That wasn’t what Beth wanted at all. “Am I never to say what Ithink?”
“It depends, I suppose, if you want me to say what I think.”
All too aware of the host, still bobbing and bowing, Beth carried oninto the private parlor, pondering the marquess’s words. When they werealone she challenged him. “Why would I not wish you to speak your mind? Iam not afraid of the truth.”
He shrugged off his riding cloak and dropped it over a chair. “Verywell,” he said coldly. “I find you unattractive and this whole situationabominable. Now, how does that help?”
“Since I already knew that,” she shot back, “it hardly changes mattersat all.” But it did. Beth was foolishly hurt by the very disgust she wasseeking. And if the situation was abominable, why was he toleratingit?
He was leaning against the mantel, looking at her as if she were anintrusive stranger ? an intrusive, ill-bred stranger. “Except now it isspoken,” he said, “and before it was decently hidden. Spoken words assumea life of their own, Miss Armitage, and cannot be unsaid. However, in thecause of sanity I am quite willing to pretend if you will join in thegame.”
“Pretend what?”
“Contentment.”
Beth turned away, her hands pressed together. “I cannot.”
There was silence, a chinking, then she heard his boots on the floor ashe walked towards her. “Here, Elizabeth.” He sounded nothing so much asweary.
She turned and took the wine he offered, sipping cautiously. It was arare indulgence at Miss Mallory’s, and it encouraged her to resist thepeace offering it represented. She forced herself to meet his disdainfuleyes. “I have not given you permission to use my name, sir.”
Chin up, eye meeting eye, Beth said, “I would ask you to remember, LordArden, that this matter ? which is a minor disturbance to your life ? hasdestroyed mine. I have been taken from my home, my friends, and myemployment, and forced into a way of life in which I can expect nopleasure.” She put her glass down with a snap. “It will take me a few dayslonger, I am afraid, to be able to pretendcontentment.”
His eyes sparked dangerously. “I am not generally considered to berepulsive,Miss Armitage?”
Beth’s response was swift and tart. “Nor is a baboon, I’m sure, in itsproper milieu.”
Any retaliation from the outraged marquess was forestalled by thearrival of servants with their meal. He turned away sharply and went tostand by the far window until the meal was ready. When the innkeeperobsequiously encouraged them to partake of his best, Beth and the marquessapproached the table like wary opponents and took seats at the oppositeends. By silent agreement they ate in unbroken silence.
Beth kept her eyes on her plate. Her heart was pounding, and thedelicious food formed lumps in her dry mouth. For one moment she had facedleashed fury such as she had only ever imagined. She had feared him, hadfeared that he might hit her, throttle her even. But shecouldn’tbe terrified of him. Not if she was to turn him sototally against her.
It was beyond her at the moment, however, to attempt more taunts, andthere were no further words before the journey resumed.
Beth opened her book once more but used it as a blind for thought. Herplan was not as easy as she had thought. Could she provoke himsufficiently to give him an overpowering antipathy to her without drivinghim to the violence she had sensed? She shuddered. She had neverencountered such a man before. There was something about him, somethingcoiled tight, able to be unleashed for good or evil.
Hands clenched painfully tight onSelf-Control,Beth knew she must not, could not, marry such aman. Despite the duke’s assurances, as her husband the marquess would haveall right to her body. He would be free to beat her if he wished. If hewere to beat her to death he would likely incur only a mild penalty,especially as he would have all the riches and power of his family on hisside, and she would have no powerful friends to protest.
But she reminded herself of the maxims of Publius. Fear is to be fearedmore than death or injury. She could not afford fear.
The duke and the marquess needed her in order to achieve their end,needed her in excellent health for successful childbearing. That was herprotection from extreme violence and, after all, if blows were the priceshe must pay for making him reject her, she would count it ? like theheroes of Athens ? a small cost for her freedom.
She smiled wryly. It was perhaps uplifting to think of the brave men ofAthens who died for freedom, but she did not fool herself that the nextfew days were likely to be easy or pleasant.
They changed horses again twice but only in minutes. An hour later, atthe next change, the coach halted and the door swung open.
“It is another hour or so to Belcraven, Miss Armitage. Would you likesome tea? You could take it in the coach or come into the inn.” Themarquess was a model of impersonal punctiliousness.
In the same manner, Beth extended a hand to be helped down. “I wouldlike to stretch my legs, I think. Perhaps I could walk a little here.”
“Certainly,” he said and extended an arm.
Despite her silent debate in the coach, Beth found she did not want hiscompany at all. He was such a big man and so very cold. “There is no needfor you to accompany me, my lord.”
“Of course there is,” he said, staring into the distance. “It would bemost odd if I did not.”
Helplessly Beth laid her hand lightly on his sleeve, and they strolledalong the road of the small town. She tried to force herself to saysomething offensive, but his silence was like a wall between them, and hertongue stayed frozen.
After about ten minutes, the marquess said, “Perhaps we should turnback now,” and they did so.
