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Authors: Isabella Bradford
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exactly he’d be here to avenge.
“Where is your coat?” she asked. “Why did you take it off?”
“I had no choice,” he said defensively. “March’s infernal brat puked down the front of it.”
“Little Georgie?” Oh, prize baby, she thought. Clever little fellow for having displayed such judgment! “He did that to you?”
“Yes, he did,” he said. “Now answer my question, if you can. Do you believe I’ve betrayed you with yourself?”
She sighed, because it didn’t make any more sense that way than it had before.
“Yes,” she said at last. “That is precisely what I meant.You’d no notion of who I was, so you were being false to me, even as you paid your attentions to me.”
“Why would you tempt me into such a trap?” he demanded. “What was your purpose?”
“What purpose could I possibly have?” she asked. “What could I have hoped to achieve by pretending I was other than who I am?”
“You tell me, Lady Elizabeth,” he said. “I’m sure you’d planned some deceitful female trickery, some cunning way to dishonor me. Why else were you, a lady, alone and unprotected?”
“Because I didn’t believe I’d need any protection,” she retorted, “especially not from the man I am supposed to marry.”
He made a grumbling noise deep in his chest. “There is no supposing about it. You will marry me, Lady Elizabeth, and by God, I’ll marry you. Our meddlesome dead fathers have seen to that, reaching up from the grave to bind us together.”
That shocked Lizzie. Her father had died in a riding accident when she was very young, so she’d only the haziest memories of him, but she still respected those memories, and him with them. “Do not speak of my father that way.”
“Why not, when I speak only the truth?” he said. “Neither of us would be here now if those selfish old men hadn’t made this devil’s bargain between them.”
Somehow they’d fallen into step together as they’d walked the paths. Lizzie noticed, and purposely broke stride, not wanting to accommodate him in any fashion. Betrothal or no, how could she possibly marry such a man?
“I wish you to the devil, sir,” she said bitterly, “and a devil’s pox on you, too, to rot your carcass for all eternity.”
He looked at her sharply. “Now those are pretty words for a lady.”
“Why shouldn’t I use them, and worse, toward you, when you’ve not behaved like a gentleman?” she said. “You tricked me, sir. You must have known who I was.”
“How could I have known?” he said, stopping to throw his hands out in exasperation. “It wasn’t as if you wore a lettered placard about your neck, proclaiming your identity to the world. ‘Lady Elizabeth Wylder, a teasing little baggage.’ ”
Lizzie gasped again, fairly seething. He’d stopped at the corner of the path, where a large mulberry bush hid them from the sight of the summerhouse. Not that it mattered. She was too furious to restrain herself, even if they’d been standing before every last one of her relatives.
She drew back her arm, and with all her force swung around and struck her palm across his cheek.
“There,” she declared. “ That is what you deserve, sir, that and more!”
She expected him to grab his cheek, swear, stamp off, or do some other typical mannish thing. It would have been gallant of him to have realized his errors and apologize, though she doubted very much he’d do that. He might have been gallant in the moonlight at Ranelagh, but in the light of the sun, he hadn’t a shred of gallantry anywhere about his handsome person.
Which, really, explained what he did next.
He grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her close against his chest, circling his arm around her waist to hold her fast. She sputtered with surprise, but before she realized what was happening, he had bent her back over his arm and was kissing her.
She tried to break free, struggling and twisting against him, but succeeded only in knocking her hat
“Where is your coat?” she asked. “Why did you take it off?”
“I had no choice,” he said defensively. “March’s infernal brat puked down the front of it.”
“Little Georgie?” Oh, prize baby, she thought. Clever little fellow for having displayed such judgment! “He did that to you?”
“Yes, he did,” he said. “Now answer my question, if you can. Do you believe I’ve betrayed you with yourself?”
She sighed, because it didn’t make any more sense that way than it had before.
“Yes,” she said at last. “That is precisely what I meant.You’d no notion of who I was, so you were being false to me, even as you paid your attentions to me.”
“Why would you tempt me into such a trap?” he demanded. “What was your purpose?”
“What purpose could I possibly have?” she asked. “What could I have hoped to achieve by pretending I was other than who I am?”
“You tell me, Lady Elizabeth,” he said. “I’m sure you’d planned some deceitful female trickery, some cunning way to dishonor me. Why else were you, a lady, alone and unprotected?”
“Because I didn’t believe I’d need any protection,” she retorted, “especially not from the man I am supposed to marry.”
He made a grumbling noise deep in his chest. “There is no supposing about it. You will marry me, Lady Elizabeth, and by God, I’ll marry you. Our meddlesome dead fathers have seen to that, reaching up from the grave to bind us together.”
That shocked Lizzie. Her father had died in a riding accident when she was very young, so she’d only the haziest memories of him, but she still respected those memories, and him with them. “Do not speak of my father that way.”
“Why not, when I speak only the truth?” he said. “Neither of us would be here now if those selfish old men hadn’t made this devil’s bargain between them.”
Somehow they’d fallen into step together as they’d walked the paths. Lizzie noticed, and purposely broke stride, not wanting to accommodate him in any fashion. Betrothal or no, how could she possibly marry such a man?
“I wish you to the devil, sir,” she said bitterly, “and a devil’s pox on you, too, to rot your carcass for all eternity.”
He looked at her sharply. “Now those are pretty words for a lady.”
“Why shouldn’t I use them, and worse, toward you, when you’ve not behaved like a gentleman?” she said. “You tricked me, sir. You must have known who I was.”
“How could I have known?” he said, stopping to throw his hands out in exasperation. “It wasn’t as if you wore a lettered placard about your neck, proclaiming your identity to the world. ‘Lady Elizabeth Wylder, a teasing little baggage.’ ”
Lizzie gasped again, fairly seething. He’d stopped at the corner of the path, where a large mulberry bush hid them from the sight of the summerhouse. Not that it mattered. She was too furious to restrain herself, even if they’d been standing before every last one of her relatives.
She drew back her arm, and with all her force swung around and struck her palm across his cheek.
“There,” she declared. “ That is what you deserve, sir, that and more!”
She expected him to grab his cheek, swear, stamp off, or do some other typical mannish thing. It would have been gallant of him to have realized his errors and apologize, though she doubted very much he’d do that. He might have been gallant in the moonlight at Ranelagh, but in the light of the sun, he hadn’t a shred of gallantry anywhere about his handsome person.
Which, really, explained what he did next.
He grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her close against his chest, circling his arm around her waist to hold her fast. She sputtered with surprise, but before she realized what was happening, he had bent her back over his arm and was kissing her.
She tried to break free, struggling and twisting against him, but succeeded only in knocking her hat
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