quite able to imagine him doing it to her.
"It will be difficult for me to establish myself as master here. People will remain on my terms, or they'll leave."
She stared at the rug, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. "Would you ... would you at least give me some money, so Sarah and I can support ourselves while we figure out what to do?"
He didn't speak, but she could feel him studying her. The silence grew, and it underscored how pathetically she'd begged. Had he any compassion for her plight?
"Anne," he started, inappropriately using her Christian name, "would marriage to me really be so terrible? You'll live at Gladstone, and you'll be a countess. You'll be mistress of this grand house and several others. You and your sister will have everything you desire. You'll never go without. I swear it to you."
"It's not about the things you can give me."
"Then what is it? Why are you so reluctant? Are you scared of me? Do I disgust you? Are you pledged to another? What is it?"
She knew her reservations were silly, but with the exception of Sarah, she'd always been alone. No one had ever loved her. No one had ever cared about her. And she was so lonely. Was it too much to ask that any potential husband possess a shred of affection?
"It doesn't matter," she mumbled. "I just can't do it."
He sighed with resignation, or perhaps aggravation.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
He reached out and took her hand. "Come with me." 'To where?"
"I want to show you something."
"What?"
"You'll see."
He spun and led her toward the inner chamber where his bed was located, and it loomed up at her, hinting at behaviors about which she'd always been curious but couldn't unravel. It was large and wide, fit for a king, situated on a pedestal and positioned so the exalted occupant could gaze out the window on the land below.
She was such an innocent that she'd never peered this far down the matrimonial road to where it would end, and the mysterious possibilities frightened her. She dragged her feet, trying to slow their forward progress, but to no avail. He was bigger and stronger, and he was clasping her hand so tightly. She couldn't pull away.
"I'm not going in there with you," she insisted.
"You keep telling me all the things you won't do, and I hate being denied. It annoys me."
She yanked away and sprinted for the door, but she'd forgotten it was locked. She whipped around and glared at him, but he merely grinned, delighted by her predicament.
"You're not afraid of me, are you, Anne?"
"Of course I'm not. Don't be absurd."
"Then prove it. Come into my bedchamber with me."
He took a step, then another, and she extended her arm, palm out, to ward him off.
"You stay right where you are, you scapegrace."
"No."
"Lord Gladstone!" "Call me Jamie." "No."
"Call me Jamie!"
He swooped in and scooped her off her feet, and though she kicked and hissed, she couldn't wrestle away. In a few fleet strides, they were in the other room. He walked over to the massive bed and dropped her onto the mattress.
"Lord Gladstone! Stop it!" He climbed after her, panicking her as to his intentions. "Mr. Merrick! Jamieson! Jamie!"
At her capitulation, he was very smug. "I love it when I get my way. And so soon, too."
He lunged, grabbing her and hauling her under him, his body weighing her down.
"Get off me!" She pushed at his shoulders, but the oaf wouldn't budge.
"You're very pretty when you're angry."
The comment flummoxed her. He'd said much the same when they'd been out in the forest, and his compliment had the same effect now as it had had then. She was thrilled that he found her attractive, but why would she be? Was she desperate for male attention?
"Get off me!" she repeated. "Don't touch me; don't maul me. Just let me out of this asylum."
"In our dickering over my marriage proposal"—he ignored her protest—"I've been remiss in clarifying some of the more intimate benefits you'll enjoy on becoming my wife."
"There aren't enough benefits in the
"It will be difficult for me to establish myself as master here. People will remain on my terms, or they'll leave."
She stared at the rug, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. "Would you ... would you at least give me some money, so Sarah and I can support ourselves while we figure out what to do?"
He didn't speak, but she could feel him studying her. The silence grew, and it underscored how pathetically she'd begged. Had he any compassion for her plight?
"Anne," he started, inappropriately using her Christian name, "would marriage to me really be so terrible? You'll live at Gladstone, and you'll be a countess. You'll be mistress of this grand house and several others. You and your sister will have everything you desire. You'll never go without. I swear it to you."
"It's not about the things you can give me."
"Then what is it? Why are you so reluctant? Are you scared of me? Do I disgust you? Are you pledged to another? What is it?"
She knew her reservations were silly, but with the exception of Sarah, she'd always been alone. No one had ever loved her. No one had ever cared about her. And she was so lonely. Was it too much to ask that any potential husband possess a shred of affection?
"It doesn't matter," she mumbled. "I just can't do it."
He sighed with resignation, or perhaps aggravation.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
He reached out and took her hand. "Come with me." 'To where?"
"I want to show you something."
"What?"
"You'll see."
He spun and led her toward the inner chamber where his bed was located, and it loomed up at her, hinting at behaviors about which she'd always been curious but couldn't unravel. It was large and wide, fit for a king, situated on a pedestal and positioned so the exalted occupant could gaze out the window on the land below.
She was such an innocent that she'd never peered this far down the matrimonial road to where it would end, and the mysterious possibilities frightened her. She dragged her feet, trying to slow their forward progress, but to no avail. He was bigger and stronger, and he was clasping her hand so tightly. She couldn't pull away.
"I'm not going in there with you," she insisted.
"You keep telling me all the things you won't do, and I hate being denied. It annoys me."
She yanked away and sprinted for the door, but she'd forgotten it was locked. She whipped around and glared at him, but he merely grinned, delighted by her predicament.
"You're not afraid of me, are you, Anne?"
"Of course I'm not. Don't be absurd."
"Then prove it. Come into my bedchamber with me."
He took a step, then another, and she extended her arm, palm out, to ward him off.
"You stay right where you are, you scapegrace."
"No."
"Lord Gladstone!" "Call me Jamie." "No."
"Call me Jamie!"
He swooped in and scooped her off her feet, and though she kicked and hissed, she couldn't wrestle away. In a few fleet strides, they were in the other room. He walked over to the massive bed and dropped her onto the mattress.
"Lord Gladstone! Stop it!" He climbed after her, panicking her as to his intentions. "Mr. Merrick! Jamieson! Jamie!"
At her capitulation, he was very smug. "I love it when I get my way. And so soon, too."
He lunged, grabbing her and hauling her under him, his body weighing her down.
"Get off me!" She pushed at his shoulders, but the oaf wouldn't budge.
"You're very pretty when you're angry."
The comment flummoxed her. He'd said much the same when they'd been out in the forest, and his compliment had the same effect now as it had had then. She was thrilled that he found her attractive, but why would she be? Was she desperate for male attention?
"Get off me!" she repeated. "Don't touch me; don't maul me. Just let me out of this asylum."
"In our dickering over my marriage proposal"—he ignored her protest—"I've been remiss in clarifying some of the more intimate benefits you'll enjoy on becoming my wife."
"There aren't enough benefits in the
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