Read Online The Gardener by Catherine McGreevy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catherine McGreevy
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consulting her wishes. It must be hard for a passionate young woman to be tied to an older man she did not care for, he thought, looking at her tear-filled eyes and heaving bosom. She must feel nearly as powerless as....
As he did.
Tom's senses snapped into place, and a sudden rage rushed through his veins. It was a feeling that he had never experienced before, a silent, inner rebellion as impossible to hold back as a tidal wave. He looked down at her with disgust. Maeve Marlowe thought she could command him to do something he found repugnant, not caring about his feelings about the matter, never even considering that he might refuse. Why shouldn't she? She, and those like her, dominated everything he did, from when he rose in the morning, to what he wore, to how he filled every hour of the day until he went to sleep—and even then, they could call him from his slumber on a whim.
The rush of resentment was raw, overwhelming, causing him to tremble. For a moment, he had to clench his fists to prevent himself from shoving her aside.
But she did not sense the change in him. Instead, she pressed closer, her body touching his. “I shall be faithful to him after we are wed, of course,” she murmured. “But I deserve one hour of pleasure before then. Is that too much to ask?”
Any trace of sympathy vanished as he realized that her words were not addressed not to him, but to herself. His wishes, his desires were irrelevant, he thought bitterly. To her, to all of her class, he was nothing but an object, a possession. Because of his position, he was powerless to move as she ran her hand up his arm like a trader assessing horseflesh.
‘…One hour with the tallest, best-looking man in my father's retinue,” she whispered. “It would be an experience to remember for a lifetime.” Her mouth tightened, and her fingernails dug painfully into his flesh. “Who could deny me that right?”
Despite his disgust, Tom was sickeningly aware of the precariousness of his position. To incur Maeve Marlowe's displeasure was to risk everything. Yet if anyone heard about this.... If the slightest hint of it came to Blodgett's ears, or, God forbid, to Lord Marlowe's….
He sneaked another glance at the doorway. If he could find the right words to satisfy her vanity, that would buy him time to make his escape....
But Miss Marlowe had finished speaking. She raised her face, closed her eyes, and pursed her rouged lips, expecting unquestioning compliance.
“ Never! “ The word exploded out of him, shocking him as much as her. He pushed aside her clinging arms. The unexpected move caused her to stumble backward, toward the bed, and instinctively, she clutched his shoulders to avoid falling. Her weight caught him off balance, and he collapsed heavily on top of her.
Misinterpreting the action, she giggled and pulled at his waistcoat. Again, her grip was unexpectedly strong. The threads ripped, and he heard the gold buttons ping against the floor.
Dimly he was aware of a drumming sound in the distance, while he protested like a character in a French farce. “No, Miss Marlowe, I cannot ....We must not ....”
Her black eyes suddenly narrowed and she slapped him smartly, with such force that his head snapped back. At almost the same time, rough hands grabbed him from behind and hauled him to his feet like a fish on a line.
“Scoundrel! Rotgut! Knave!” The deep bellow belonged to Lord Marlowe. “How dare you lay your filthy hands on my daughter? I shall see you hang for this!”
“He attacked me! Take him!” Miss Marlowe cried, and fell limply back on the bed, her eyes fluttering shut.
Tom risked a glance behind to see who was holding him while Lord Marlowe, purple with rage, brandished his walking stick in his face. It was Campbell, his rugged face a stony mask, his grip like iron.
“Is this the reward I get for taking a got-wobbled under-gardener into my household?” Lord Marlowe screamed. “I vow I shall see him swing from a
As he did.
Tom's senses snapped into place, and a sudden rage rushed through his veins. It was a feeling that he had never experienced before, a silent, inner rebellion as impossible to hold back as a tidal wave. He looked down at her with disgust. Maeve Marlowe thought she could command him to do something he found repugnant, not caring about his feelings about the matter, never even considering that he might refuse. Why shouldn't she? She, and those like her, dominated everything he did, from when he rose in the morning, to what he wore, to how he filled every hour of the day until he went to sleep—and even then, they could call him from his slumber on a whim.
The rush of resentment was raw, overwhelming, causing him to tremble. For a moment, he had to clench his fists to prevent himself from shoving her aside.
But she did not sense the change in him. Instead, she pressed closer, her body touching his. “I shall be faithful to him after we are wed, of course,” she murmured. “But I deserve one hour of pleasure before then. Is that too much to ask?”
Any trace of sympathy vanished as he realized that her words were not addressed not to him, but to herself. His wishes, his desires were irrelevant, he thought bitterly. To her, to all of her class, he was nothing but an object, a possession. Because of his position, he was powerless to move as she ran her hand up his arm like a trader assessing horseflesh.
‘…One hour with the tallest, best-looking man in my father's retinue,” she whispered. “It would be an experience to remember for a lifetime.” Her mouth tightened, and her fingernails dug painfully into his flesh. “Who could deny me that right?”
Despite his disgust, Tom was sickeningly aware of the precariousness of his position. To incur Maeve Marlowe's displeasure was to risk everything. Yet if anyone heard about this.... If the slightest hint of it came to Blodgett's ears, or, God forbid, to Lord Marlowe's….
He sneaked another glance at the doorway. If he could find the right words to satisfy her vanity, that would buy him time to make his escape....
But Miss Marlowe had finished speaking. She raised her face, closed her eyes, and pursed her rouged lips, expecting unquestioning compliance.
“ Never! “ The word exploded out of him, shocking him as much as her. He pushed aside her clinging arms. The unexpected move caused her to stumble backward, toward the bed, and instinctively, she clutched his shoulders to avoid falling. Her weight caught him off balance, and he collapsed heavily on top of her.
Misinterpreting the action, she giggled and pulled at his waistcoat. Again, her grip was unexpectedly strong. The threads ripped, and he heard the gold buttons ping against the floor.
Dimly he was aware of a drumming sound in the distance, while he protested like a character in a French farce. “No, Miss Marlowe, I cannot ....We must not ....”
Her black eyes suddenly narrowed and she slapped him smartly, with such force that his head snapped back. At almost the same time, rough hands grabbed him from behind and hauled him to his feet like a fish on a line.
“Scoundrel! Rotgut! Knave!” The deep bellow belonged to Lord Marlowe. “How dare you lay your filthy hands on my daughter? I shall see you hang for this!”
“He attacked me! Take him!” Miss Marlowe cried, and fell limply back on the bed, her eyes fluttering shut.
Tom risked a glance behind to see who was holding him while Lord Marlowe, purple with rage, brandished his walking stick in his face. It was Campbell, his rugged face a stony mask, his grip like iron.
“Is this the reward I get for taking a got-wobbled under-gardener into my household?” Lord Marlowe screamed. “I vow I shall see him swing from a
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