Chelynne by Robyn Carr Page B

hateful man when first we met.”
    He laughed huskily. “Have a care, love. You do me no honor when you pout. I am not as hateful as that.”
    “And you are no callow youth,” she said in confusion. She turned to him again, her brown eyes twinkling with the light of the torches. “Indeed, you are much older than I. Old enough to be my—”
    “Hold!” he said laughing. “Not quite so old as that, my dear. I am now three and thirty and not yet tottering about with a cane. I can assure you of a few more good years before I wither away.”
    “Why then have you never married? Is it not meet that you should give thought to a family?”
    He looked directly over the top of her head and she noticed that his jaw set firmly and his temple pulsated. “It’s a matter I should have liked to pursue on my own.”
    “Then you will not give this a chance,” she said softly.
    “Don’t worry yourself needlessly, my lady,” he said matter-of-factly, with a slight formal bow to keep it distant. She was looking up at him with earnest brown eyes, loving and soft, but he would not meet her gaze. “The contracts are made and I shall not prove too difficult.”
    “Yes,” she murmured, though she knew well enough that there was still time to refuse this commitment. She was afraid to tell him that, however. What if he grabbed at the chance to be free of her? She couldn’t bear even to think about that; a young heart is too hopeful. “But if they were not prepared?”
    “It would make little difference.” He shrugged. “The earl would bring yet another to replace you.”
    “He is that determined to see you wed?”
    “It is the very breath in him,” Chad sighed.
    “Why then have you not brought a woman of your choice for his approval? Why do you not give him aid and seek to please him?”
    “You quibble too much for a woman having naught to say of what I do or why. I think you’ll have the difficult nature in this marriage.”
    She laughed softly and he looked down at her. “Of a certain, my lord.” His eyes were glued to her face. She could see them cloud over, taking on that warm and moist quality that meant victory to her, however small. “Is there something you find fault with, my lord?”
    That beguiling smile in the darkness did strange things to him. He had such a mixture of emotions, the simultaneous urge to strike her and take her into his arms and kiss her lovingly. But her loveliness eliminated the urge to mark her. Still, bred into him was an instinct for danger, and faced with this gentle beauty he felt as trapped as a cornered animal. “I am too old, Chelynne, to appreciate youth as your husband should.” His smile was mocking, almost cruel. “Your patience will be sorely tested.” He noticed the emotion that swiftly passed across her features. He was pleased to see it was very close to fear. “And what of me?” he asked sarcastically. “Does the manor have fault? Is there enough wealth here to suit you? Have I some unsightly twitch I must curb?”
    It was as if she hadn’t even noticed the harsh sneering of his voice. She laughed softly. “And would you change one thing to suit me better?”
    “Never!”
    ‘“Tis well,” she sighed. “I found no flaws but for the stubborn streak. It should prove most burdensome.”
    He stepped nearer, wondering how she could stand so calmly, speak so softly when faced with his hostility. She should want to claw at his face or slap him, but there she stood, her lips parted in that delicious half smile and her eyes shining with adoration. He could not gather his good sense, so overpowering was the urge to taste that sweet mouth again. He crushed her to him suddenly, roughly, insistent enough to hurt her. He wished she would be less tractable, strain against him at least and not allow his advances, but she did not. Rather, she complied, molding to him, seemingly pleased with the harshness. Yet she responded and encouraged him softly, her small arms slipping around