Then he soothed the sting with his tongue, with more kisses. The sweet passion he had once kissed her with was gone. In its place was nothing but angry desire. And with it a need to have his revenge on her.
To make her pay for everything she had done.
He was no longer the man he had been when she had laughed at his proposal and flaunted her freedom by traveling across an entire ocean. How dare she keep his daughter a secret? How dare she return and make him want her so fucking much?
Belatedly, he realized he had been intent upon teaching her a lesson. On showing her the longing between them—as natural as the sun in the sky—had never faded. Instead, he had only shown himself how helpless he was to resist the way she made him feel.
Her nearness, her scent, her touch, her kiss.
He tore his lips from hers, staring down at her as his rigid cock pressed into her skirts. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her mouth stained dark from his kisses, lips swollen. Her blue eyes were dazed and dark, her breath ragged.
She looked stricken and confused, just as he felt.
Good. Damn her.
“Tomorrow,” he told her.
She blinked. “Tomorrow?”
“Our wedding,” he grimly reminded. “It has been arranged. Come to Cagney House by ten o’clock in the morning. We will go together to the chapel and be married. Afterward, you can fetch Emily and whatever belongings you require. You will be settled in by the afternoon.”
Her eyes widened. “I cannot…tomorrowmorning?”
The irony was not lost upon him—that he had asked her to marry him once, and she had denied him only to return two years later with a proposal of her own. However, in true Lady Julianna Somerset fashion, she had mistakenly believed she would maintain all the power in their new relationship.
Foolish, foolish Lady Perfect.
And foolish Sidney for once believing her the epitome of perfection and innocence. He had been so thoroughly in love with her. And so thoroughly, recklessly stupid.
She had come back to him. She needed him.
He was not about to allow her to forget that.
“You can,” he told her, flashing a smile that even felt cruel on his lips. Cruel because it was a mockery of the depth of emotion he had once harbored for her. “And you will. Marry me tomorrow morning. I have paid handsomely to make certain the record of our marriage will not be made public fodder for gossip. As far as the world knows, I married you in secret when I visited New York City over a year ago and we were subsequently, quietly divorced. This marriage will settle all questions of legitimacy in England.”
Shadows lingered in her eyes. Her brow furrowed. She had questions. More of them.
“How am I to be reassured this fiction of yours will not be summarily dismantled by an inquisitive scandalmonger?” she demanded, regaining some of her ferocity.
She wanted him to confirm he had traveled in a steamer, across the Atlantic. And he would have, had not the reason for his travel been so stupidly pathetic—his misplaced love for her.
“You have my word,” he told her coolly. “That is all you shall have from me.”
She shook her head. “I do not trust your word.”
He tamped down a surge of irritation at her implication he was not worthy of trust. “Too goddamn bad. Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock. Be there.”
The baggage dared to raise a brow. “And if I am not?”
He gritted his teeth. “You will not like the consequences,chérie. You may be the mother of my child, but agreeing to this marriage is the extent of my goodwill for you.”
That was true. He had not forgotten what she had done. Where once, he had believed her greatest sin laughing at his offer of marriage, he now knew she had continued on to perpetrate an even greater evil.
“I will need to tell my mother and father,” she said. “I cannot suddenly inform them—”
“Your father is aware,” he interrupted. “So, too, your mother, I should think.”
He had met with the Marquess of Leighton, who had promised to relay the requisite information to his estranged marchioness. Everything was in place. Except for the unwanted interview with his own parents, whom he had yet to inform of their granddaughter’s existence.
