Damn it, how had he made it all these years, escaped the scheming clutches of Annabelle and become more world-wise, only to be trapped into marriage by his sister’s meek little friend? He pulled his shirt over hishead. That was why, wasn’t it? Meg didn’tseemscheming, didn’tseemevil. Sheseemedsweet, and pretty, and kind, and gentle. With Annabelle, he’d always been on edge. Something about her told him she wanted him enough to stop at nothing to get him. With Meg, he’d let down his guard. He’dtrustedher. Idiot that he was.
He ripped off his breeches. Completely nude, he stomped over to his wardrobe and yanked his navy-blue velvet dressing gown from a peg inside the door. He shrugged it on and belted it tightly around the middle. Then he made his way to the door that separated his bedchamber from his wife’s.
He knocked only once, one harsh rap before twisting the handle and pushing open the door. The room was dark save for a brace of candles burning on the mantelpiece and the fire in the hearth. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he scanned the room. Meg sat on the bed, wearing a gossamer white dressing gown. Despite himself he sucked in his breath. Blast it. Why did she have to be so bloody beautiful, his treacherous wife?
“Meg?” His voice sounded thunderous in the tomblike quiet of the bedchamber.
She was shaking and her eyes were wide. He fought against a surge of tenderness as he slowly made his way over to the bed and looked down at her. She hadn’t been crying. No. Her eyes were quite dry. She’d got her way, after all. Why would she cry? The shaking and wide eyes were probably an act. He would call her bluff.
He traced his finger along the décolletage of her gown and tilted his head to the side. She shivered but didn’t pull away. Gooseflesh popped along her skin where he’d touched. He moved his hand up to her cheek and cuppedit. He owned her now. He could do whatever he wanted with her.
“So beautiful,” he said.
She blinked at him.
“Butsucha liar.”
She flinched and pulled her cheek from his hand.
“No maidenly tears to accompany your act?”
“What act?” Her voice shook.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t orchestrate that entire charade in the garden along with Lucy Hunt. Sarah admitted it.”
“I—”
“What? You didn’t go out there hoping I’d follow you? Is that what you’re going to tell me?”
She hung her head.
“Lucy didn’t send me out there knowing what would happen?” he continued.
“It wasn’t—”
“Wasn’t what?” Surely she would manage to muster a tear or two now. Instead, she lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eye.
“I never lied to you.” She sat up straighter and jerked her body away from him.
“Didn’t you?”
“No.” She lifted her chin and glared at him.
“So youdidwant to marry Sir Winford? I was never your target?”
Her gaze swung away from his. He hadn’t mistaken the guilt in them before she turned away. Her silence said it all. At least she was willing to admit tothatlie. He pushed the strap of her gown off her shoulder. It would be so easy to take her. Not to make love to her,never that, but to shove her back on the bed and rut with her. Get about the business of making an heir. No doubt she’d be thrilled with it. That’s what she wanted, after all. She wanted children. It would be worse for her if he didn’t consummate their union. She’d remain in a state of doubt, insecurity. Of course there would be no children. At least none that he would claim. That was it. His mind was made up.
Her voice shook again. “You won’t… hurt me, will you, Hart?”
His laughter was cruel. “Not unless what I’ve already done has hurt you.”
“What do you mean?” She shivered. Such a good actress.
“I mean I intend to turn around and leave this room now. And I won’t be back.”
“You… you don’t intend to bed me?” Her voice was quiet but filled with surprise.
“I have no intention whatsoever of bedding you.”
