Page 122 of The Betrothal

“The longer you made me wait, the more time I had to plan our future, and the sweeter it would be when you eventually married me.” He sounded gleeful. “But this, Isabelle.” His humour was gone. “This was a step too far.”

I swallowed against my parched throat.

“And now.” He reached to collect something from the floor. “I’ve spent a fortune to have you returned to me.”

“You could have anyone, Teddy,” I pleaded.

“I don’t want anyone! I want what is mine!” His yell made me flinch again.

I couldn’t fight my recoil even though I knew it was coming.

“Imagine my disappointment,” he continued. “When I realised what you had been up to.”

I froze, trying to see more clearly what he toyed with in his lap.

“The fact that you ran away from me is issue enough. The lies I’ve had to weave, the men in custody,” he mused.

I frowned. Christian?

“None of them truly involved, of course, but it has to look like you were taken against your will. Even though we both know differently.”

I took shallow breaths.

“What do you mean, Teddy?” I pushed.

He lifted an item from his lap and I frowned.

The pale blue spine, the worn wording on the case.

“To remember me by,” Teddy read. “Who are you remembering, Isabelle?”

My blood turned to ice. Ben.

Teddy didn’t wait for my reply. “The same person as the owner of these?” He crooked a finger. A pair of boxers dangled from it.

Oh, fuck. My grimace gave me away.

“Have you been away whoring yourself, little Izzy?” he growled.

“No,” I whispered.

He glowered at me, seeing whatever he wanted.

“I’m no whore, Teddy. I’ve never promised to be pure.”

“But you’ve been in another man’s bed when you were due to be in mine,” he replied, now deathly calm.

He stood and I flinched. The book dangled from his fingers, the cover open. He watched me as I looked to it, reading every emotion on my face no doubt.

He took the book between both hands and tore, the cover ripping in half, several pages came free and fluttered to his feet.

He watched me with unbridled challenge before throwing the book across the room. I dabbed at my face, finding streams of tears coursing down my cheeks, a gasping sob wrenched from me when one of the halves caught the hearth and burst into flame.

He fisted Seb’s boxers and threw them after the book where they added to the dancing flames.

He stalked towards the bed. My recoil gave me no extra space, pressed as I was into the cushions, up against the headboard.

His fingers reached for me. My withdrawal, curling away from his touch, brought a cruel snarl to his features as he continued to reach out.