Chapter Six #4
His hard mouth kept her from breath. His rigid body pinned her against the wall. His fingers pinched her chin. All true, and yet she didn’t feel quite…present.
She was suspended, hovering, unable to properly reason.
Why?
He pulled away and smiled a smile full of pride—a smile distinctly male. Something like disgust fluttered deep in her chest. Still, at least she could finally breathe.
She gratefully exhaled.
“Such innocence. Such tempting beauty.” He sighed. “I’ve searched years, you know.”
“Searched?” She frowned up at him. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He paused. “I have chosen you to be my bride.”
Bride?! Alarm lit a fire deep inside her belly. “Lord Willard—I—”
“Shh. Don’t speak.” He placed the thumb that had been holding her chin against her lips. “Your maidenly unease will pass. And then you will become aware of the great honor I have just bestowed.”
He sounded so confident. As if his decision had settled her future.
“But…” Her voice trailed. But what?
Outright refusing the “honor bestowed” by so popular a member of the ton felt…unwise. Especially while his knife remained unsheathed somewhere in the vicinity of her thigh. And should he break out in angry, insulted protest, anyone still inside the theater would hear.
She would be ruined.
“You welcomed my advances. Any lady of character,” he paused, “such as yourself, would not have done so had she not been certain of my honorable intentions.”
Her stomach dropped.
“My expectations were certainly clear to the marquess earlier this evening.”
“Adrian? You asked Adrian for my hand?”
“Unseemly,” he interrupted, curt and hard. The whites around his eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “In the future, I forbid you from calling the marquess by his Christian name.”
Willard forbid?
“Impertinence,” he muttered.
Impertinence? Millie calling her brother-in-law by his Christian name, the name he preferred those closest to him to use, was certainly not impertinent. The flame in her stomach burst into fiery blaze. Rage, explosive and hot, funneled blood back into her now-tingling limbs.
Ugh. What was that horrible animal scent Willard wore?
“Adrian,” she repeated forcefully, “cannot give his permission for me to wed. Only my legal guardian can accept an offer for my hand. And, like Adrian, he would never do so without my consent. Not Asquith.”
“Never”—Willard’s face went ugly—“mention that simpleton’s name in my presence. In fact, you will never mention him again at all.”
His snarl set every warning bell ringing. He had lied about Asquith, too!
What she suspected had been fear instantly became fury. What had come over her before?
Finally—thank heavens—she found her mind able again to think and plan.
She had to get away. She had to distract him, or better yet, disarm him, too. And to do so, she had to be sly.
She fluttered her lids downward as she if she’d just perceived the truth behind his chastisement and was now mortified by her own behavior. But all the while, she searched for the door handle behind her.
Then, as silently as she could, she compressed the latch as she spoke.
“I—I am sorry, my lord,” she said in a meek voice she hardly recognized as her own. It had been a long time, but she’d had years of practice playing such games with her father. She’d not forgotten how to placate a belligerent man. “I—I don’t know what just came over me. You are right, of course.”
She forced her body to slacken.
“How am I right?” He sounded suspicious.
“Your decision is the greatest of honors.” She looked deeply, penitently, into his eyes.
“I—I found myself overwhelmed. I had no notion—” She stopped herself, remembering what he’d said about ladies that allow liberties.
“I had hoped to be your—” She could not bring herself to say wife.
“Yours.” She widened her eyes. “Of course, I had.”
“I suppose you need some time to…adjust.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you now understand my expectations?”
“You’ve made yourself clear.” She bit her lip and wrinkled her brow. “I don’t know what came over me to speak to you in such a disrespectful manner. You, who have been nothing but charming and kind to me.”
“You promise complete obedience?”
To herself? “Oh, yes!”
“That’s better.” He eased away. “I forgive you.” He paused. “This time. Now, you will prove your intentions and seal your solemn vow. You may kiss your betrothed.”
Slap your assailant, more like.
But no. Escape was a far better plan.
“May I?” She infused the question with hopeful wonder.
“Yes.” His approving smile returned. “That’s a good girl. Doesn’t it feel nice to please?”
She forced a bashful expression. “I dearly wish to please you.”
Gently puckering her lips, she raised herself to her toes.
He closed his eyes. That’s a good boy.
“Oh, my lord…”
He smiled slightly, a cat with a bowl of cream. She cracked the door. The light picked up the blade, now only loosely held in his hand.
There you are.
In a little less than a wink, she ducked beneath his arm, snatched away his knife, and slipped out into the loud, undulating mass.