Love, Come to Me(60)

“You should have done that long ago,” she cried, at once furious and afraid. “You’re so eager to tell me about my faults—well, what about yours? You said once that you didn’t believe in carrying lifelong burdens, but you’ve carried your past around with you for eight years, reading it over and over, pretending you don’t care about the war when you really do. Everyone else I know has let it go, but you’re still mourning and letting it eat at you. You’re still trying to fight it! Whoever heard of a Southerner trying to run a Boston newspaper? It’s insane . . . and you’re doing it to support a lost cause. I don’t want to live with a man like that. I don’t want to live with you, so go to the city and carry out your plans. I’m staying here.” She picked up her skirts and flew up the stairs, intending to barricade herself in the bedroom. But he was there almost before she was, and his arm bit around her waist as he hauled her back against him and spoke harshly in her ear.

“During the next two days you’re going to go through this house and pack up whatever you want to take to Boston. I’ve already asked your father to help you while I’m gone. If you don’t pack anything, you can wear the clothes on your back for the next six months. And if you don’t show up where you’re supposed to be when I tell you, I’ll come and get you myself. Believe me when I tell you that you’d prefer to do it under your own steam.”

“I won’t,” she said hoarsely. He was holding her so tightly that it hurt, and he was so angry that she was afraid he would hurt her. His arms could crush her; they would if he tightened them just a little more, and fear leapt inside her, blazing higher and hotter than the burning newspapers downstairs.

His voice bit softly in her ear. “Not only are you going to live with me, Lucy—you’re going to act so happy about it that the world will think there’s no one else you’d rather be married to . . . even though we both know differently. And you’re going to wait in bed for me every night with open arms and a smile on your face—”

“You’re a fool if you think that.”

“I don’t think it. I expect it. I don’t care if it comes naturally or if you have to force it, but you’re going to play the part of Mrs. Rayne for me as well as for everyone else.”

“You’ll have to kill me first!”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. You don’t have the presence to carry it off.”

“I hate you. I wish I’d never let you touch me.” She tried to think of the worst things she could say to him, something that would hurt. “Last night was the last time. I hate just being near you.”

Heath froze. “That’s going too far, Lucy.”

“It’s the truth!”

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not. But let’s see what is the truth.”

She began to struggle against him as he dragged her to the bed, but his arms were like steel.

“My father will come after you if you lay a hand on me—”

“You’ll never tell your father about what I’m going to do to you,” he said, dropping her facedown on the mattress. He took hold of her upper arms in a grip that hurt. She tried to scramble away, but he straddled her easily, his muscular thighs clamping against either side of her h*ps to keep her from moving. As she felt him unfastening the back of her dress, she squirmed violently in fear and outrage.

“You have no right—”

“I have every right.” He yanked at her corset laces until they came free from their hooks. The edges of the heavily boned garment parted, and Lucy gasped as she heard a tearing sound. He was ripping her underclothes off her as if they were tissue. Her protests were muffled as she fought to prevent the relentless exposure of her body, but nothing she did could stop him. “You’re my wife, and from now on, you’re not going to show the slightest desire to leave my side.”

“Stop it!” She went rigid as she felt his warm hands settle on the rigid line of her spine, following it down until he was cupping her smooth bu**ocks. As his fingers curved over her and his palms circled across her tender flesh, she bit her lip, trying to quell the response that curled through her body. He continued to fondle her until she groaned involuntarily, shutting her eyes and pressing her damp forehead against the sheets.

“No matter how you feel about me,” he said, slipping his hand between her legs, “you haven’t begun to realize what you’ll do for the sake of this. That’s the truth, Lucy. Isn’t it?” She swallowed hard and tried to answer him, but the only sound that escaped her throat was a deep moan. He pushed past the remnant of her clothes. His fingers massaged the softness of her femininity, searching the sensitive flesh with incredible skill. Leaning over her, he stroked her more intimately, his fingers gliding inside her while his mouth fastened onto the nape of her neck. The crescent of his teeth pressed against her skin as he bit down gently, and she lay there helplessly, unable to move as he aroused her without mercy.

Quivering, she felt his hand and his mouth leave her as he sat up and shed his coat and his shirt. When the garments dropped to the floor, he turned her over. The sight of his hard golden body, clad only in a pair of trousers, was branded across her mind in one searing moment. She struck out quickly, slapping his face, and he caught her hands before she could hit him again. Pinning her arms above her head with one hand, he pulled her skirts up and unfastened his trousers. The crushed padding of her bustle was wedged underneath her bu**ocks, raising her h*ps a few inches off the mattress. Lucy thrashed wildly, but as Heath stared down at her with taunting blue eyes, she realized the futility of fighting him. Clenching her teeth, she forced her body to go limp under his.