, Alec smiled a brilliant, broad display.
He couldn’t help but laugh softly at her embarrassment, her bewilderment for a decision that was literally wrung out of her.
Even with the animosity, the anger, the reaction to Ali, he wasn’t sorry he had practically forced her into submission.
After pondering his thoughts the majority of the afternoon, he realized in spite of everything that he was quite pleased with the fire of the Lady Peyton de Fluornoy.
“There is no need for humiliation,” his voice was low, rumbling and warm. “I quite enjoyed our encounter in the forest.”
Peyton looked away from him, horrified with her scarlet cheeks.
Odd chills raced through her at his tone, her anger with him dampening somewhat.
Why was he so confusing? Cold and hard one moment, soothing and warm the next.
She couldn’t hate him when his mood was calm and his manner soft, and her heart swelled strangely when she remembered their brief rendezvous under the canopy of trees.
The strange swell against her ribs almost made her smile, but she fought it. She had no idea what she was possibly feeling, or why. She was so confused she was barely aware of anything anymore.