Read Online Revenge of the Barbary Ghost by Donna Lea Simpson - Free Book Online Page A

own?”
    “Because I know better than you, that’s why!” he said, balling his hands into fists at his side. “I’ll not have my wife—”
    “Darkefell, I am not your wife, not now, nor in the future; if you had set out to design a means of reminding me why I could never accept your proposal, you could not do better than this!” She glared at him, trying to ignore the rapid pulse in his temple and throat, the signs of agitation she knew well in him. Next, his cheeks would suffuse with red, and the color would sink to his neck. Male temper; it had been used to successfully bully women for millennia, Anne suspected.
    Yet he did not speak.
    Deliberately, coldly, hoping to chill his ire, she said, “I will not be confined or constrained, my every move approved or censured. My mother and I have parted over this, and though I am no fool, and am reasonably careful for my reputation—I have no desire to be notorious, my lord—neither will I hand over every iota of control to a coterie of servants, companions, parents and then, when I am so desperately bored I can no longer think of anything beyond the next assembly, a husband who will own me body and soul.”
    He was speechless, staring into her eyes.
    Would he not speak, not protest her declaration of a right to self-determination? She had expected him to spout a litany of reasons for feminine subjugation. After all, religion, tradition, even nature conspired to keep women dependent upon men. She thrust her face toward his. “Do you understand what it is to be a woman? Any man I marry would be able to decide where I live and how. He would even have command over my body, his to take pleasure in … or not. I am not a thoughtless chit. I have pondered long and hard and careful on this, Darkefell, and I will live as I see fit …” She paused, then in a lower tone said, “Or not live at all.”
    Doubt clouded his dark eyes, and she thought, There, now he will take me in disgust and leave with some vague excuse. I’ll never see him again.
    But he grabbed her shoulders, jerked her into his arms, and bent his head, claiming her lips in a kiss so fierce and long that she could not breathe and beat at his shoulder, gasping for air, as she made smothered cries for him to cease. Irusan, who had been off hunting mice in the long grass, came pelting back and hurled himself at Darkefell’s leg, yowling in fury. The marquess released Anne and cried out, shaking the cat off his leg.
    “Irusan, behave!” Anne yelled. The cat slunk away with a grumble. She put a trembling hand to her mouth.
    Darkefell’s face was red. “I suppose I deserved that,” he said, touching his leg, blood beginning to show through the buff breeches of his riding costume, “but I think both you and your cat, madam, have given your opinion of me in ways more eloquent than words.” He whirled and stalked away, back to the house.
    Pamela was still on the terrace, staring toward them. Even from a distance Anne could see concern in her friend’s stance. She waved one hand to her friend and turned back to the ocean to regain her composure. Anne had been about to tell Darkefell of her plan to investigate the cliff face and ask if he wanted to help; they had solved a murder together in Yorkshire, and she had felt that she would trust no one so well as him when it came to an adventure. But she was wrong.
    Darkefell was gone by the time she got back to Cliff House, and Pamela was tactful enough to remain silent. St. James, who had fortunately not witnessed Darkefell’s rough embrace, kissed her cheek gently, and said he would see her on the morrow, but he had to get back to his regiment. He reminded them both that they were to meet the next night at an assembly in St. Ives.
    Pam did not comment on what she saw, and Anne was grateful; she had no wish to talk about the scene she had just experienced. Mingled in her breast were warring emotions: fury at Darkefell’s attempt to dominate, thrill at his skillful