Эротические рассказы

Nothing But Scandal. Allegra GrayЧитать онлайн книгу.

Nothing But Scandal - Allegra Gray


Скачать книгу
looking well,” he told her, stopping only when they were separated by a scant few inches. “Better than I expected for someone distraught with grief.”

      “Right. Well. One must go on,” she lamely replied. What was he after?

      “One must. Though to hear it, you’ve been doing a bit more ‘going on’ than I would like.”

      Elizabeth held her chin up but said nothing. If he was going to accuse her of something, she wanted to know exactly what.

      “Nothing to say for yourself, my sweet?”

      “Your meaning is unclear.” She managed to keep her tone modulated and polite, though she clenched her fingers in the folds of her gown.

      “No? Then let me explain.” His voice was silk but his quivering jowls gave away his simmering rage. “Why do you think I offered for you?”

      Elizabeth had several theories on that, but as Harold wouldn’t appreciate any of them, she kept silent.

      “Respectability, Elizabeth!” He was openly angry now. “Your lack of dowry I can tolerate—I’ve sufficient funds of my own. But I plan to go places in Society, and I damn well want the respect that comes with marrying a nobleman’s daughter!”

      “I see.” She was a means to an end for him. Well, she’d known that. “But that doesn’t explain why you chose me.”

      “You know bloody well why. Your father, gambling fool that he was, left you within my reach.”

      “I see,” she repeated. She refrained from mentioning that for someone who claimed to want respectability, he didn’t seem to have any qualms about using vicious language in front of a gently bred woman.

      “Obviously you don’t see, or you would have more care for your reputation.”

      “My reputation is my own to worry about.”

      “Now see here, Elizabeth! I won’t have a wife who speaks back. Or one who has sullied herself.” The acrid scent of sweat assaulted Elizabeth’s nostrils as he railed at her.

      Insulted though she was, a ray of hope filtered through her anger. She hadn’t done anything inappropriate—a fact she was all too aware of—but if Harold believed otherwise, perhaps she could convince him she was not worth marrying. She’d have to play it right.

      “I am not your wife yet, and you overstep your bounds if you dare accuse me of impropriety.”

      “Oh? Then what is this all about?” His fleshy finger viciously prodded the bustline of her gown.

      “How dare you! You should leave. Now.” She stepped away, furious, her glance flicking down as she thought about the alterations she’d made to the gown earlier that spring, when she’d still hoped to attract a more desirable suitor. The ploy hadn’t worked.

      “Why shouldn’t I dare?” He advanced again, giving her a nasty leer. “You’ve gone to great lengths to put yourself on display. Why else if not for a man to touch? A respectable woman would take more care to cover herself. You will do so, at least in public, as my fiancée and my wife.”

      “I will most certainly not—”

      “And furthermore,” he cut her off, “you should take more care in the company you keep.”

      “What is that supposed to mean?” Now he really went too far. She stepped beyond his reach.

      “The Duke of Beaufort!” he exploded, face red and eyes bulging.

      She folded her arms. “If you’re so concerned with advancing in Society, you should be pleased to be marrying someone sought after by more prominent personages than yourself.” Elizabeth couldn’t help firing back at him, though it filled her with disgust to refer to their impending marriage.

      Harold blew past her retort. “For all the duke’s prominence, he’s a known libertine and rake! Everyone knows it, yet you cavort with him as though you were a common serving wench!”

      Perhaps her plan was working. She tossed him a deliberately provocative look. “His Grace appreciates me.”

      “Bah. He appreciates how gullible you are, perhaps. But from now on, you’ll keep your flirtations, and that delectable little body of yours, for me alone.” Spittle flecked his lips as he raged at her.

      “I hadn’t realized you were so, er, old-fashioned. Hardly anyone in the ton expects a faithful marriage.” That wasn’t entirely true, but it was accurate enough and suited her current purpose. “Perhaps we aren’t so well suited after all.”

      “We’re well suited enough.” He stepped forward, closing a meaty fist around her arm. “I won’t have you sullied by another man. The right to your body is mine alone. I’m marrying a baron’s daughter, not a tavern slut.”

      Bile rose in her throat at the idea of enduring intimacy with such a beast. Without thinking, she reached up and slapped him with all the force she could muster.

      Her hand connected with his beakish nose—the only part of him where bones were more prominent than flesh—with a satisfying crack. He released her so swiftly she staggered.

      “You vicious little bitch!” he bellowed, holding his nose.

      “Get out. Just get out.” She pointed an imperious finger toward the door.

      He stalked over to the door, then turned. “Don’t think this is over, Elizabeth. You may get away with this now, but as my wife you’ll learn to bend to my will. Bend, or break.” He shut the door behind him with enough force to leave it reverberating in its frame.

      Elizabeth sat, limbs quaking, on the nearest available piece of furniture—an uncomfortable beige settee she usually avoided. She pressed a hand to her heart, then hugged herself tight. Her flesh still burned where he’d prodded her. There would be bruises tomorrow.

      She’d thought for certain that Harold’s railing at her meant he was about to cry off. He couldn’t possibly treat her that way and still expect to marry her!

      But, apparently, given his exiting remark, he did.

      Rage and humiliation coursed through her. How could her mother care so little for her eldest daughter that she would see her married to such a pig?

      Well, she wouldn’t have it. Elizabeth stood with renewed purpose. She’d told Charity she could work for a living, and so she would. Her mother might announce her engagement to Harold in every one of London’s papers, but Elizabeth wouldn’t be there to fulfill it.

      Alex stared at his brandy. Darkness closed in on the windows of his study, his business for the day long since concluded. He’d thought to spend the evening at home, but the morning’s incident in the park kept replaying itself in his mind. Weakness. Why couldn’t he simply block it—her—out? The red-tressed chit was as mad as her father, for certain, but the hint of desperation he’d seen in Elizabeth’s misty green eyes ate at his soul.

      She’d never have come to him if she’d known what he’d done. Or maybe, he reflected after a long swallow of the brandy, she would have. After all, he’d had a hand in the family’s destruction, however unintentional. Why shouldn’t he be the one to finish the job?

      No. Irredeemable though he was, he’d not stoop that low. It went against his code.

      The Code, as he liked to think of it, was a sort of modified creed of honor. It wasn’t going to get him nominated for sainthood, but there were lines even a dissolute rake such as he shouldn’t cross. Don’t hurt anyone, and don’t get involved with anyone who doesn’t know how the game is played. It had worked for drinking, gaming, and women. Except that once, last fall. And there was no atoning for it now.

      Elizabeth’s hurt green eyes flickered into his mind. If only she knew.

      It would have been no hardship, her suggestion. He could easily envision


Скачать книгу
Яндекс.Метрика