Free The Flighty Fiancee by Evernight Publishing Page A

don’t think so.”
    Bartholomew frowned, something was amiss. That same
feeling he’d had earlier. Like there was a part of the conversation
he was missing. He turned her around to face him, tilting her chin
so his eyes found hers. She looked away, her skin pink and
flush.
    “So we anticipated our wedding vows,” he said
carefully, “we certainly won’t be the first couple to do so, India.
I’d wager most of the ladies you know did so at some point.”
    “I know that.”
    “Then I don’t understand,” he said in confusion.
“What on earth is the matter? You said I didn’t hurt you, you
enjoyed our lovemaking didn’t you?”
    She glared. “Of course. It was most
satisfactory.”
    “Most satisfactory?”
    “Yes.”
    “India….”
    “I’d like to go now, Bartholomew,” she said,
clutching her clothes to her chest. “Perhaps you could send some
dinner up on a tray for me?”
    Anger made itself known at the mocking tone to her
voice, chasing away the satisfied feeling he’d been basking in.
That did not cheer him and Bartholomew gritted his teeth. “What the
hell is going on, India? Spit it out now and let us put this
nonsense to bed.”
    Another glare. “Nothing is amiss. You seduced me
just as I wanted and now I am done.”
    “Done? Just as you wanted?”
    “Satisfied.” She waved a hand around. “You’ve eased
the ache just as I wanted you to do.”
    “The ache?” He cursed, feeling like a blood parrot.
India had ached for him, that was good, but now she was
backtracking as quickly as possible and that was not. He was still
missing something crucial and his wayward wife to be was putting up
her walls all over again. It felt for one moment as though they
were back in the party at the Duke and Duchess or Richmond’s house.
Having the same conversation.
    “We marry on Sunday,” he said slowly. “Let us not
create problems before then.”
    “What possible problems could I create,
Bartholomew?” she asked.
    He shrugged and sat up, before reaching out very
deliberately and taking her clothes from her arms. She pulled
against him, her lips stuck out in a pout, but he pulled and they
ended up in his arms. Where they belonged.
    “I suspect you are up to something, India. Why not
tell me know and we can sort it out between us. Before, say for
instance, you go running off to your own estate, in an attempt to
delay the wedding or something equally as ridiculous.”
    “You assume I will sabotage the wedding?” she
asked.
    “I think, India,” he said slowly, “That you are
trying to prove a point. I have no idea why. No idea about
anything, if I’m honest. Why the smiling lovely of the first weeks
of the season disappeared. Why you fight me at every turn. Why you
let me ravish you and then coolly inform me to send dinner up on a
tray. I don’t understand any of it. But there is one thing I do
understand. One thing I know for certain. You will marry me on
Sunday. There is no doubt at all about that.”
    “Is that right?”
    He nodded. Distance. That’s what he could
feel, and only now did he recognize it for what it was. Lady India
was putting up barriers between them. Why he did not know, how to
get round them….a wicked idea came to him then and even as he
thought it he called himself all kinds of depraved. You
can’t, his mind hissed. The very thought is outrageous.
    “And what if I don’t want to?” she asked, the snitty
tone of her voice riling him up all over again. “What if I want to
leave you to dangle as you have left me? To make you wait and
wait….”
    “What—”
    “To put the shoe on the other foot, Bartholomew,”
she screeched, standing up and flinging her arms wide. “What if I
tell you I agreed to come to Grasswood Park with my own plans in
mind?”
    “Plans? I don’t understand you. What did I make you
wait for?” he roared, standing too, his patience snapping into the
thinnest of pieces. “Tell me, woman, you are making no sense!”
    “And nor am I going to.