by Glenda Diana
Blake stared at his unwanted guest. He frowned at the sight of her sitting in his chair sipping tea prepared for him. She even had the nerve to act well-bred. His irritation grew.
“I find your mode of dress ... interesting, Madame.”
Ignoring his abrasive tone, Thorton smoothed her hand over the soft material covering her legs. He certainly got upset over trivial things, she decided. “Thank you for noticing, sir. I must confess, I'm not one of those doltish women who follows the dictates of others. I dress for comfort.”
“I was not issuing a compliment.”
“I know.”
Hell, the deranged woman was purposely trying to provoke him. Blake scowled. “In this household, a woman dresses respectably.”
“If it pleases you, Milord.” She took another sip of tea.
The silence lengthened. Each boldly observed the other. Finally, Blake turned. Lord, what was wrong with him? He had been watching the way her slim throat worked as she drank the tea, and was disgusted with himself more than with her.
Her voice was much too husky, he concluded, as he thought over her reply. He took a seat behind his desk. She looked so innocent, but he wasn't fooled. All he had to do was remind himself who she was and why she was there.
“Please me?” His words came out as a snarl. “What would please me is for you and your-guardian-to ride back to wherever you came from.”
Thorton's eyes grew wide. “Oh my,” she whispered. Her cup clattered as she placed it on the tray. “I had thought ... well ... don't tell me the rumors of you are true?”
Blake held back his smile when he heard the alarm in her voice. So, she was not as stupid as he had originally decided. Suddenly, he was exceedingly grateful for the rumors. He pushed himself up and made his way to where she sat. For several long moments, he stared into her large frightened eyes, allowing her see all his hatred for her. It took major effort to hold back his satisfied smile. By the time he was through, she'd wish she had never come here.
“What rumors, Miss Lynwood?” Blake sat in the chair across from her.
Thorton glanced down to where the tip of his boots touched hers. She swallowed several times before responding. “Some say you are the son of Satan. Others say you are the devil himself.”
He did not let her see the joy those words brought him. He would frighten her so badly that she would break the bloody betrothal. “Are you hoping I will deny these accusations?” he asked, inquisitively cocking a brow. “I hate to alarm you, but sometimes even I think Satan is my sire.”
Blake relaxed in the chair, awaiting her reaction. He braced his elbows on the chair arms, clasped his hands, and absently rubbed his index fingers across his upper lip.
Thorton nervously licked her bottom lip even as her eyes grew rounder. Her hands twisted in her lap, while her pale throat worked as she swallowed hard several times.
Blake watched her wariness increase. A part of him almost felt guilty for his cruelty, but he quickly pushed away the offensive feeling. If she let loose a chilling scream and ran from the room, he would be neither surprised nor more pleased.
But he nearly came out of his chair with his own chilling scream when she fell to her knees before him. She tried to latch hold of his hands, but he snatched them out of her reach.
“Oh, Baron, you do not know how glad I am to hear the rumors are true.” Thorton laughed, her hands resting on his hard thighs.
Blake felt the burning sensation of her touch. He pushed away her hands as his body surged to life. God, he should have known her fear was a ruse to get him to lower his guard. She was Lynwood's daughter through and through.
Thorton grabbed his hands and clung tightly. “You don't know how disappointing it is when one hears such wonderful tales, then discovers none of them are true.”
The twinkle dancing in her beautiful eyes mesmerized him. The warmth of her hands penetrated his mind. He felt her fingers tighten, as if her delicate strength could hold him; he almost smiled at how ridiculous it appeared. The sight of her tiny, white, flawless hands gripping his large, dark, scarred ones made his throat painfully constrict.
“I had hoped you would be mean and horrible.” Her face brightened with every word. “I don't know what I would have done if you had turned out to be a decent sort. I probably would have headed straight back to Rosewood Castle. But now that I know the truth, I know we'll get along famously.”
Blake couldn't help but notice the lushness of her mouth, and felt like an idiot. From the moment her hand touched his, it seemed as if he had lost all function. He couldn't speak; his throat was parched.
