Read Online Miranda's Dilemma by Natasha Blackthorne - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Natasha Blackthorne
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body recoiling.
“My patience is at an end.”
Her heart began pounding for she was no longer facing a kindly, pleasant, boyish man.
His face was determination itself. A selfish, hungry determination.
He pressed her shoulders. “On your knees.”
On your knees, you brazen harlot!
The words echoed in her memory.
Cold, sweating nausea broke over her.
Froster pressed her shoulders harder. “Now, Miranda.”
“I can’t…” Miranda’s voice cracked and her legs were shaking, hard.
Froster’s broad, boyish face twisted into something that was not pleasant at all. “I insist.”
There was no way that Miranda could bring herself to kneel before him.
She just couldn’t.
“Would you force me?” she asked, hearing the fear quake in her voice.
He froze then gaped at her.
“Would you?” she repeated.
He released her.
She backed away from him. “I cannot believe you just did that.”
He paled. “You drove me to it.”
She shook her head. “No, no I did not.”
“You’re a tease, Miss Jones.”
“I am not.”
“Then explain your hesitation to serve my needs.”
“I need time, to come to know you.” She swallowed hard. “To come to care for you.”
“We’ve spent time together.”
“I need more time.”
“You shall have it.”
At his absolute tone, a chill passed through her. “What do you mean?”
He went to the mirror and smoothed his hair.
“What do you mean, my lord?”
“I mean that I shall take a little trip to France.” He straightened his cravat. “Alone.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, I think you need time to think about if you really do want to be mine.”
She should run to him, kneel for him, and prove her devotion in the way he expected.
Aunt Cassandra would nod firmly to that.
But Miranda’s knees turned to rubber and her stomach turned. She remained rooted to the spot, swallowing back the acid that rushed into her throat.
He turned to face her.
He was a stranger.
No, not exactly a stranger.
She had seen that mix of entitlement and resolve before. On Winterton’s face, that night that he had returned to Mama.
On your knees, you brazen harlot!
Nausea shuddered through her. But she wouldn’t shrink away. She lifted her chin and met Froster’s hardened stare.
“When I return, I will expect you to be completely amenable to my desires.”
To be forced through financial terms was just the same as being forced through physical might.
No, she wouldn’t be forced.
She wouldn’t!
She narrowed her eyes. “When you return, do not bother to return to me.”
His eyes widened.
Then he paled. “Miranda…you cannot mean that.”
“We’re done,” she said, softly, realizing how utterly she had just slammed the door closed between them.
He flushed. Then his expression hardened again. “Do not issue threats to me, Miss Jones.”
“It is no threat. We’re done.”
A look of indignation swept over him. “Well, then…”
“Leave,” she said, firmly.
His eyes widened even more, but he grasped the evening jacket he had shed earlier and then left, closing the door loudly behind him.
She let go of her breath, and then all the energy drained from her body. She sank into a nearby chair.
She had likely just slammed the last door that would be open to her.
What the devil would she do now?
Chapter Six
“Lord Danvers, aren’t you going to comment on my gown?” The soft, sultry, feminine voice yanked Adrian’s attention from his card game.
He glanced up over his shoulder and gazed into warm brown eyes. The dark-haired woman fluttered her lashes. One could hardly tell that she enhanced them with just a touch of kohl.
She caressed his arm, bold as any other baggage that his acquaintances brought to these events. Bolder. It was her way to flirt with him. Normally, he would respond with a cool manner. An icy stare or a stern frown and mild admonishment usually discouraged her.
But tonight, he felt, oddly, tolerant.
“I bought it especially just
“My patience is at an end.”
Her heart began pounding for she was no longer facing a kindly, pleasant, boyish man.
His face was determination itself. A selfish, hungry determination.
He pressed her shoulders. “On your knees.”
On your knees, you brazen harlot!
The words echoed in her memory.
Cold, sweating nausea broke over her.
Froster pressed her shoulders harder. “Now, Miranda.”
“I can’t…” Miranda’s voice cracked and her legs were shaking, hard.
Froster’s broad, boyish face twisted into something that was not pleasant at all. “I insist.”
There was no way that Miranda could bring herself to kneel before him.
She just couldn’t.
“Would you force me?” she asked, hearing the fear quake in her voice.
He froze then gaped at her.
“Would you?” she repeated.
He released her.
She backed away from him. “I cannot believe you just did that.”
He paled. “You drove me to it.”
She shook her head. “No, no I did not.”
“You’re a tease, Miss Jones.”
“I am not.”
“Then explain your hesitation to serve my needs.”
“I need time, to come to know you.” She swallowed hard. “To come to care for you.”
“We’ve spent time together.”
“I need more time.”
“You shall have it.”
At his absolute tone, a chill passed through her. “What do you mean?”
He went to the mirror and smoothed his hair.
“What do you mean, my lord?”
“I mean that I shall take a little trip to France.” He straightened his cravat. “Alone.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, I think you need time to think about if you really do want to be mine.”
She should run to him, kneel for him, and prove her devotion in the way he expected.
Aunt Cassandra would nod firmly to that.
But Miranda’s knees turned to rubber and her stomach turned. She remained rooted to the spot, swallowing back the acid that rushed into her throat.
He turned to face her.
He was a stranger.
No, not exactly a stranger.
She had seen that mix of entitlement and resolve before. On Winterton’s face, that night that he had returned to Mama.
On your knees, you brazen harlot!
Nausea shuddered through her. But she wouldn’t shrink away. She lifted her chin and met Froster’s hardened stare.
“When I return, I will expect you to be completely amenable to my desires.”
To be forced through financial terms was just the same as being forced through physical might.
No, she wouldn’t be forced.
She wouldn’t!
She narrowed her eyes. “When you return, do not bother to return to me.”
His eyes widened.
Then he paled. “Miranda…you cannot mean that.”
“We’re done,” she said, softly, realizing how utterly she had just slammed the door closed between them.
He flushed. Then his expression hardened again. “Do not issue threats to me, Miss Jones.”
“It is no threat. We’re done.”
A look of indignation swept over him. “Well, then…”
“Leave,” she said, firmly.
His eyes widened even more, but he grasped the evening jacket he had shed earlier and then left, closing the door loudly behind him.
She let go of her breath, and then all the energy drained from her body. She sank into a nearby chair.
She had likely just slammed the last door that would be open to her.
What the devil would she do now?
Chapter Six
“Lord Danvers, aren’t you going to comment on my gown?” The soft, sultry, feminine voice yanked Adrian’s attention from his card game.
He glanced up over his shoulder and gazed into warm brown eyes. The dark-haired woman fluttered her lashes. One could hardly tell that she enhanced them with just a touch of kohl.
She caressed his arm, bold as any other baggage that his acquaintances brought to these events. Bolder. It was her way to flirt with him. Normally, he would respond with a cool manner. An icy stare or a stern frown and mild admonishment usually discouraged her.
But tonight, he felt, oddly, tolerant.
“I bought it especially just
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