by Sharon Green
The door flew open so quickly in front of him, he almost reached for a weapon out of sheer reflex. He stood there blinking down at a furious Sarah Raymond, while she glared up at him like a small powder keg with the fuse running short.
"Mr. Machlin, your wife is ready for you," Sarah growled, sending Bryan's eyebrows even higher. "Now please get out of my way!"
Bryan lost no time stepping aside, and Sarah stomped past and slammed out of the sitting room. He'd had the distinct impression she would have gone over anyone foolish enough to hesitate, and those of his people preparing the table seemed to have realized the same thing. None of them had even considered getting in her way, and Bryan couldn't help wondering what had gone on in his new wife's bedchamber…
He didn't quite sigh as he turned back toward the bedroom to see his bride staring at him with a look of bland disinterest. She was breathtakingly beautiful dressed in flowing blue silk, her golden-red hair edging out from behind her arms like angels' wings. And was it his imagination and the distance, or had her eyes taken on a bluish sheen to match what she was wearing? She held her long-fingered hands demurely in front of her, the rest of her calm and regally straight, a vision of beauty and desirability that made Bryan wish their dinner was already finished so that he might take her in his arms…
So what in hell had the little wildcat done to poor Sarah Raymond?
Rianne watched Mrs. Raymond storm past her employer and out of sight, and sighed only on the inside. The way the older woman had gotten angry rather than indignant had made Rianne feel she might have met the first woman with whom she possibly could have become friends. But a friend was the last thing she could afford to have in this house, not when that friend might show up while Rianne was trying to escape. It would be a lot simpler if no one wanted to have anything to do with her, just the way it was in her own house, and there was no sense in feeling regret. Besides, Mrs. Raymond was so easy to drive wild…
"Good evening, wife," the brute said as he came closer, looking down at her with those hard gray eyes. "Our dinner is ready to be served, and I'm ready to welcome it. Shall we go?"
"I think I have a headache," Rianne said, ignoring the arm he held out to her as she looked up into that gray gaze. "Perhaps some other time."
"No, this time," he corrected with a faint smile, taking her right hand and wrapping it around his left arm. "Some other time we'll do it again."
He turned then and began moving back toward the sitting room, and with her hand still held against his arm Rianne had no choice but to go along. It was incredible how much strength he seemed to have, so much that he was able to be gentle with it. She couldn't pull her hand out of his grip, but he wasn't hurting her at all.
One of the serving men bustling around the sitting room paused to hold a chair for her at the elaborately set table, and her escort made sure to guide her into it before releasing her. His own chair was held as he took his place across from her, and once he was settled he smiled at her again.
"I had tea brought up for you to drink until we've gotten some food in you," he said, leaning back to allow his glass to be filled. "If you'd eaten from the tray earlier the tea wouldn't have been necessary, but you shouldn't be drinking champagne on an empty stomach. I don't want to see you sick or drunk."
"How beautifully considerate of you," Rianne murmured, reaching for her teacup in an effort to hide the newest flash of confusion she felt. What difference could it make to him how she felt? He meant to force himself on her even if she passed out - didn't he?
"Speaking of beautiful, I'd like to say how lovely you look tonight," the man went on, his glass now held between his fingers as his gaze moved over her. "That blue is very becoming, and I do believe your eyes have definitely turned blue to match it."
"Thank you," Rianne acknowledged, trying to make her voice sound unimpressed and uninterested. She sipped from her teacup again, wondering if he knew his dressing gown was almost the same blue. She was beginning to hate that color.
Angus had given the gown and robe to her for her last birthday, specially made and meant to be put away. For the man you fall in love with, he'd whispered with a grin, to be worn on that very special night. Angus had had to work like a slave to earn enough extra to buy the gift, and Rianne had been very careful not to tell him that slippers usually went with an outfit like that. He couldn't have afforded the slippers without even more slaving, and now the whole thing was to be worse than wasted…
"By the way, I was wondering if you knew why Sarah - Mrs. Raymond - was so upset?" the brute said, drawing her attention again. "I hadn't expected her to leave quite that abruptly."
"Actually, I'm sure it was something I said," Rianne answered, giving him the ghost of a smile. "She kept going on about how marvelous she thought you were, and I'm afraid I wondered aloud why her name was Mrs. Raymond. I can see now that that was very indiscreet of me."
The man had been about to taste his champagne again, but instead of lifting the glass he closed his eyes. The two housemen and the serving girl who had been busy with tasks around the room all froze for an instant wherever they were, then movement resumed with a very deliberate air.
"Listen to me very carefully, little girl," the brute said, and he seemed to be struggling to keep his voice at a normal conversational level. "Jamie Raymond is the best friend I have, and his wife is almost as dear to me as she is to him. You can insult me in any way you like and that will be your business and mine, but you're not to include Sarah Raymond in your games again. Have I made myself clear?"
"Oh, absolutely," Rianne said with more of a smile, holding her teacup with the fingers of both hands. "The gentlemanly thing to do, and all that. I quite understand."
