never been so mortified, and she mumbled, "I'm sorry."
"I'll get over it. I can get over almost anything if there's enough cash involved."
He bent down and put his mouth on her nipple. He sucked very hard, biting with his teeth as she struggled to escape.
"Stop it!" she commanded. "You're hurting me!"
"Am I?"
"Yes."
He halted and straightened. "Do you think I care?"
Tears flooded her eyes, her shame escalating. "I can see that you don't."
"You're so foolish."
"I'm not! I wanted to please you."
"You're too immature to please me. Can't you grasp that fact?"
"Give me another chance!"
"Another chance! You'll be lucky if I don't take a switch to you. Don't you know anything about men? I could rape you without consequence. Maybe I should talk with your mother."
"But you asked me to ... to ..."
"Why would I have you as my bride? You'll have to provide me with a reason why I should bother." "I'm rich."
"And whores are cheap. I pay them when I'm finished, and I don't have to fuss with them again. If I married you, I'd have to chat with you over the breakfast table every morning for the rest of my life. At the moment, it doesn't seem like much of a bargain."
"I'd do whatever you demanded," she boasted. "I'd never complain."
"Wouldn't you? In light of what I've already observed, I'm convinced you'd be a constant pain in my ass."
"I could satisfy you better than any harlot."
"Now that I doubt." He clutched her nipple, squeezing till she winced. "I'm sick of you. Cover yourself, then go to the house before someone sees us."
"Perhaps I want someone to see us."
"I'd rather throw myself off a cliff than be caught with you."
She glared, wishing she'd had the foresight to bring a pistol with her. If she had, she'd have shot him right through the middle of his black heart.
"I hate you!" she seethed.
"No, you don't. You yearn to be a countess too badly. You're like a dog at a bone. Next time I'm alone, you'll show up to pester me."
"I won't. I'm quite certain of it. I never intend to speak to you again."
"Fine by me."
She stormed away, having been positive that he'd arrived at Gray's Manor because he was sniffing after her fortune. Every man in the world loved her because of her money, yet he acted as if her wealth had no meaning, as if it conferred no special status.
She reached the rear door and rushed to her room. Then she paced for hours, as she plotted and stewed. She would get even. She couldn't predict how or when, but she would, and when she did, he'd never be the same.
Anne Smythe sat at the table on the verandah, munching a scone, but her appetite had fled. From a parlor window, she'd spied as Penelope Gray had flitted into the woods, as Charles had sauntered after her. The horrid girl had just stomped back, and Anne could only imagine what Charles had done to her. He hadn't reappeared yet, but he would, and Anne pushed her plate away and went inside as Jordan was coming out.
"Anne"—he halted and scrutinized her—"are you all right?"
She shook her head. She was such a fool! Such a stupid, stupid fool! She'd persuaded herself that this occasion would be different, that Charles had been telling her the truth and they would finally marry.
"He's here because of Penelope Gray's dowry," she admitted. "He's going to try to ruin her and force a marriage."
"Of course, he is," Jordan agreed, though gently. "How could you have presumed he planned to do otherwise?" "I'm so sorry."
"Why should you be sorry? You're not his mother." "But I let him travel to Gray's Manor. I could have dissuaded him, or convinced him to visit elsewhere, but he said that. .. well... oh, it doesn't matter now."
"Why stay with him, Anne? Leave him. Stop tormenting yourself."
"And where would I go? I've been with him for two decades. This life is all I have, all I know."
"When I'm wed and settled," Jordan proposed, "you'd be welcome to come live with me."
He'd offered before, and she was ashamed to be forty years old and to
"I'll get over it. I can get over almost anything if there's enough cash involved."
He bent down and put his mouth on her nipple. He sucked very hard, biting with his teeth as she struggled to escape.
"Stop it!" she commanded. "You're hurting me!"
"Am I?"
"Yes."
He halted and straightened. "Do you think I care?"
Tears flooded her eyes, her shame escalating. "I can see that you don't."
"You're so foolish."
"I'm not! I wanted to please you."
"You're too immature to please me. Can't you grasp that fact?"
"Give me another chance!"
"Another chance! You'll be lucky if I don't take a switch to you. Don't you know anything about men? I could rape you without consequence. Maybe I should talk with your mother."
"But you asked me to ... to ..."
"Why would I have you as my bride? You'll have to provide me with a reason why I should bother." "I'm rich."
"And whores are cheap. I pay them when I'm finished, and I don't have to fuss with them again. If I married you, I'd have to chat with you over the breakfast table every morning for the rest of my life. At the moment, it doesn't seem like much of a bargain."
"I'd do whatever you demanded," she boasted. "I'd never complain."
"Wouldn't you? In light of what I've already observed, I'm convinced you'd be a constant pain in my ass."
"I could satisfy you better than any harlot."
"Now that I doubt." He clutched her nipple, squeezing till she winced. "I'm sick of you. Cover yourself, then go to the house before someone sees us."
"Perhaps I want someone to see us."
"I'd rather throw myself off a cliff than be caught with you."
She glared, wishing she'd had the foresight to bring a pistol with her. If she had, she'd have shot him right through the middle of his black heart.
"I hate you!" she seethed.
"No, you don't. You yearn to be a countess too badly. You're like a dog at a bone. Next time I'm alone, you'll show up to pester me."
"I won't. I'm quite certain of it. I never intend to speak to you again."
"Fine by me."
She stormed away, having been positive that he'd arrived at Gray's Manor because he was sniffing after her fortune. Every man in the world loved her because of her money, yet he acted as if her wealth had no meaning, as if it conferred no special status.
She reached the rear door and rushed to her room. Then she paced for hours, as she plotted and stewed. She would get even. She couldn't predict how or when, but she would, and when she did, he'd never be the same.
Anne Smythe sat at the table on the verandah, munching a scone, but her appetite had fled. From a parlor window, she'd spied as Penelope Gray had flitted into the woods, as Charles had sauntered after her. The horrid girl had just stomped back, and Anne could only imagine what Charles had done to her. He hadn't reappeared yet, but he would, and Anne pushed her plate away and went inside as Jordan was coming out.
"Anne"—he halted and scrutinized her—"are you all right?"
She shook her head. She was such a fool! Such a stupid, stupid fool! She'd persuaded herself that this occasion would be different, that Charles had been telling her the truth and they would finally marry.
"He's here because of Penelope Gray's dowry," she admitted. "He's going to try to ruin her and force a marriage."
"Of course, he is," Jordan agreed, though gently. "How could you have presumed he planned to do otherwise?" "I'm so sorry."
"Why should you be sorry? You're not his mother." "But I let him travel to Gray's Manor. I could have dissuaded him, or convinced him to visit elsewhere, but he said that. .. well... oh, it doesn't matter now."
"Why stay with him, Anne? Leave him. Stop tormenting yourself."
"And where would I go? I've been with him for two decades. This life is all I have, all I know."
"When I'm wed and settled," Jordan proposed, "you'd be welcome to come live with me."
He'd offered before, and she was ashamed to be forty years old and to
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