Cheryl Holt (34 page)

“No”—she grappled against his tight grip—“I must confer with Hugh.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

He continued hauling her toward the foyer as though she was a naughty youngster about to be disciplined. She contemplated
loudly bellowing her displeasure, but there were people about so she couldn’t cause a scene, though she was relieved to note that no one paid any attention to her passing. While she wasn’t overly acquainted with any of them, she wasn’t about to have others watching as she was towed along like an unruly child.

Crude jocularity drifted over a threshold, and she peeked back, afforded a fleeting glimpse before Michael whisked her on. A naked woman posed on a table while a half-naked man tarried before her, kissing her breasts. A thick, hazy smoke provided a grotesque, hallucinatory ambiance, obscuring the many spectators who were hovering in the corners.

As she flinched, Michael yanked her away so quickly that she wasn’t positive she’d seen it at all. Could it have been real?

She shuddered with distaste.

Before she could gather her wits, they were through the main door of the manor and out into the quiet, fresh night air. She breathed deeply to shed the pall that had hung over the residence, but Michael ceded her no enjoyment of the brief serenity. He ushered her to a carriage, and questions flew—why were they leaving? what did this portend?—but mostly, she inanely concentrated on how the infuriating man had arranged for a carriage to be brought around so promptly.

In the past hour, too many outrageous catastrophes had arisen. Her thoughts were in chaos, her emotions in turmoil, and she was convinced that she shouldn’t absent herself from the property, but Michael was even now hoisting her in, and she struggled to arrest his progress, managing to pitch back onto his chest.

“Get in, madam.”

“I won’t.”

She whirled around, stomping her foot, and she imagined she resembled a petulant toddler, throwing a temper tantrum. Throughout her life, men had endeavored to manipulate her and force her to do their bidding, but she’d
never acquiesced, and she wasn’t about to start now. If Michael wanted something from her, all he had to do was ask. Manhandling her was not the way to go about it!

“You will. Now, or I shall lift you in bodily.”

Indignant, she bit at her bottom lip, crossed her arms, and affected the mien that regularly set adult males to trembling. “I insist that you apprise me of your intentions, or I will raise such a ruckus that the entire household will come out to see what’s transpiring.”

He was unfazed by her threat, his eyes glittering menacingly, and if she hadn’t been persuaded as to the type of man he was, she might have feared for her physical safety.

“As you obviously do not comprehend this about me”—he leaned close, articulating softly so that no one lingering nearby could perceive their quarrel—“I must advise you that I
never
prance about in public, engaging in discord where others might observe my personal squabbles. That said”—the presumptuous knave clasped her waist and tossed her in—“I will not loiter in the drive, arguing with you.”

“Fine!” As incensed as he, she’d like nothing more than to whack that insolent smirk off his pretty face.

She moved to the far corner and huddled against the squab, as Michael delivered a few abbreviated commands to the coachmen. Then he climbed in behind her, his huge form blocking the small hatch so that she couldn’t have vaulted out even if she’d considered it, which she hadn’t. Crazy as it sounded, she was excited about the prospect of traipsing off with him. Whatever ensued, she intended to make the most of it.

He settled himself and rapped on the roof. The carriage clattered away at a brisk speed, and she clutched at the strap to keep from sliding off the seat. They cruised down the long lane toward the village, and then the road to London that lay beyond. He stared out the window, pretending he was the sole passenger, so she pulled back the curtain and peered outside, as well.

The moon was full, the countryside brilliantly illuminated,
and she surveyed all for a quiescent, passion-charged interlude.

She’d meant to ignore him, but he simply pervaded the enclosed area, and she wasn’t about to demurely submit to his carting her across England without having some idea of where they were bound or why.

“Where are we headed?”

The lengthy pause made her conclude that he wouldn’t reply. Then ultimately, he focused his rabid gaze on her. “
You
are to stay at an inn.”

“At this hour? How will we locate one?”

“We are near enough to town that there are several suitable choices.”

“We couldn’t have left in the morning? Like two normal, decent people?”

