foot, she felt for the floor, but it wasn’t there.
Slowly looking up, she forgot to breathe. Black obsidian eyes were
glaring at her. Peter Smirke wasn’t enjoying her nearness. Pain
knotted her constricted stomach. “Let me go!” She thrashed, kicking
his legs, but instead of setting her free he swept her into his
arms and carried to her bed like a sick child.
Finding herself
released, she rolled away and swung her legs over the other side of
the bed and sat up, covering her face with her hands. If she
couldn’t see him, she’d be able to pretend she was having a
nightmare. Her heart pounding, she peered through her fingers at
the clock on her commode. Nearly ten minutes had passed since her
father had knocked on her door and then shoved Peter Smirke into
the room. Why had the man taken so long to revive her? She
carefully removed one hand from her face and moved it to her neck.
Peter Smirke was a heartless monster, and she was a stupid fool.
She could have married the humorous German prince with numerous
castles or the French Marquis who’d fallen at her feet and begged
her to consider his heart a magic carpet that would fly her to the
heights of happiness. Instead of accepting a shorter man, she’d
wasted nearly two decades of her life longing for a Smirke. Sitting
up straight, she silently stared at the wall cursing the wetness
forming in her eyes. It was pointless to hope he’d go away and
leave her with the remains of her dignity. Knowing her father, the
man would propose under duress.
“Mademoiselle,
I came to apologise for treating you like a…” He coughed as if the
memory choked him. “I feel d-d-deeply ashamed…”
“Good!” she
snapped. “I hope you have nightmares the rest of your life. And
don’t think I wanted to answer that stupid ad. My father insisted.
He thought you’d be polite to a de Bourbon. Pah!”
“I wasn’t
myself,” he said. “I was enraged. I was courting a young lady, but
after learning of that c-cursed ad she wouldn’t look at me…”
“My heart would
bleed Mr Smirke, but all the blood rushed to my head when you flung
me over your shoulder. I feel sorry for your mother.” Slow heavy
footsteps made the floorboards groan. “Stay away from me!” The
footsteps approached the bed.
“I think we’ve
exchanged enough hurtful words.”
The words had a
ring of command as if he had the right to tell her what to say in
the privacy of her bedchamber. “There’s a list of French insults
you deserve, but you wouldn’t understand them because you’ve never
visited your mother’s country. Coward!”
“I am not a
c-c-coward,” he said. “Sailing in a rowboat makes me violently
seasick.”
She snorted in
contempt. “You mean the waves make you sick like being heaved over
someone’s shoulder?”
“I said I was
sorry. I don’t know what p-p-possessed me.”
“If you’ve
finished flagellating your pride, laissez-moi tranquille! That’s
French for leave me alone.”
“I know what it
means. Let’s be sensible Mademoiselle…” He paused as if to gather
his nerve for what she knew was coming next. “We haven’t had an
auspicious start, but I need a wife.” He coughed as if embarrassed
to admit his need. “Your father says you want a tall husband. We’re
both half French. Your cousin, Agnes can vouch for my…usual
t-t-temperament. She’s married to my brother.”
“I’ve known
your brother for years. Pity there aren’t more men like him in the
world.”
“I’m not my
brother, but I’m available. It’s the honourable thing to do.”
His strained
words caused a wrenching pain. Her cherished dream of becoming
Peter Smirke’s wife had turned into a nightmare. He was asking her
to be his wife out of duty…to assuage his guilt. “Choke on your
honour! A German prince offered me a crown, and I turned him down.
I’m on the shelf out of choice. Get out!”
His face
twisted as if finally aware he was being rejected. “I’m offering to
marry
Slowly looking up, she forgot to breathe. Black obsidian eyes were
glaring at her. Peter Smirke wasn’t enjoying her nearness. Pain
knotted her constricted stomach. “Let me go!” She thrashed, kicking
his legs, but instead of setting her free he swept her into his
arms and carried to her bed like a sick child.
Finding herself
released, she rolled away and swung her legs over the other side of
the bed and sat up, covering her face with her hands. If she
couldn’t see him, she’d be able to pretend she was having a
nightmare. Her heart pounding, she peered through her fingers at
the clock on her commode. Nearly ten minutes had passed since her
father had knocked on her door and then shoved Peter Smirke into
the room. Why had the man taken so long to revive her? She
carefully removed one hand from her face and moved it to her neck.
Peter Smirke was a heartless monster, and she was a stupid fool.
She could have married the humorous German prince with numerous
castles or the French Marquis who’d fallen at her feet and begged
her to consider his heart a magic carpet that would fly her to the
heights of happiness. Instead of accepting a shorter man, she’d
wasted nearly two decades of her life longing for a Smirke. Sitting
up straight, she silently stared at the wall cursing the wetness
forming in her eyes. It was pointless to hope he’d go away and
leave her with the remains of her dignity. Knowing her father, the
man would propose under duress.
“Mademoiselle,
I came to apologise for treating you like a…” He coughed as if the
memory choked him. “I feel d-d-deeply ashamed…”
“Good!” she
snapped. “I hope you have nightmares the rest of your life. And
don’t think I wanted to answer that stupid ad. My father insisted.
He thought you’d be polite to a de Bourbon. Pah!”
“I wasn’t
myself,” he said. “I was enraged. I was courting a young lady, but
after learning of that c-cursed ad she wouldn’t look at me…”
“My heart would
bleed Mr Smirke, but all the blood rushed to my head when you flung
me over your shoulder. I feel sorry for your mother.” Slow heavy
footsteps made the floorboards groan. “Stay away from me!” The
footsteps approached the bed.
“I think we’ve
exchanged enough hurtful words.”
The words had a
ring of command as if he had the right to tell her what to say in
the privacy of her bedchamber. “There’s a list of French insults
you deserve, but you wouldn’t understand them because you’ve never
visited your mother’s country. Coward!”
“I am not a
c-c-coward,” he said. “Sailing in a rowboat makes me violently
seasick.”
She snorted in
contempt. “You mean the waves make you sick like being heaved over
someone’s shoulder?”
“I said I was
sorry. I don’t know what p-p-possessed me.”
“If you’ve
finished flagellating your pride, laissez-moi tranquille! That’s
French for leave me alone.”
“I know what it
means. Let’s be sensible Mademoiselle…” He paused as if to gather
his nerve for what she knew was coming next. “We haven’t had an
auspicious start, but I need a wife.” He coughed as if embarrassed
to admit his need. “Your father says you want a tall husband. We’re
both half French. Your cousin, Agnes can vouch for my…usual
t-t-temperament. She’s married to my brother.”
“I’ve known
your brother for years. Pity there aren’t more men like him in the
world.”
“I’m not my
brother, but I’m available. It’s the honourable thing to do.”
His strained
words caused a wrenching pain. Her cherished dream of becoming
Peter Smirke’s wife had turned into a nightmare. He was asking her
to be his wife out of duty…to assuage his guilt. “Choke on your
honour! A German prince offered me a crown, and I turned him down.
I’m on the shelf out of choice. Get out!”
His face
twisted as if finally aware he was being rejected. “I’m offering to
marry
Similar Books