The man's cold gray eyes began to heat up from the flames of his anger, but before his glass shattered from the pressure of his grip there was an interruption. The serving men were putting bowls of soup in front of them, signaling the beginning of their meal and incidentally drawing their attention. Rianne wondered who they were trying to protect, her or the man they worked for. For someone who was usually so completely in control of himself, the man was unbelievably easy to reach with ordinary drawing-room tactics. At this rate she might not even have to use any special plan to discourage the man. If her new husband stormed back to his own rooms filled with unquenchable fury, she might enjoy her wedding night after all.
The bowl put in front of her was filled with a delicate meat-and-vegetable soup, and after one taste Rianne had to force herself to eat slowly. It was very nearly the best soup she had ever tasted, and that would have been true even if she hadn't been so hungry. She could feel her dinner partner's eyes on her while she ate, and made certain not to look up. Her ignoring him in favor of a bowl of soup should add to her husband's displeasure, which hopefully would lead to another outburst and then to a hasty exit from the room…
Bryan gave silent thanks that his champagne glasses were metal-bound. He'd paid a lot of money for their otherwise delicate loveliness, and wouldn't have enjoyed breaking one. Even with the metal it had been a close call…
And that little hellion knows it, he thought, watching his bride enjoy the soup she ate. She's been trying her best to start a fight with anyone and everyone near her, and her best is a little too good. What I damned well ought to do is -
He cut off that thought in a hurry, and applied himself to his own soup in an effort to regain control of his temper. A fight wasn't what he intended having that night, but it would take some effort to keep remembering that. The girl was trying to get him angry, so the best response he could give her was calm and peace and friendliness.
He'd always believed women were there to be protected rather than abused, but this one woman kept reaching to his rage and pulling it out in large fistfuls. If he wasn't very, very careful…
"Damn!" he muttered under his breath, reaching for a piece of fresh-baked bread to distract himself from the thundering of his thoughts. If he kept on like this, he'd have to leave rat
her than subject the girl to the danger of his temper out of control. He had to calm himself for his own sake as well as hers, and find something to distract him from her deliberate machinations.
"You made a very good point earlier today," he said to the girl as soon as he'd swallowed the bite of bread. "You reminded me that you knew nothing about me, which is a lack that needs remedying. What would you like to know?"
"Have you contracted any fatal diseases that are likely to do you in in the very near future?" she asked after the briefest hesitation, using those devastating blue-green eyes to silently laugh at him. "If you have, I would love to hear about it."
"If I had, you would become a very wealthy widow," he returned, finding it impossible to hide his grin. "I may be a younger son in my family, but all of us were provided for. That was before I went into business for myself, of course, and turned my start-up capital into a really excellent investment."
"Ah, then you're a merchant," she said with a graceful nod and a small, disparaging smile. "I really should have known."
"But I'm not a merchant," he corrected, hanging onto his temper with both hands and a fervent prayer. "I recruit and train private fighting companies, primarily, which I then hire out to people who need competent, trustworthy protection. If you have something valuable to ship, say jewelry to France or gold to Spain, you may not have enough men in your regular employ to guard the shipment. Or you may have enough men, but not ones who would do any good as guards. You don't often find a clerk, valet, or gardener able to use a pistol or sword very effectively, and keeping fighting men on your payroll all the time when you only ship once in a while is very expensive."
The girl nodded vaguely, as though doing nothing more than being polite, but at least she was listening. At this point Bryan was willing to take anything as encouragement, so he smiled and continued.
"If you don't have men of your own, your biggest problem is to find guards you can trust. Hiring twenty fellows off the street probably won't cost you much, but then you'd have to spend your time wondering if they'll keep your shipment safe even from themselves. My company takes care of that worry, since my partner and I stand behind every group of men we supply. You can even trust them to escort your sweet young daughter on a trip to Paris or Madrid. Our men know that if they ever stepped out of line, Jamie and I would come after them personally."
"I don't have a sweet young daughter," the girl commented, reaching for her teacup again. "But do go on, I'm absolutely enthralled."
"I'm delighted to hear that," Bryan returned, deliberately matching her blandness. "We supply however many men are needed, and guarantee both their ability as guards and their honesty. A full company is rarely needed, unless it's for something like guarding a large wagon train in America. Businessmen there usually make do with a quarter company when they have a shipment to protect, or fewer if the shipment is only moderately valuable."
"You've - been to America, then," she said in a way that seemed too casual. "Is it as backwardly awful as everyone says?"
"As a matter of fact, I find it very attractive," Bryan said, wondering why she was paying so much attention to her teacup. "It's a very young country and therefore vitally alive, and every time I go over I find myself adding something to my holdings. A house here, a plantation there, a mining company, a freight company, a newspaper -things like that."
"But you came back here to buy a wife," she pointed out, and now she was looking only at him. "Weren't there any primitive women for sale, or did they simply lack an attractive dowry? I wonder what you'll buy first when my inheritance is in your hands. A real plantation or mining company, or will you decide on a newspaper with an actual circulation?"
