Free Wicked Nights With a Lover by Sophie Jordan Page A

neither of us is a feted blueblood.”
    He caught the motion of her shaking head. “I’ll not wed you.”
    Ash inhaled, gathering his patience close. It was only fair to expect she would need a little coaxing, but as soon as she understood the advantages, he was confident she would cease her protests. He was a businessman. He knew how to negotiate a favorable arrangement. “Your agreement is desired, of course. I am certain you will—”
    “Desired?” She laughed. The sound rang brokenly, fractured in the closed space. “You think I might desire such a fate? I have plans, and you, sir, shall not ruin them for me.”
    “What are your plans then?” He was certain he could counter any of her plans with far better prospects. He need only explain that she had landed herself a good catch, that his pockets ran deep enough to see her in jewels and satins for the rest of her life. “I’m not without means. You’ll live a life of comfort. I have a magnificent home in the City awaiting a woman’s touch.”
    She snorted.
    He frowned at her shadow. “Consider my words. The situation I offer you would be the envy of many a woman. Home, security—a lifestyle that no doubt far exceeds your present circumstances.” He had not missed the rough wool of her gown when he held her. Hardly the most sophisticated or elegant of wardrobe. “And I’m not exactly repulsive. I’ve been remarked handsome.”
    “Is there no end to your arrogance?”
    His face burned—an entirely new and uncomfortable sensation. He detested this, this … entreaty. He’d never had to petition for a female’s favors before. “I merely point out qualities that would appeal to a woman seeking a husband.”
    “You fail to understand me. I do not seek a husband. You’re ruining everything! I leave tomorrow for Spain.” Desperation tinged her voice. A sweet voice even in her anger. Her rushed vowels became more notable in her pique, evidence of a French background, perhaps. Perhaps her mother was an émigré. “The arrangements have all been made. Please let me go.”
    He frowned. This was not going as planned. She was not in the least obliging. Trust him to take the one daughter with no interest in finding a husband. “Tomorrow we’ll be on our way to Scotland,” he snapped, refusing to yet relinquish his agenda, convinced he could persuade her given the time to do so.
    “Scotland,” she hissed the word as if it were a deprivation forced upon her, as though he’d threatened her with Newgate.
    “Yes. It’s the country to the north of us.”
    An outraged breath hissed past her lips at his mockery. “You cannot abduct me, drag me across the country and force me to wed you. These aren’t the Middle Ages.”
    “In truth, I could … but I won’t have to.” Money, he’d learned, mixed with a fair bit of charm, won most anything. He was certain he could persuade her to marry him. He would never have bought the mine in Wales without his powers of persuasion. The sellers were very opposed to outsiders acquiring the mine. He’d overcome that challenge just as he’d overcome this one, too.
    “My father—”
    “Won’t care once the deed is done,” he finished. “He’s a fairly old-fashioned man. He’ll consider you well and truly mine once we’re married. I know him. That will be the end of it.”
    “It won’t be the end of it, because it’s not going to happen!”
    With that outraged cry, she flew for the carriage door.
    He moved swiftly after her, hauling her back even as she strained for the door latch, a wild animal in his arms. He flung her down onto the seat. She turned on him in a sudden twist, throwing herself against him, spewing French curses.
    His arms tightened around her slight frame, catching her as they fell to the floor of the carriage.
    She tried to scramble up off him, but he locked his arms around her, trapping her sharp little fists between them, holding her tightly against him. She squirmed, wiggling, her skirts