Free Unconquered by Bertrice Small Page B

jutted over the hill, giving a view of the sea. Her long, slender hands clenched and unclenched at the terrace’s rough stone wall. She had always hated fuss, and this would become a monumental fuss. She shivered in the early October night, and was glad when a shawl was draped over her shoulders.
    His arm slipped around her waist, drawing her back against him. She felt his breath warm against her ear as he spoke. “I thought all women loved planning their weddings.”
    “If they are looking forward to their weddings I imagine they do. But I don’t love you. I don’t love you! ”
    “You will, Miranda. You will,” he said softly. “I will make you love me!” Turning her toward him, he bent and covered her mouth with his own.
    It happened again! She shivered violently. Her heart began to race. The blood roared in her ears. Fight! said her brain. Fight, or be overcome! But her limbs were drained of strength. She melted against him, her lips returning his kisses. He raised his head from her mouth and kissed her closed, quivering eyelids. “You will love me, Miranda,” he said huskily, “for I will it, and I am not a man to be denied!” Then he held her tenderly against him until her breathing quieted and she stopped trembling.
    She felt so helpless against him, and wondered if it would always be like this between them. Why could he render her weak with just a kiss? It confused her, and she almost hated him for it.
    “I will not see you in the morning, wildcat,” he said gently. “We sail on the early tide, long before you’ll open those sea-green eyes of yours. You have my permission to buy whatever you feel you’ll need for the wedding.”
    She pulled away from him, and he immediately ached with loss. “Your permission? I do not need your permission to spend my money,” she said angrily.
    He couched his statement as diplomatically as possible. “I’m afraid you do, Miranda. You are legally underage, and I am your legal guardian.”
    “Oh.”
    He laughed. “Sweet Miranda, don’t fight me so hard.”
    “I will never stop fighting you,” she whispered suddenly, fiercely. “ Never! ”
    “I think,” he answered her seriously, “that there will come a day when you will have to, my dear.” He bent, and sweeping her into his arms once more, took her lips in a swift, savage kiss that left her breathless. Then, setting her back on her feet, he said, “Good night, dearest wildcat. I wish you sweet dreams.” And then he was gone.
    She remained in the cool night air, clutching her shawl to her breasts nervously. It was all happening too fast. She was to marry a man she didn’t even know, a man who could render her helpless with a kiss, and who promised—no, threatened in a voice that brooked no refusal that she would indeed love him one day.
    Why was she so afraid that in loving him she would lose herself? Men, she had been taught, were superior to women. Did not the Bible teach that God created man first, and then woman as an afterthought? Miranda often wondered why, ifwomen were so unimportant, God had bothered to create them at all. She wanted no master. She would marry Jared Dunham because it was the only way she might keep both Wyndsong and her father’s fortune, but she would never love him. For to love him would be to give him an advantage over her.
    This resolved, she returned to the parlor. It was empty, and lit only by dying embers, carefully banked for the night. In the hall outside, a lit chamberstick had been left for her, and taking it up she ascended the stairs. The house was quiet. She used the taper to light her own candles, and found her nightdress laid out, and a basin of lukewarm water.
    Undressing quickly, for the air was chill, she bathed her face and hands and cleaned her teeth. Slipping beneath the covers, she was relieved to discover that Jemima had placed a flannel-wrapped hot brick at the foot of her bed.
    “Miranda?” came the whisper.
    “Mandy, I thought you