When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,83
from the carriage like an Amazon bent on battle, scowling at him all the while with reddened, puffy eyes.
It was hard not to admire her.
But it was the woman behind her who had all his attention. Messalina tried to avoid his hand, but he was done with her sulking.
He grasped her wrist firmly. She yanked once in retaliation and then submitted to his help, descending from the carriage quietly.
Almost listlessly.
He jerked his hand away again as if her very passivity had burned him. Messalina never submitted to anyone, let alone him, and he didn’t like it.
His fear made him bend and murmur in her ear roughly, “I will talk to you and you will listen.” He couldn’t show weakness.
The scent of bergamot seemed to hang heavy in the air.
She turned her head and looked at him for the first time since that damned, bloody, godforsaken garden.
Her gray eyes were blank. All emotion hidden.
He wanted to hit something.
“Very well.” She glanced at Lucretia, her expression softening. “Good night, darling.”
Lucretia looked mutinous. “But—”
Messalina placed her hand on her sister’s arm. “I can handle this alone. I have to handle this alone. Try not to worry.”
The way she spoke, he might not have been there at all. He had the wild urge to throw Messalina over his shoulder. Make her pay attention to him.
Lucretia bit her lip, and tears welled in her eyes again. “Are you sure?”
Messalina lifted her chin, proud and tortured. “Yes.”
It made him angry that she should look like that—as if he’d torn something important inside her.
As if he’d hurt her irreparably.
He waited until Lucretia gave him one last threatening look and stalked into the house before pulling Messalina inside. He dared not let go of her wrist, because a part of him wondered if she’d flee. He would talk to her, use all his persuasive abilities.
He could set this right.
But there was no sense of reassurance or relief as he dragged her into the echoing library and shut the door behind them.
She freed herself from him then, pacing across the room to gaze stoically at the empty shelves. “Say what you wish to say to me and be done. I want my bed.”
He inhaled and said carefully, “I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”
“No?” She still addressed the bookshelves, as if even looking at him was too painful. “I can’t believe you imagined any other outcome to seducing me merely so my brothers couldn’t start a suit for annulment.”
“I…” His voice died away, and, unbelievably, he couldn’t think of what to say next. His pulse was pounding in a way that never happened during a knife fight. He’d faced death and not been the least bit perturbed.
But now…
He was afraid to his core.
“Well?” she asked.
She sounded bored.
That brought his anger to the fore and he fell back on it almost gratefully. “What difference does it make when I bed you?” He stalked to her, coming to stand so close she couldn’t help but look him in the face. “We both made a bargain—that this would be a marriage in truth. That hasn’t changed just because the timing of the bedding did.”
“Doesn’t it?” she asked softly. “Don’t play the innocent to me, Gideon. When you took me to bed I thought that the connection between us had grown. That we might become…”
She broke off, shaking her head.
“What?” He desperately wanted her to finish that sentence. If she did—if she admitted her affection for him—then all would be right, surely.
Her chin jerked up, and he’d never seen her gray eyes so pained—or so angry. “Love. I thought we might be falling in love. That you might have found some way to care for me.”
He stared, relieved. “You admit you feel something for me?”
“Yes, I had feelings for you,” she said, turning away. “Unlike you. I doubt you feel anything besides greed for money and privilege.”
He was desperate. He could feel her slipping through his fingers. “You know where I came from. You know what I wanted. Why do you act as if my desires are suddenly a surprise?”
“I shouldn’t, should I?” she murmured, as if talking only to herself. “You made plain enough that you had no heart. No soul. I was a fool to ever doubt that, even for a minute.”
Her lips were trembling, but she met his gaze with determination. “I’ve fulfilled my half of our marital bargain—more than once. I want my dowry portion tomorrow.”