The Officer's Little Rebel Read Online Free PDF

There’s scones with lemon curd, a bit of salted trout, and a nice pot of tea.” She stood and looked at Imogen. “You’re a little slip of a thing. No need to be shy about tucking in, and if you want anything, there’s a bell by the bed. Just ring it and someone will be up.”
    “I don’t want your food.”
    “My dear…”
    “I don’t want it,” Imogen said firmly. “Take it away. Take it away or I’ll dump it on the floor. I didn’t ask to be brought here, and I know he won’t let me escape. But if your fancy Major Kingsley chooses to keep me, it’ll be a husk of a bride he’ll take to wed.” She crossed her arms then, her little chin jutting out in defiance. “And don’t think you can wait me out, either. My stepfather regularly deprived me meals. I know what hunger feels like, and it doesn’t bother me.” She paused. “Tell him what I said.”
    Imogen held the housekeeper’s gaze until the older woman shook her head and leaned over to put everything back on the tray.
    “As her lady wishes,” she said, and Imogen couldn’t be sure if the housekeeper’s tone held sarcasm or if the cordiality was sincere. All she knew was that she’d gotten her way, and even though her stomach growled with hunger she did not regret it. The bitter pangs would be reminders of her resolve.
    She thought about trying to leave, but decided against it, telling herself again she’d be stopped. No, she’d employ the strategy of passivity. She smiled at her plan and went to sit in the chair by the window, taking in the grounds beyond the manor.
    Fertile fields and meadows were separated by tidy hedgerows. Somewhere far beyond the hill was the village she’d left, with its worn houses and muddy streets. In the inn, her little room at the top of the stairs with its plain bed, rickety wardrobe, and chipped washbasin, stood empty now. Would her stepfather employ a maid with the money Major Kingsley had promised to send? Or was he already fretting that the officer would renege on his deal and send her home instead of the promised sum? She imagined the latter happening, imagined her stepfather’s ire at seeing her again, and it made her smile.
    “Imogen.” She started at the sound of the officer’s voice. She’d lost track of how long she’d been staring out the window and turned now to see the man himself enter the room.
    He’d changed from his uniform and was wearing a black waistcoat over a burgundy vest, a perfectly tied cravat at the neck. His black breeches were flawlessly creased. His hair, which had been down past his collar when she’d first met him, had been trimmed to just above it. Gone also was the stubble on his square jaw. His eyes, though, were the same—stern, intense.
    “Mrs. Philbert said you refused the food she brought you.”
    “I didn’t want it,” she said.
    “You’re not hungry?”
    “I didn’t say that.” As if to reinforce the point, her stomach growled loudly. “I just said I wasn’t eating your food. You can beat me again if you want. But I won’t mind you.”
    She felt the skin of her bottom tingling as she made the statement. Part of her expected him to pull her over his knee right there, and that filled her with fear. But her heart quickened at the possibility, and the soft throbbing between her legs returned.
    “I don’t plan to beat you,” he said quietly. “I’m excusing your refusal to eat as a sign of your immaturity, Imogen. Even if your life has not been perfect, you’ve been sheltered in that inn. You’ve never been beyond it; you’ve never seen anyone starve.” He paused. “I have, so your selfishness in turning away food is only an affirmation that my plan for you is the correct one.”
    “Plan?” She felt the word catch in her throat.
    “Yes,” Royce said, looking down on her. “Before we left the inn, I told you that I’d be both father and husband to you. But the fathering must come first, for you lack not just proper care, but proper