Free Trust Me by Natasha Blackthorne Page A

up. Choking her.
    She leant closer to
the open carriage window. To the east lay the dense grey sprawling cluster of
buildings.
    London.
    The odour of the
Thames.
    Dirty, filthy air. No
one could breathe clearly there.
    No one could make a
move or utter a word without being judged.
    Her heart faltered
then sped into a panicked cadence. No! Her fingers clawed into the seat’s edge.
She didn’t want to go there. They had to turn around. Now.
    “Anne.” Jon’s hard,
commanding tone cut into her rising panic. She turned her gaze back to his. “I
do not like being ignored or lied to. I have been tolerant the past few days
because I know you’ve been under many strains of late. But my patience has come
to an end. Now stop being evasive with me. You’ve avoided my inquires all
through this journey. It is a form of defiance I will not tolerate.” Jon’s deep
voice shattered the haze of her rising panic.
    Calm yourself. Think rationally.
    She forced herself to
release her fingers from the edge of the seat. Then she let go the breath she’d
been holding.
    She offered him what
she hoped was a bright, happy smile.
    “Anne.” He sounded
sceptical.
    Oh, how to explain to
him what she didn’t entirely understand herself? And the shame of it all made
her not want to even try.
    “I am not being
defiant. I-I...” She struggled for the right words. “This is just how I am. I
spent so much time alone, with no one I could confide in. I am not used to
being so open with anyone.” She softened her voice to a plea. “Even you.”
    “It is defiance and it begins to pall.”
    “You won’t
understand.”
    “I want to
understand, Anne. I want to help you. But I cannot read your mind. You must
confide in me.”
    And that was it,
wasn’t it? At times, she almost believed he could read her mind. He did seem to
know more about the nature of emotions and feelings than she did. He even
seemed to understand her feelings better than she could. His sympathy called to
her, threatened to pull into an emotional undertow that she didn't understand.
She could become lost there, merge into him and all sense of her own self would
vanish, not just during their carnal relations but all the time. She’d no longer
have her own thoughts, the sanctuary of her own self.
    “Anne, don’t scowl
like that.” His voice resonated tenderness.
    She glanced up at
him. “May I please be allowed the privacy of my own thoughts?” She couldn’t
keep the sharpness from her voice.
    “You don’t seem to
understand the rules of our interaction.”
    “Don’t I?” She could
scarcely pay attention to his words. She just wanted to withdraw into herself
and sort her feelings out.
    “We shall always
discuss whatever I feel we should. And you will always give prompt, honest and
complete answers.”
    “What you ask is not
always—”
    “I am not asking,
Nan. I demand your submission.”
    “I submit to you,
fully, freely.”
    “Not completely.”
    She struggled to
collect her thoughts. “I did not expect so much scrutiny of the inner workings
of myself. You are changing the rules in our marriage moment by moment.”
    “Marriage made you my
countess and allocated to you the duty to give me heirs. But this between us is
something different and you know it.”
    “I don’t know what
you want from me.”
    “We should talk
openly about your uneasiness with returning to Mayfair.”
    “Talk, talk, talk.
You are always wanting to talk about everything—and by talk, you usually mean
that I should pour forth every single thought and feeling I have for you to
analyse.”
    “Anne.” Her name,
softly spoken, carried a warning laced in steel. “Careful of your tone.”
    She was angering him
now. She didn’t care. “It’s not fair to—”
    “I am trying to care
for you and you are fighting me.”
    “I am not fighting
you. I am trying to explain myself.”
    “I demand your total
submission, not just in my bed.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I must know