“I'm so pleased,” she whispered.
Her words echoed through his head. Why would the wench be pleased?
His sudden dumbness drained from him. Pulling free, he jumped to his feet, nearly knocking her over in his haste to put distance between them. The feel of her scalding touch still lingered on his hands. Desperately, he tried to block the memory of her kneeling at his feet, the way she had leaned into him and the feel of her breasts brushing against the inside of his knees.
She was infuriating, and yet intoxicating. He shook his head, clearing away the traitorous thought. She had no sense. Only women of tainted virtue acted in such a fashion. Was she...?
“Explain yourself.” Blake cleared his throat. Lord, he sounded as gruff as Griggs.
Thorton came to her feet with a heavy sigh. “What is there to explain? I didn't want a simpering fool for a husband.” When she received only a dark scowl in reply, she bent to brush her pant legs.
He had been right all along. The woman was daft. She had to be, he reasoned, otherwise she would not antagonize him so. “Sit your arse down. I do not want to marry you.” Blake flushed. Good God, he sounded like a spoiled child whining.
Thorton sat in her chair as ordered and studied the fierce looking giant. His rose-colored cheeks reminded her of a little boy. She almost laughed when she imagined what his reaction would be to that comparison. “What would you suggest, Baron?”
Blake stood behind the chair he had vacated. “Leave with the same haste in which you arrived.”
Thorton did laugh then, a rich, husky sound. “I did not arrive in haste. Our marriage was to have taken place on my eighteenth birthday. I am now past twenty.”
“The cursed wedding doesn't have to take place at all.”
“Unacceptable. The wedding must take place and you know it. I will not go against the contract.”
Blake watched as she leaned back, making herself comfortable. Her unladylike posture brought his ire to the boiling point. Slamming his hands on the back of the chair, he nearly toppled it. “Of course not! This is the bloody way your accursed father wanted it!”
“You're going to be difficult.”
“Bloody damn right.”
“Shall we try a compromise? We marry for one year's time. If at the end of the year you still do not wish to be married to me, I will leave.” Thorton steepled her fingers in front of her, much the same way he had done earlier and waited for his response.”
Blake stood perfectly still as he sorted through her words. Why would any woman agree to a one-year marriage? He had a feeling he had played into a web she had been weaving since her arrival. What was her game?
Again, the thought of her virtue-or lack thereof-came to mind. Had she found herself some lowly lover? Did she need the protection of his name to cover her sins? Suddenly, his gaze turned hard. “Are you, by chance, with child?”
Her gasp echoed through the room. She jumped to her feet and fought the urge to slap his smug face. But as her nearness seemed to infuriate him, and he moved away every time she approached, slapping him was unlikely to happen unless she chased him around the room to do so.
Gracefully, she sat back down. “You, sir, have a filthy mind.”
He had watched the different emotions play across her face. Shock ... for his words? Or his perception? Anger ... for his accusation? Or his cleverness? Did her outlandish outfit proc
laim what she truly was ... an accomplished actress? Perhaps the man she called “guardian” was her lover. Blake felt heat coiling in the pit of his stomach as he imagined her and her lover in a passionate embrace. The Spartan warrior was handsome, and, of greater importance, unscarred. “Nonetheless, you will answer, Madame.”
“Not until you apologize.”
When he only glared, she stood and placed her hands on her hips. It certainly had not taken long to discover just how rude and obnoxious the odious man was. Well, two could play his game, she thought, matching his scowl with one of her own.
“Say you're sorry!” she shouted.
Blake had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. For being a little thing she bellowed nearly as loud as he did. “I think not,” he stated calmly. “Explain your sudden idea of one year's time. I am interested in hearing how you concocted that plan.”
“You, sir, are no gentleman.” Thorton had attempted to quiet her voice, but knew she had miserably failed.
“Never forget that! Remember to whom you are speaking: the Devil ... Satan's own ... The Beast. And I will remember to whom I am speaking: a Lynwood.”
