Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(23)

She struggled against this—against him. He was a brick wall. Immovable. Overwhelming. She was again reminded why virile, muscular men were so repellent to her. She loathed this sensation of being somehow fragile and easily broken. Prey for a man who could use her and crush her if she left herself vulnerable. Her mother’s face flashed before her eyes, older and more weary than her actual years, broken and defeated.

Not me. Never me.

“Hold still,” he bit out.

She ceased her struggles and glared up at him. A lock of hair fell into her face, waving like a flag in the wind before her eyes. She blew at it and shook her head, trying to force it back.

His gaze scanned her, devouring her face, missing nothing. “What are you so afraid of?”

The question landed like a perfectly targeted arrow, quivering throughout her body.

“N-nothing,” she quickly denied.

“You’re lying. I see the fear in your eyes.”

“Perhaps your unwanted attentions alarm me.”

“I alarm you, but not because you don’t want me.”

“Your arrogance knows no bounds.”

“Are you afraid of getting hurt? Is that it?”

Was she that transparent then? Blast! She clamped her lips shut, determined to say nothing else that confirmed his suspicions.

His eyes narrowed on her face. A muscle feathered tensely across his tight jaw. He looked dangerous and she was reminded how little she knew of this man.

Mentally, she recounted what little she knew of him that she could call fact. He hailed from the Highlands. He possessed a crumbling castle. He used a knife to cut through the stays of ladies’ gowns.

And she trembled with desire in his arms. Fact.

“Has someone hurt you before?” he pressed, his eyes darkening.

Her eyes widened. He thought someone had ravished her?

“No,” she quickly assured, mortification sweeping over her. She hadn’t lived the perfect childhood, but no one had hurt her in that manner. “Nothing like that.”

“But there is something that puts fear in your eyes.”

She silently cursed her slip and the implication that she was frightened. “What you call fear is modesty and good sense.” She moistened her lips. “I’ve set my cap for the earl and ask that you respect that.”

“Why? Is it his title? I know a Scottish title isn’t the same as an English one, but a life as my wife would—”

“Wife?” she echoed. He’d only spoken of courtship. This was the first time he had dared utter the word wife. And blast her defiant heart if she didn’t experience a small thrill . . . if her blood didn’t rush just a little bit faster in her veins.

“I’ve a mind to wed you.” His deep voice shot through her like a bolt of lightning. His eyes studied her intently, watching her reaction.

Masculinity rippled off him in waves. Altogether he presented no minor temptation. The same trap her mother and countless other women had fallen into yawned before her. Would she be strong enough to resist?

He stared at her for a long moment, his hands flexing over her arms. “I came to London to find a wife.”

“An heiress,” she quickly corrected.

Something shuttered over his eyes. He didn’t like the reminder, which was why she’d made it, determined to wedge a wall between them. He didn’t want her. Not fully, at any rate. If she weren’t in possession of a dowry, he wouldn’t be discussing marriage with her.

“Very well. I came to Town looking for an heiress. You’re the first one I’ve met who so much as piques my interest.” He swallowed, the cords of his throat working. “I’ll have you, Miss Hadley.”

I’ll have you.

Her skin prickled. As though she were a possession to be claimed. A female to be conquered and crushed beneath his will. Not just once but every day of her life. The words were just what she needed to hear to regain her senses and shake free of her mother’s curse.

“You can’t have me.” No man ever would. Even as she worked to fulfill her arrangement with her stepfather, she would still see to that.

“Why?” he asked, his voice maddeningly calm. “Give me one reason.”

Her mind searched, grasping for anything but the truth. She wouldn’t confide that to him and risk him empathizing with her plight. His wanting her was bad enough. She didn’t need for him to like her. Then he might pursue her with more fervor than he already was. “I can’t do that to Lord Thrumgoodie.”

His look turned skeptical. “Oh, you care about him that much?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to crush him.” She bit her lip at the lie. “He means a great deal to me.”

He snorted. “You can come up with a better excuse than that.” His lips quirked in a half smile. “Come now. A blood oath, is that it? He’s holding your kitten hostage?”

She started to smile and then caught herself. “Just take my words to heart. You and I can never be.” Wrenching free, she hastened away, experiencing the strongest sense of déjà vu. She was fleeing him again, the weight of his stare heavy on her back. She hardened her heart and didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.

If she must, she would keep repeating this moment. However many times necessary, she would run. She’d never stop running from him.