Read Online To Tame a Rogue by Kelly Jameson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kelly Jameson
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She set the tankard on a nearby table.
Nicholas released her in disbelief and watched as she held her head high and sashayed out of the establishment, every male eye in the place following her.
Nicholas shivered unexpectedly at the thought of what could have befallen her if he hadn’t showed up when he had, but the fear was suddenly replaced by anger. The thought that she had been giving other men what he, her lawfully wedded husband, had not demanded, suddenly made him furious. He was right behind her, the two of them all but tumbling into the black coach waiting outside.
13
As she settled herself on the velvet-covered seat, squeezing her small form into the corner, Camille wished she had a horse, one that would carry her far away from Nicholas. She was already tired of the ornate carriage with its heavy leather door that carried the bold Branton family crest, the tiny little cushions that matched the maroon trimmings of the carriage.
Camille would not meet Nicholas’ eyes. “I have never been talked to in such a degrading manner, sir, and I find your insolence highly detestable,” she said.
“You would play the lady now? I would not expect your patrons to be quoting Shakespeare or singing you love ballads. And call me Nicholas. You’re my wife, for God’s sake, even if it’s in name only.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I didn’t agree to this marriage so you could saunter about and besmirch my family’s name. We haven't been married but a day and you don't have the decency to honor our agreement?” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “If I’d known you were a whore, I would never have agreed to the marriage.”
Camille felt as if she’d been slapped in the face. First he had thought her a thief. Now he thought her a whore? Just what did he think she was doing at the tavern? A deeper flush crept up her neck and cheeks at the horrid thought, and she couldn’t find her tongue. A great lump was forming in her throat and she felt as if she were choking. He grabbed her hand. The jolted touch was like fire, alarming and mesmerizing at the same time.
“The ring on your finger means you belong to me. We had an agreement. You’re the wife of a Branton. You will come to understand what that means and not to question my authority.”
She nearly laughed in his face, only she didn’t feel in the least like laughing. It seemed, in the short time since they'd met, Nicholas always thought the worst of her.
“I should think, with the vast Branton fortunes at your disposal, you should not need to serve drunks in a wenching establishment.”
Camille turned away from his probing eyes to stare out at the fading city and the darkness. The moon cast a silver-yellow glow over the countryside. She was trying desperately to keep her upper lip from trembling, to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.
Everything—the events of the past few days tumbling one upon the other, his accusations, the threat of being beaten by Meletios, what Meletios had done to Meagan, the unplanned wedding ceremony—it was all too much. But she would not correct his misimpressions. She didn’t care what he thought.
The pair was silent; each lost in their own thoughts. After a while, she turned to him.
“Is this what brought you out, to tell me you have a reputation to uphold and that I may have some of your charity if I need it?”
If there was one thing Camille had learned in the past few years, it was that the steps of charity were steep indeed. “I will only say this once. You do not know me at all. I think we have made a grave mistake,” she continued. “I don’t want your charity. I want nothing from you.”
“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?” Nicholas asked, as if he hadn’t heard her.
“I can take care of myself,” Camille said. "I've worked in the tavern a long time."
“Can you? That’s not what I witnessed tonight. What if that man took his knife
Nicholas released her in disbelief and watched as she held her head high and sashayed out of the establishment, every male eye in the place following her.
Nicholas shivered unexpectedly at the thought of what could have befallen her if he hadn’t showed up when he had, but the fear was suddenly replaced by anger. The thought that she had been giving other men what he, her lawfully wedded husband, had not demanded, suddenly made him furious. He was right behind her, the two of them all but tumbling into the black coach waiting outside.
13
As she settled herself on the velvet-covered seat, squeezing her small form into the corner, Camille wished she had a horse, one that would carry her far away from Nicholas. She was already tired of the ornate carriage with its heavy leather door that carried the bold Branton family crest, the tiny little cushions that matched the maroon trimmings of the carriage.
Camille would not meet Nicholas’ eyes. “I have never been talked to in such a degrading manner, sir, and I find your insolence highly detestable,” she said.
“You would play the lady now? I would not expect your patrons to be quoting Shakespeare or singing you love ballads. And call me Nicholas. You’re my wife, for God’s sake, even if it’s in name only.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I didn’t agree to this marriage so you could saunter about and besmirch my family’s name. We haven't been married but a day and you don't have the decency to honor our agreement?” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “If I’d known you were a whore, I would never have agreed to the marriage.”
Camille felt as if she’d been slapped in the face. First he had thought her a thief. Now he thought her a whore? Just what did he think she was doing at the tavern? A deeper flush crept up her neck and cheeks at the horrid thought, and she couldn’t find her tongue. A great lump was forming in her throat and she felt as if she were choking. He grabbed her hand. The jolted touch was like fire, alarming and mesmerizing at the same time.
“The ring on your finger means you belong to me. We had an agreement. You’re the wife of a Branton. You will come to understand what that means and not to question my authority.”
She nearly laughed in his face, only she didn’t feel in the least like laughing. It seemed, in the short time since they'd met, Nicholas always thought the worst of her.
“I should think, with the vast Branton fortunes at your disposal, you should not need to serve drunks in a wenching establishment.”
Camille turned away from his probing eyes to stare out at the fading city and the darkness. The moon cast a silver-yellow glow over the countryside. She was trying desperately to keep her upper lip from trembling, to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.
Everything—the events of the past few days tumbling one upon the other, his accusations, the threat of being beaten by Meletios, what Meletios had done to Meagan, the unplanned wedding ceremony—it was all too much. But she would not correct his misimpressions. She didn’t care what he thought.
The pair was silent; each lost in their own thoughts. After a while, she turned to him.
“Is this what brought you out, to tell me you have a reputation to uphold and that I may have some of your charity if I need it?”
If there was one thing Camille had learned in the past few years, it was that the steps of charity were steep indeed. “I will only say this once. You do not know me at all. I think we have made a grave mistake,” she continued. “I don’t want your charity. I want nothing from you.”
“Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?” Nicholas asked, as if he hadn’t heard her.
“I can take care of myself,” Camille said. "I've worked in the tavern a long time."
“Can you? That’s not what I witnessed tonight. What if that man took his knife
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