more levelly. "And so suddenly, too! When you've so recently reclaimed your heritage, there must be a thousand women who would beg to be your bride. Why not pick one of them?"
"I don't want one of them. I want you."
"But you don't know anything about me!"
"I know enough."
The comment sounded like a threat, or a censure, and she wondered what he'd heard, who had spoken of her. Before traveling to Gladstone, he'd been in London. Who in the city had been so familiar that they were competent to discuss her?
"And with this vast store of information you've gleaned, you're content to forge ahead?"
"Yes. Will that be all? If there's nothing else, I'd like to return to my warm fire and my whiskey."
He was dismissing her! Just like that! As if she were a lowly scullery maid or a stranger on the street! In his authoritative universe, was this the sort of one-sided dialogue that passed for conversation? If he actually ended up pressuring her into matrimony, he'd drive her mad the first week!
"This isn't the Middle Ages," she tersely reminded him. "You can't force me."
"No, I can't, and I wouldn't presume to try."
"Then how will you gain my agreement?"
"Once you're countess, you'll decide who stays and who doesn't."
"So?"
"Your sister can stay—for her entire life. She can remain single and benefit from my charity, or if she ultimately chooses to wed, I'll dower her so she can find a husband."
"And if I'm not willing to sacrifice myself for her?" "Then you and she will pack your bags and depart." "Where would we go?"
"Wherever you wish. You'll no longer be my responsibility."
He was silent, letting the import of his cruel words sink in; then he grinned his devil's grin. He'd trapped her, and he knew it.
She would do anything for Sarah. He'd learned Anne's greatest weakness, and he planned to exploit it. How could she fight him and win?
"So you see," he stated, "I won't have to bully you, at all. You'll consent of your own accord."
"But I don't even like you."
"So? Why would your personal feelings toward me matter?"
"If I were ever to wed, I'd want to love my husband." He gaped at her as if she were babbling in a foreign language, and she stupidly added, "I could never love you."
The bounder chuckled. "Well, I'm glad we got that out on the table."
"What about you? Doesn't it bother you that you'd have a wife who doesn't like you?"
"Not particularly."
"What if you eventually discover that you hate me? You'd be stuck with me forever." "I certainly would be." "I might annoy you with my frivolity." "All women do."
"Or I might be rude to your friends." "I don't have any."
"What if I have atrocious manners or laugh like a donkey?" "Do you?"
"I often talk too much. What if I chatter like a magpie until your ears are full?"
"Then I'll order you to be quiet."
"And if I don't heed you?"
"Then I'll bind you and gag you and throw you in a closet till I feel it's safe to let you out."
"You would not."
"I might. If you were sufficiently irritating." "Would you be serious?"
He chuckled again. "You might be right. Maybe I'd merely gag you, but we'd skip the closet."
She shook her head in consternation. "I don't understand you."
"You don't need to understand me. You just need to marry me. Tomorrow morning."
Her shoulders slumped with defeat. Why couldn't she make him listen?
She'd nearly been engaged once, at age seventeen, but her beau had run off with a rich heiress, instead. Anne's heart had been broken, her confidence shattered, and it had taken years to recover from the sting of his rejection.
Afterward, she'd sworn off men, and she wouldn't be so vulnerable ever again. She couldn't bear the wild swings from giddy joy to pitiful misery. She yearned to continue on as a staid, sedate spinster, where each day was the same as the next.
Jamieson Merrick was volatile and unpredictable. He'd bring havoc and change, and she didn't want what he was offering.
"Would you really put us out on the road?" she inquired, not
"I don't want one of them. I want you."
"But you don't know anything about me!"
"I know enough."
The comment sounded like a threat, or a censure, and she wondered what he'd heard, who had spoken of her. Before traveling to Gladstone, he'd been in London. Who in the city had been so familiar that they were competent to discuss her?
"And with this vast store of information you've gleaned, you're content to forge ahead?"
"Yes. Will that be all? If there's nothing else, I'd like to return to my warm fire and my whiskey."
He was dismissing her! Just like that! As if she were a lowly scullery maid or a stranger on the street! In his authoritative universe, was this the sort of one-sided dialogue that passed for conversation? If he actually ended up pressuring her into matrimony, he'd drive her mad the first week!
"This isn't the Middle Ages," she tersely reminded him. "You can't force me."
"No, I can't, and I wouldn't presume to try."
"Then how will you gain my agreement?"
"Once you're countess, you'll decide who stays and who doesn't."
"So?"
"Your sister can stay—for her entire life. She can remain single and benefit from my charity, or if she ultimately chooses to wed, I'll dower her so she can find a husband."
"And if I'm not willing to sacrifice myself for her?" "Then you and she will pack your bags and depart." "Where would we go?"
"Wherever you wish. You'll no longer be my responsibility."
He was silent, letting the import of his cruel words sink in; then he grinned his devil's grin. He'd trapped her, and he knew it.
She would do anything for Sarah. He'd learned Anne's greatest weakness, and he planned to exploit it. How could she fight him and win?
"So you see," he stated, "I won't have to bully you, at all. You'll consent of your own accord."
"But I don't even like you."
"So? Why would your personal feelings toward me matter?"
"If I were ever to wed, I'd want to love my husband." He gaped at her as if she were babbling in a foreign language, and she stupidly added, "I could never love you."
The bounder chuckled. "Well, I'm glad we got that out on the table."
"What about you? Doesn't it bother you that you'd have a wife who doesn't like you?"
"Not particularly."
"What if you eventually discover that you hate me? You'd be stuck with me forever." "I certainly would be." "I might annoy you with my frivolity." "All women do."
"Or I might be rude to your friends." "I don't have any."
"What if I have atrocious manners or laugh like a donkey?" "Do you?"
"I often talk too much. What if I chatter like a magpie until your ears are full?"
"Then I'll order you to be quiet."
"And if I don't heed you?"
"Then I'll bind you and gag you and throw you in a closet till I feel it's safe to let you out."
"You would not."
"I might. If you were sufficiently irritating." "Would you be serious?"
He chuckled again. "You might be right. Maybe I'd merely gag you, but we'd skip the closet."
She shook her head in consternation. "I don't understand you."
"You don't need to understand me. You just need to marry me. Tomorrow morning."
Her shoulders slumped with defeat. Why couldn't she make him listen?
She'd nearly been engaged once, at age seventeen, but her beau had run off with a rich heiress, instead. Anne's heart had been broken, her confidence shattered, and it had taken years to recover from the sting of his rejection.
Afterward, she'd sworn off men, and she wouldn't be so vulnerable ever again. She couldn't bear the wild swings from giddy joy to pitiful misery. She yearned to continue on as a staid, sedate spinster, where each day was the same as the next.
Jamieson Merrick was volatile and unpredictable. He'd bring havoc and change, and she didn't want what he was offering.
"Would you really put us out on the road?" she inquired, not
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