Underneath The Mistletoe Collection. Marguerite KayeЧитать онлайн книгу.
doing all she could to avoid his touch. ‘Then what reason have you to cry?’
Her sudden, loud intake of breath should have served as a warning. Instead, it was her shriek of rage that gave him his first clue to her anger.
‘What reason do I have to cry?’ She pummelled her fists against his chest, ordering, ‘Release me this instant!’
Richard hesitated a second too long. She jerked back unexpectedly, slamming her head against his chin.
He loosened his hold and she bolted from the bed, shouting, ‘What is wrong?’
Richard glared at her and swung his chin back and forth to make sure she hadn’t broken his jaw before saying, ‘Obviously something is.’
She returned his hard stare. ‘Need I recite the list of crimes committed against me?’
Again? He waved a hand at her. ‘Oh, please do.’
‘I was kidnapped from my home.’
‘Guilty.’ An act he was beginning to regret. He nodded. ‘Continue.’
‘Thrown on to your ship.’ She paced the length of his chamber and while her expression remained tight and cold, her emotions were evident by the motions of her hands.
‘I was then carried across the sea.’ A deaf person could have kept track of the conversation by the way she punctuated each statement with a flurry of hand gestures.
‘And I was forced to care for you.’ Even she paused long enough to glance at the finger she’d pointed at him before quickly crossing her arms against her chest.
Richard leaned back against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. ‘Anything you forgot?’
She uncrossed her arms and stormed to the end of the bed with her fisted hands held tightly against her side. ‘I was forced to marry you.’ She took a breath before adding, ‘Against my will.’
Oh, she was building a fine fit of rage. At least she wasn’t crying any more, which was an improvement. Instead of stopping her, he nodded and agreed with the obvious, ‘Yes, well, forced usually does mean against one’s will.’
‘And then...then you made me sleep in your chamber.’
He shrugged. ‘It would be deemed odd if my wife slept anywhere else.’
‘Oh!’ She turned away from the bed, only to swing back around and again exclaim, ‘Oh!’
Apparently, she’d run out of crimes to list. ‘Are you finished?’
When she nodded, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and rose. Like a hunter stalking his prey, he followed her as she backed away until the far corner of the chamber stopped her retreat. With both hands against the wall, he trapped her.
‘We have had this conversation before, Isabella, and this will be the last time. Yes, I kidnapped you and forced your hand in marriage.’
In response to her mutinous glare, he took another step forward, pressing his thighs against hers. ‘Not one hair on your head has been harmed. You are sheltered and fed.’
‘Sheltered? In a pigsty.’
‘It serves its purpose and, like it or not, this is your home now.’ Agnes had hated Dunstan’s keep. It was too small, too plain, too far beneath her. He wasn’t going to listen to another woman’s complaints. ‘You’d better get used to it, because this is where you’ll live and this is where you’ll some day die.’
At her wide-eyed look of horror, he added, ‘You are a means to an end and I will do anything to see that Glenforde pays for what he has done.’
Instead of backing down, or cowering in submission like any rational person might, she stared up at him to ask, ‘And I am to suffer for his sins?’
‘Suffer?’ He marvelled at her brashness. ‘It does not appear to me that you are suffering. Oh, yes, you are angry that you did not get your way in this. But you are not suffering.’
‘Who are you to decide if I am suffering or not? I am away from my family, bereft of all I hold dear—’
‘Bereft?’ He cut her off with a snort. ‘Give over, Isabella. Had I not spirited you away from Warehaven, you would have soon wed Glenforde. It was unlikely that the two of you would reside in your father’s keep. You’d have gone to Glenforde’s home, alone, without your family to protect you. Trust me when I tell you that then you would have learned the meaning of the word suffer.’
‘Oh, so I should be thankful you kidnapped me?’
‘Yes, now that you mention it, perhaps you should be.’
‘Phhpptt. You are mightily full of yourself, Dunstan. Does your arrogance know any bounds?’
‘I may be full of myself. But you, my dear, are my wife and you are sorely trying my patience.’
‘I feel so sorry for you.’
Richard closed his eyes for a moment. The urge to rail back at her was strong, but he stopped himself. Many months would pass before Warehaven landed on Dunstan and he had no intention of living in hell until then. Even when her father did come it would change nothing, they would still be married. He needed to somehow come to understand this woman’s odd moods.
Why was she trying so hard to anger him? He peered down at her and noticed that her hands resting against his chest trembled slightly. Interesting. So, she did harbour some fear, some realisation of her current situation.
‘What is all of this about, Isabella? Why the tears and the rage?’
‘I’ve already told you.’
‘No. I think you’ve led me on a merry chase to avoid whatever is truly bothering you.’
She lowered her hands and looked away, the pink of her cheeks deepening. He bit back a smile at her flush. If nothing else, at least he hadn’t been wrong. Something was chafing at her and whatever it was had little to do with the words coming out of her mouth.
To move this along, he stated, ‘I have other matters to attend. I really don’t have all day to stand here trying to coax answers from you.’
‘Then go.’ She tried unsuccessfully to shoulder past him. ‘Just leave me alone.’
Richard sighed as he blocked her escape. And just like that, they were right back to where they’d started. ‘I am not going to leave you alone.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘It is true, we are never going to be happy newlyweds, but most married couples aren’t. Would it not be easier to at least try to find a way to get along?’
Her cheeks flushed again and he paused, frowning. What the...? Oh, dear Lord above, the woman was nervous in his presence. Her tears might have been from relief to discover her father lived. He could understand that. But her anger had flared far too quickly when he’d done nothing except seek to comfort her.
She wanted him to leave the chamber. She was intentionally trying to anger him enough so he’d storm out of here. Why? He studied her face. Her gaze darted everywhere but at him. And when he did finally catch her attention, his lips twitched at the liquid shimmer in her eyes.
‘What do you find so amusing now?’
‘You.’ He slid his hand to the back of her head. ‘I’m going to kiss you, Isabella. So don’t say you weren’t warned.’
She gasped. ‘Don’t you dare—’
He covered her mouth with his, cutting off her useless threat. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his hold, keeping her in place until she leaned against him, her lips softening, then parting beneath his. And when she hesitantly returned his kiss, he thought he would drown in the sweetness.
She reached up with one hand to caress his neck, while the other one twisted the fabric of his shirt, clinging to it as if she, too, were drowning.