“Touché.” She executed a gallant bow, then with a defeated sigh, plopped down in the chair. “There is nothing to explain. You are the one who said you did not wish to marry me. In a year's time, if you wish to dissolve our marriage, so be it.”
“What do I get out of this ... arrangement?”
“Your freedom.”
“And you?”
Thorton glanced up. What exactly could she tell him? Not the truth. He would only jump to another of his crude allegations. “I would get a year to concentrate on the one thing I have always wanted, while living under the protection of your name and house. You have nothing to lose. As I said, if in one year you wish to get rid of me, I shall go.”
He almost asked what would happen if he didn't wish it, but bit his tongue to stop the words. What was wrong with him to even ponder such a vile thought?
Suddenly, he smiled as another thought formed. “I will be able to tell on our wedding night whether you lie or not. A maidenhead is not something a male can ... overlook, shall we say?” Blake let his words come slowly, softly, as he stared into her shimmering gold orbs.
Thorton studied his sneering, smug expression. She was beginning to hate that look. Oh, she had known he was arrogant, but had failed to realize just how much. “I don't think there should be a wedding night.”
Blake couldn't help but admit, he was having a fine time backing the wench into a corner. She was showing more gumption than he had anticipated. “And why, pray tell, is that? So I can remain ignorant to the facts? Do you think me a fool, Madame?”
“Yes, I do,” she answered, then sighed. “No, I don't. What I meant to say was that there should not be a wedding night if there is to be a severance of the marriage. What if I conceive a child? What then?”
The scowl on Blake's face deepened. What if she did conceive his child? His eyes searched out the decanter of brandy sitting on his desk. Turning from his source of irritation, he crossed the room. The woman and her words were making him crazy, he decided, pouring himself a glassful of amber liquid.
In the recesses of his mind came a niggling thought. It seemed to strike an uncomfortable chord within him. Taking a sip of brandy, he thought over her words, then turned to face her. “What if I decide to take my rights as your husband?” Blake flinched; he had not meant to voice that question.
Thorton stared, waiting for her pulse to slow to its normal rhythm. Never had she seen such a brilliant heat as that which sparkled in the depths of the Baron's black eyes. She shivered as a hot chill ran down her spine. When he suddenly turned away, she had to close her eyes. For some unexplainable reason she felt as though she had been abandoned, cast adrift in uncharted waters. When she opened her eyes, she found him pouring himself another drink.
“I will grant them,” she whispered.
Blake nearly dropped his empty glass. Without facing her, he leaned against the desk to steady himself. “Why?”
Thorton came to her feet and stood behind him. “Again, you stated you did not want this marriage. I have no objections to it. I never have. I am prepared to be a true wife in every way.”
Not waiting for a reply, she headed for the door. Reaching to grasp the handle, she paused, then dropped her hand. She couldn't leave. This was the moment she had been waiting for ... the beginning of her destiny. Though she knew she was treading dangerous ground she also knew there were things that needed saying
“I know you will find this hard to believe, but we are much alike,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “If you would stop and think for a moment you would realize the wrong you serve me. I was only five years old when the contract was signed. I had no more say than you. I understand how you feel. You do not know me ... you see me as your enemy. You have made that quite clear with not only your attitude, but with your actions. What you seem to forget is I also do not know you. Rumors and ill-formed opinions are never a fair way to judge others.”
Thorton paused, but Blake did not acknowledge he had heard a word she'd said. Well, she had tried. Her Beast of Stonecrest was starting to remind her of a spoiled, ill-tempered boy.
Bracing her forehead against the door's cool, hard wood, she closed her eyes. It had been a tedious trip, but now as she stood arguing with her unwilling groom, she felt the tiredness she had been fighting gaining ground. What she needed was retreat from the field of battle. Fresh air and tranquillity would restore her strength. What more could she say to this hard-shelled man? How else could she plead her case and, concurrently, achieve a foothold in her plans.