The word
decent
had him snorting derisively. “For over two weeks, I have been suggesting that you vacate the premises, and you would not heed me. Previously, I hadn’t the authority to enforce your departure.” His eyes constricted with an ominous venom. “Now, I do.”

“Who made that decision?”

“Your brother”—he hesitated, striving for maximum effect—“. . . and I.”

The two cads! She wasn’t some incapable young maiden. How dare they initiate a resolution without seeking her opinion!

“You might have permitted me to communicate my thank-you and good-bye to Lady Carrington.”

“I’ll offer your apologies.”

“What about my belongings?”

“I’ll have them packed and sent to you.”

Ooh . . . and wouldn’t she just like to shake him! This was how he’d acted when they’d first met, before they’d become lovers, and she abhorred this calculated indifference. She was wiser now as to his comportment, and she recognized that the hostile, flinty demeanor indicated he was hurting.

He presumed that she had schemed with Hugh, but after
all they’d shared, how could he be so willing to assume her complicity?

“What did Hugh say to you?”

He chortled. “As if you didn’t know.”

“Tell me!” she decreed.

“Be silent, woman! I don’t propose to bicker with you all the way to the inn.”

“We haven’t begun to argue!”

“Don’t push me!”

“You’re behaving like a lunatic.”

Seeming to deflate, he sank back and gaped out the window, once again. “Give it a rest, Lady Sarah.”

“And quit addressing me by my title. It wounds me when you do.”

Weary, he tipped his head toward the leather, and she longed to close the distance between them, to sit on his lap and guide them back to that special spot where they talked and loved so easily.

“I want to help,” she murmured, but he had no retort. At a loss, she perused the outside landscape. Eventually, they slowed, and the driver urged the horses into the circular courtyard of an inn. Lamps were burning on the lower floor. Their conveyance rattled to a stop, and a postboy ran out from the stable to drop the step.

“Wait here,” Michael exclaimed, springing out and banging the door behind.

She was half-tempted to pursue him just to have the satisfaction of disobeying his spurious mandate, but she wasn’t about to meander into an unfamiliar establishment in the middle of the night without an escort. Reposing in the shadows, she scrutinized the surroundings, the only noises coming from the horses as they calmed themselves, the driver as he shifted about.

Many minutes later, Michael returned and assisted her to the ground. A serving girl held a lantern and, without debate, they followed her inside. Voices and revelry emanated from one of the common rooms, but Michael directed her past and up the stairs and, without incident, they ascended
to a clean, tidy chamber at the end of the hall on the second floor.

She balanced on the edge of the bed while the girl lit a fire in the brazier. Michael guarded the door, a fierce, tempestuous sentinel who hovered over all while the girl finshed her chores, then withdrew.

The stillness left in her wake was instantly oppressive, and Sarah stirred nervously, afraid to learn what was coming, just as afraid not to.

“Well . . . ?” When it seemed he’d never commence, she rose and listed his recent transgressions on the tips of her fingers. “You kidnapped me from Lady Carrington’s estate. You won’t divulge the contents of your conversation with my brother. You brought me to this strange inn. Explain yourself—immediately—or I guarantee that I shall hie myself downstairs, and find my way to Pamela’s—if I have to hike every bloody mile through the dark to get there.”

Without her being aware of it, she was essentially shouting, and someone in one of the adjoining apartments pounded on the thin wall and bellowed for her to “be quiet.” Mortified, she lowered her volume to a harsh whisper. “I’ve had enough! This brooding, rude attitude may stand you in good stead with others, but I will not tolerate it. Now, speak to me like a sensible, civil grown man, or leave me be!”

“As you wish, milady.” Apparently, he wasn’t used to anyone remarking upon his ill humor, and he was jolted. Whispering as well, he informed, “Please break your fast and be dressed so that you are ready by eleven.”

“What’s occurring at eleven?”

“Why . . . we’re off to the church.” He gestured as though she was a simpleton. “To marry.”

“We’re to wed?” Naturally, that’s what Hugh would demand. How stupid of her not to realize it! With how rapidly circumstances had escalated, she hadn’t had two seconds to reach the inescapable conclusion. She’d simply been scared that they might grab for their pistols.