"You don't believe that I'm rich," Bryan stated in surprise, seeing the scorn in her eyes. "You think lying to you."
"That's right, I do," she answered with another smile, then leaned back to allow her soup bowl to be taken. The next course was ready to be served, and she seemed ready to give it all her attention. Bryan thought about pursuing the question of his wealth, then it came to him that he would be much better off letting the matter go - but just for the moment. He would be right there when she finally learned the truth, and if he handled it properly her fluster at being wrong might counterbalance a lot of her anger at being misled.
Yes, Bryan thought, doing his own leaning back. If I handle it right, I can end up with a proper marriage after all … And the flame of fury will be softened to a candle's glow … and shine only for me…
Chapter Seven
Rianne didn't know what she had said to stop the flow of conversation, but the rest of the meal took place in silence. The big man across from her seemed to be smiling to himself most of the time, and then he transferred the smile to her. By then she had a glass of champagne of her own, and she used it to hide the annoyance she felt. If calling him a liar hadn't caused him to explode, there was little else that would. It looked like she would have to think up a plan to discourage him after all.
"Let's take our glasses into the next room where we can be more comfortable," she heard, and looked up to see that the serving people were no longer in the sitting room. "Yes, we've been left all alone, and they won't be back to clear away the rest until tomorrow. Tonight the world contains just the two of us."
"You have the nerve to complain that what I say comes from reading trash?" she responded, shaking her head. "If I weren't so pleasantly filled, I'd probably be very ill."
"The law frowns on women who are nasty to their husbands on their wedding night," he scolded mildly above amusement. "The nastiness won't do what you want it to anyway, so you might as well come along quietly."
He stood then and held out a hand to her, and she gave him her own with confusedly mixed feelings. Now that the time had come to be alone with the man, Rianne was wondering if she would be able to think up a plan. That one small part of her mind was still fighting her. What if she couldn't think of a plan, and had to go through with letting him -
"Steady," he said, and his arm was around her back to do the steadying. "It won't be any worse than execution for treason against the Crown. You have my word on that."
Rianne looked up to see the teasing gleam in his eyes, and her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. She was letting what he was about to do intimidate her, and that was no way for a woman intent on revenge to behave. She wanted him sorry for ever having come near her and then she wanted to leave him behind, but right then she most wanted him back in his own rooms.
"No," the brute said before she'd even parted her lips, apparently reading her mind. "There's nothing you can say that will cause me to leave. We're husband and wife, and tonight we share a bed for the first time. But it certainly won't be the last."
He bent his head to touch her lips with his, then began urging her toward the bedchamber. It was ludicrous and Rianne almost didn't believe it, but she really was beginning to be afraid.
"So you are going to rape me, " she said, speaking softly in an effort to keep her voice even. "After all that blabber about honor, you're going to use the law to justify rape."
"Nonsense," he disagreed with a laugh, looking down at her in a way she could feel. "There won't be any rape involved, with the law's justification or without. You'll want me to make love to you, and so I will."
"But if I don't want you to, you won't?" she asked, now finding it necessary to took up at him. "You're willing to give your word on that?"
"My word is yours, madam," he said with a grin and a silly little bow. "But on second thought, we'll leave the champagne behind. We'll soon be too busy to want to bother with it."
"Busy with what?" she asked distractedly. He couldn't possibly mean what he'd said about leaving her alone if that's what she wanted, but for some unknown reason she believed him. "Busy with what?" Rianne repeated, stopping to watch him close the door. "Or did you say that about giving your word just to get me in here?"
"If all I'd wanted was to get you in here, I could have carried you in,
" he replied, leaning one arm on the door as he looked down at her. "Since you didn't enter this marriage of your own free will, I thought it only fair that you be allowed a say in its consummation. On the other hand, however, this is my wedding night too, and it's only fair if I be allowed certain things as well."
"What - sort of things?" Rianne asked. If he really was going to be fair about it, could she do any less?
"I now have a very beautiful wife, little one," he said, the softness of his words reflected in the gray of his eyes. "I can't make love to her until she tells me I can, but I'd still like to look at her and touch her gently. Is that so much to ask? Are you afraid you won't be able to control yourself being that close to me?"
"You think I'm worried about my self-control?" she asked with an honestly amused laugh. "I've already been close to you, and you can take my word for the fact that I felt nothing - nothing at all."
"Then you're willing to give me my part of this wedding night?" he pressed, remaining where he was. "I promise I won't hurt you, so you don't have to be afraid of me, either."
"I think I've already told you that I'm not afraid of you," she answered, then reluctantly made up her mind. "All right, fair is fair. As long as you keep to your end of the bargain, I'll keep to mine."
"You have a deal," he replied, straightening off the door with a grin. "It's always a pleasure to deal with someone who has a sense of honor. There's very little trouble in predicting what they'll do. Come with me."
He took her hand and led her toward the center of the large room. Of course it was possible to predict what someone with a sense of honor would do, she thought, but why had he sounded amused by the fact? Or had he been trying to compliment her? With people like him, it was so hard to tell…