She took a deep breath. “You surprise me, Baron. You act as if it was I who wronged you. I never thought a man of your caliber would stoop to pointing fingers at those as innocent as yourself. The contract, whether we wish it or not, must be fulfilled. As I said, I have no objections. I'd rather learn to be friends for a year than enemies for a lifetime. The question you're overlooking is what does either of us have to lose in the bargain.”
Silence ripped through the room as the door closed. Blake sat in his chair as her parting words repeated in his mind. They sounded almost logical for someone he'd already termed ‘daft.’ In one aspect, she was right, he would have to marry her. It wasn't like he had a choice. And again her words made sense, did he have to lose?
His body still throbbed from her earlier statement ... she was ready to be his wife, in all ways. He pulled out the small mirror from his desk and studied his reflection. He knew she had seen his scars. Why had she not reacted? Why not the usual look of horror? Miss Thorton Lynwood was up to something and Blake had a feeling it meant trouble.
The will to survive, to fight and conquer, whatever her scheme, came thundering through him, and so did a plan of strategy. He would stay away from the wench. A simple plan, but one not too difficult.
Blake dropped his head into his hands when an image of his enemy came to mind. Again, fate was playing its cruel games. Of all the women in England, why did his worst enemy have to be so damned beautiful? So desirable? One thing was for certain ... it was going to be one hell of a long year.
Casting away all other thoughts, he concentrated on his plan. He knew it would not be as simple as it seemed; nothing was ever as one planned. Yet, he would avoid the woman as much as possible. If contact was limited, he just might make it through a year. Besides, what was a year of his life compared to being rid of an unwanted wife thereafter?
Standing, he stretched his cramped muscles. His body felt numb; his head ached from pondering. So far, it had been one hell of a day, and yet it was not over. What other surprise awaited him? Blake shuddered at the notion. He could do without further upsets. He liked peace.
Moving to the window, he gazed into the garden his mother had created shortly after she had arrived at Stonecrest. A place where mother and son had built memories ... memories he still cherished. Memories he
looked upon when he needed tranquillity.
The next year could not go fast enough. He would have to go to the third floor and tell his father the daughter of Lynwood had arrived. The old man would not take the news well. Blake shook his head. No ... he would wait until morning, giving his father one more day of peace.
But what of himself? Would he ever know peace again?
From the corner of the garden he caught a movement. He leaned closer to the window. Suddenly, he had a strange urge to knock his head against the cool pane of glass when Thorton came into view. Damn the blasted woman. Why could she not be just as he had imagined? Why did she have to be so beautiful? But it was not just her beauty that drew him to her ... it was the woman within. God, how he hated that admission, even if it was only himself who heard the traitorous words.
His eyes ran over her form. What would it feel like to have her in his bed? Would her satiny skin burn at his touch? Or turn to ice? Blood pumped to his lower region, making him ache. How long had it been since he had laid with a woman? Months ... months that felt more like years.
How could he resist her offer when his body wanted her? To his aching shaft it mattered not how much he hated her, or that she was his enemy. All that mattered was its need to feel the wet heat of her velvety sheath. Hell, he muttered, he was being betrayed in the most treacherous way ... by his emotions, by the hunger of his body to feed on something that had been so long denied. The gnawing craving had started in his stomach the moment she had pinned him with those gold eyes.
Blake pushed away the thought. He would fight against his attraction to this enemy. He had to in order to claim victory. Still, his eyes remained on Thorton. A frown marred his brow when he realized she was not alone. He tried to see to whom she was talking. Just then, she hoisted a child into her arms. Instantly, he relaxed.
It was Cook's daughter, Aggie. The child's auburn hair glistened in the late-afternoon sun. Deep dimples appeared as she smiled. The four-year-old was a terror ... unless Griggs was around. The older man would lovingly scold her for whatever wrong she was doing, then send her on her way, promising her a treat if she behaved. It was easy to see Griggs adored Cook's girl ... and Aggie fully returned the adoration.