“Better.” He still radiated anger. “But not enough. Beg me again.”
Her eyes flashed to his, meeting therein a steely determination which again pricked alarm. She lowered her gaze once more, to settle on his tall, polished hessians, the sheer size of them forbidding. “I apologize for my behavior, sir, and beg your forgiveness.”
He wrenched her across the carriage so that she found herself on her knees before his lap, her head snapped back.
“When I told you I expected obedience, I meant precisely that, Miss Winthrop. So either you do not understand the meaning of the word, or you require a demonstration of it. Which is it, miss?”
Elizabeth trembled. She would be wise not to cross her betrothed more untilafterthey married, when Annabelle would be safe from his clutches. She swallowed her bile.
“Sir, I believe you just demonstrated your desire for obedience.”
“Good,” he told her, though his grip did not loosen. “Now remove those bloody spectacles.”
“Sir, I do not?—”
“If you cannot follow an order so basic, Elizabeth, then Iwillrescind my marriage offer.”
She quickly pulled them off, unwilling to risk Bella’s future on so simple a request.
His breath hitched. Unable to read his expression, she squinted at the Baron, now a blur, for the rotten man had just stolen her sight.
She was suddenly, unceremoniously lifted onto his lap.
“Look at me.” His gloved hand turned her cheek to face him. “Can you see now?”
“Yes.” She stiffened.
“Good.” He leaned in for what felt like the start of a kiss when the carriage lurched to an abrupt halt, nearly throwing her from his lap. He gripped her close. “We’ve arrived,” he told her gruffly. “See to it you behave.”
She hastily donned her glasses as he pushed her off his lap and handed her down to his driver, to a boisterous London street.
CHAPTER THREE
Boot crossed comfortably over one knee, hat and gloves laid neatly beside him, Milton leaned back in his seat, a brandy in hand. He’d enjoyed watching his bride-to-be stripped to her smalls and measured head to toe. Miss Winthrop stood in the center ofLeBrecht’sfitting room attended by three comely maids, while the modiste displayed bolts of cloth for his approval.
Li, or Madam LeBrecht as others knew her, sat to his left thumbing a pattern book she occasionally thrust in his face. He’d known Li for years, and her staff knew him too—as well they should, considering Milton’s own mother ran Li’s other profitable business: prostitution.
He imagined Miss Winthrop’s horrified reaction the day she discovered her husband’s unsavory lineage. Then again, half his sodding blood was more blue than hers; she’d recover.
Li’s maids threw him glances, for he was no stranger to their ranks. He’d grown up with whores and respected them for their ability to retain dignity in the face of pure debasement. And these three were whores turned seamstresses, though he suspected they still turned tricks on the side.
His mother had made sure Milton understood the difference between feigned deference and true submission, because after his sire’s cruel dismissal of her, she’d never submitted her heart to another man. Of course she’d degraded herself plenty for men’s pleasure, but it was forhercoin, for survival. Even when Milton had been forced to grovel—clawing his way up the ranks at first wharf then warehouse, from sailing ship to gaming den, moneylender to investor—he’d retained his dignity. And damn well always would.
He’d make his rotten sire acknowledge his existence just as soon as he gained entry to theTonthanks to a wife of the right kind. The bloody bugger still held too much influence in upper echelons to allow his bastard son a British baronetcy, but in Scotland they’d cared only for whoreson Jasper Audrey’s money, not his birth. Which was why the deceased Baron of Milton’s Scottish title and lands were nowhis.
With Miss Winthrop as his wife, he'd show London’s toffs he was their equal. Though at present his betrothed could barely see the nose on her face. Li’s maids had snatched her spectacles, reminding him of Elizabeth’s defiance in his carriage, of how deliciously she’d knelt before him, hips flaring over a backside that begged to be slapped.
She’d passed his test spectacularly by showing such serious mettle, for he knew theTonwould taunt her for her unfortunate eyepiece. Still, if she could withstand him, she could withstand society’stitters.
He peered more closely at his bride-to-be, whose nape flowed in perfect proportion to her skull, her neck in lovely concert with the rest of her torso. How in the world he’d never noticed the shape of a woman’s head before perplexed him. Perhaps it was those spectacles hooked over her dainty, elfin ears, but she was like a lithe sprite from the waist up, and a lush Rubens from the waist down.
The last time he’d stared so intently at a woman inLeBrecht’swas when the Duke of Allendale had all but ordered him to seduce his future Duchess in Li’sMessieursroom.
No, his conscience corrected. Wellesley had ordered him to protect and test, not seduce. He could still picture Lady Wellesley’s stocking-clad calves and ample bosom, though Miss Winthrop was endowed enough not to disappoint.
Milton shifted in his seat, his trousers tightening as Li shoved yet another dress book at him. How many bloody gowns did one woman possibly need? Though he’d not question Li’s judgment. She’d been remarkably astute over the years, enough that he’d trust Li with his life—and had.
***