Her heart was suddenly thudding so fast that she felt it
might burst from under her ribs, and she eased down on the mattress, her legs unable to sustain her weight. Emotions warred: unconditional joy, fury, desolation.

To marry Michael Stevens! If the chance had been presented earlier in the evening, she’d have soared to the heavens, but not now. Not with him in such a snit. And most especially not when he and her brother had come to some sort of agreement without consulting her. She would not be bullied. Not by either of them.

She couldn’t stop her flippant query: “Are you proposing?”

“No, because your answer is of absolutely no consequence.”

Sighing heavily, she battled tears. How had her great fondness for him brought them to this hideous juncture? She blinked, then blinked again, recalling that she never cried—about anything—yet since he’d crashed into her staid, boring existence, she was constantly prone to weeping.

“What a coil . . .” Reduced to sniffling, she studied her lap, longing for solitude so that she could compose herself. As it was, a tear dribbled out and slipped down her cheek.

“There’s no call for theatrics,” Michael mentioned upon noticing. “Your display will produce no response from me.”

Legs braced, hands secured behind his back, he was handsome, refined, aloof, and so very alone. This cold, hard stranger was no one she knew, no one she had ever known. The affection he’d harbored for her was totally lacking, and she couldn’t bear its absence.

Their situation had revolved to where marriage was an option. While he brooded and stewed, her heart sang with the possibilities. She wouldn’t view this calamity in negative terms.

He didn’t love her; she appreciated that. In view of the type of man he was, and the world from which he’d evolved, perhaps he never would. But she loved him, and if he would just allow her to, she would spend the remainder of her days making him happy and, in the process,
obtaining no meager amount of contentment for herself.

There had to be a method of chopping through his bulwark of animosity and suspicion. She simply wouldn’t let him spurn her. Whatever it took to restore their unique relationship, she would gladly do—if it meant she had to grovel at his feet. This was no time to be timid, and she carefully tucked away her pride where it couldn’t interfere.

“Don’t growl at me,” she entreated. “I hate that you’re so upset, and I don’t accept that this is a horrid turn of events. I’d be proud to be your wife. I love you.”

“How extremely convenient.”

His curt rejoinder was like a slap. She’d never uttered
love
to another soul, and it was painful and humiliating to have her attestation callously hurled back in her face. Resolved to prevail, she forged on.

“It’s true, Michael. You know it is.” She went to him and rested her fingers on the center of his chest, but touching him was like caressing a cool slab of marble. “I understand that you don’t love me in return, but you hold me in some esteem.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He removed her hand, then stepped away, creating space as he coarsely evaluated her breasts. “What I’ve felt for you is lust. Naught else.”

Making him see the bright side would be much more difficult than she’d anticipated, but she wasn’t about to capitulate. He could be stubborn, rigid, and headstrong, but she wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet.

Refusing to be brushed off, she persevered. “You can bark and protest, but you’ll never convince me that your feelings aren’t genuine. As far as I’m concerned this is a marvelous predicament, and I can’t fathom why you’re so annoyed.”

“Perchance, milady, it has something to do with the fact that your brother arrived with a fully prepared Special License.”

“What?”

She couldn’t have discerned his pronouncement correctly. A Special License would authorize an immediate
wedding. It negated the necessity of calling the banns; any waiting period was void. Why would Hugh have one in his pocket?

An unwelcome pot of disturbing ruminations bubbled over, hinting at deception and betrayal, but the implications were so stunning that, after everything that had already unfolded, she couldn’t begin to process them. Only through sheer force of will did she prevent herself from falling on the bed in a state of shock.

“You’re not joking, are you?”

“It was signed by the archbishop, no less.” He whipped out the paper and waved it under her nose.

“We were so discreet. How could Hugh have discovered what we were about?”

“How indeed?”

The lull that resulted was damning. What could Michael surmise but that she’d had a stake in this? Hugh had as much as said so. She was furious at Michael for accusing her of such deviousness, but she was more enraged at her idiotic, deceitful brother. What did Hugh hope to gain?