Free Scoundrel of Dunborough by Margaret Moore Page B

didn’t want her emotions turned to turmoil. She wanted peace. She wanted the security of a calm and ordered life.
    She didn’t want
him
, or the passion that his presence promised. She didn’t want a life governed by a man’s mood. She would have a quiet, safe life in the convent, away from him and other men and the trouble that they caused. That was what she yearned for, no matter what other things she had to sacrifice. “I don’t care whether you like me or not,” she declared, telling herself that was the truth and not another lie. “I am
not
leaving.”
    “Oh, yes, you are,” he replied in that same low, seductive tone. “You can come quietly and obediently like a good little nun, or I’ll carry you.”
    She must be strong. Her faith, her duty and her self-respect must make her so. “I will not allow you to drag me through the village like some chattel.”
    “I didn’t say I’d drag you. I shall pick you up and carry you, like a bridegroom across the threshold.”
    She swallowed hard and fought to maintain her composure, such as it was. “I am a bride of Christ and shall never be a man’s.”
    “A pity, that.” He made another of those sweeping bows. “Forgive me. I fear that your gown has addled my mind.”
    The gown! She could easily imagine the rumors and gossip that would follow if anyone saw her in such a garment, rumors that might reach the mother superior’s ears. This was what came of succumbing to vanity and worldly desires.
    Gerrard’s smile became a rascal’s mocking grin. “It’s lovely and suits you well, but it’s not exactly what a nun should be wearing, is it? No doubt you’d like to remove it. I’d be happy to help you.”
    “I don’t doubt you have vast experience assisting women out of their clothes,” she replied, trying to maintain her self-control. “I suspect you have considerably less helping them get into them, so I shall manage on my own, thank you. You may go back to the castle.”
    He turned into the stern, stubborn Gerrard again. “Not without you.”
    It was obvious he wasn’t going to let her stay, no matter what she said. She must concede, at least this once, although not without some concessions on his part, too. “If I do go with you now, you must allow me to come back here during the day.”
    “As you wish. I’ll send a servant and guards with you.”
    “Surely I don’t need protection during the day,” she protested.
    “Celeste... Sister,” he replied, his voice rougher, “I will not debate with you any longer. My patience is at an end, and I swear by all that’s holy, if you say another word, I’m going to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”
    Clutching her tunic tighter, she shook her head. “You wouldn’t dare!”
    In two purposeful strides he closed on her and did as he’d threatened, swinging her up onto his shoulder, nearly knocking the wind from her lungs. Her head was level with his waist, her legs dangled down his back, and the tunic was a crumpled heap on the floor.
    “Stop, you beast! Cur!” she cried, pounding him with her fists.
    He might as well have been made of wood for all the effect her efforts had as he left the chamber and carried her down the stairs.
    “Stop! You can’t— Stop!” she panted, growing more desperate.
    At the front entrance to the house, he finally halted and swung her down. It took her a moment to find her balance, but as soon as she did, she shoved him backward. “How dare you! I am no slave, no prize of war! I am a bride of—”
    “Don’t say it!” he commanded, his words iron as he held up his hand to silence her.
    “I
will
speak! I will tell you exactly—”
    “What sort of man I am?” he charged as he pulled her to him, his intense gaze searching her face. “A rogue, a barbarian, a lazy lout, while you are a holy, sacred, untouchable bride of Christ? I may not be a holy man, or even a good one, but here you’re not a bride of Christ. Not in that gown. Not with