A Promise of More Read Online Free PDF

would share no common interests, and the crowning glory of their union would be the fact that Beatrice hated him. She held him responsible for killing her brother. No chance she’d fall madly in love with him.
    There would be no clinging emotional complications. No love.
    Perfect. If he married Beatrice, they could live their lives peacefully in separate homes, neither one caring what the other did. Neither caring whom he shared his bed with, or how he behaved in general.
    He was absolutely certain of one thing—she wouldn’t want him close enough to form any attachment.
    His parents’ marriage had been a love match, a fiery, jealous, rage-filled union that tore his family apart, and Sebastian swore he would never let his heart rule his head.
    As a gambler, he’d wager his family’s assets on the fact the woman sitting on his bunk would never own his heart. She did not appeal to him in any way, shape, or form.
    For the first time since hearing the word “marriage,” he managed to smile.
    “Unfortunately, my sweet, I’ll need an heir. At some point in our wedded bliss”—the sarcastic drawl appeared not to be lost on her—“you and I will have to share a bed, at least until you’re with child, and in the fairness of full disclosure, I want at least four children.”
    Her face paled. “But not immediately? I don’t really know you. You won’t expect me to share your bed as soon as we wed?”
    He shrugged. “I’ve sat in the Caribbean for several months and thought about my life. It’s time I had an heir. I’m the only remaining male in my family. I’ve neglected my lineage duties for far too long. If Doogie had killed me in that duel, my sisters would have been left in a terrible position. So my answer is yes, I shall expect you to perform your wifely duties on the day we marry.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to make this marriage idea intolerable.”
    Under different circumstances he would have found this conversation amusing. Most women flocked to his bed when he simply smiled an invitation, hence no need to ever employ a mistress.
    His eyes raked her from her petite ankles, clearly visible at the edges of the blanket, up to her face, where her eyes, which still sparked with anger, held his gaze. With a seductive brogue he said, “I doubt you’d find our marriage bed intolerable.”
    Her indrawn breath told him she was not as immune to him as she wanted to be. He continued, “I won’t force you into my bed. I doubt I’d have to, already I affect you.”
    She held his gaze, not bothering to hide the fire-breathing dragon hidden within. He saw her swallow tentatively.
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I’m simply nervous. It’s not every day a woman asks her brother’s killer to marry her.”
    She sat silently fiddling with the edge of the blanket, but he refused to say more. She had to come to a decision. Wed and then bed him, or walk away. He really didn’t care which option she chose. The latter preferably, but the more he thought about needing a son, the more he seemed to think this arrangement could suit them both.
    She licked her lips. “I hadn’t considered the need for an heir. Silly of me.”
    He watched her closely and saw her mind ticking away, frantically trying to work a strategy around this unpleasant realization.
    Beatrice Hennessey was a contradiction—surprisingly tough for a lady of her class and upbringing. But then, having a father and a younger brother such as hers had probably broadened her education somewhat. It was a terrible thing to say, but Doogie’s death would probably save the rest of her family. Knowing Doogie’s vices, Sebastian estimated he would have plowed through his little American heiress’s money within a couple of years.
    Finally her head rose and her neck lengthened, like a swan about to flap its wings. “If I am to share your bed, then our couplings will be brief, in the dark, and my nightdress remains