offer of peace, and cease all defiance. That she could accept him.
As if sensing her thoughts, Stephen stepped closer, a second later catching her palm in his. “Give to me, mademoiselle,” he coaxed. “Instead of fighting me when you are going to lose, why not bend? There is much to be said for anticipation. Even now, I anticipate being in your armsagain—and I believe you share the same feeling. I am going to pleasure you regardless of your willful pride, and we both know it.”
“I believe you are trying to seduce me even now!”
Stephen straightened, his height and breadth overpowering. “And if I am? What upsets you so? That you find me as desirable as I find you? If you bend to me, you will more than enjoy your stay at Alnwick.”
“I desire you, it’s true,” Mary said slowly through stiff lips, hating admitting it, even to herself, “but I do hate you more. Whoreson bastard!”
His grip tightened; he almost smiled. “I much prefer the sound of my given name coming from your lips.”
There was no mistaking to what he was referring. “Do you prefer the sound of your name coming from my lips—or from Adele Beaufort’s?” Mary hissed.
Stephen froze. Then, “She has never spoken my name with the
relish
that you have.”
“Oh?” She was shaking, as much in hurt as in rage. “So she is too good for you to abuse? You only abuse maids you abduct, sirrah? Even when they are not as they seem? Or is it because I am a Scot? Is that why you took my maidenhead without a care for the consequences? I am a
Scot,
but your heiress is an
Englishwoman!”
Red tinged his cheekbones. “I did not abuse you, so cease with your abominable hypocrisy. And what is done is done. I do not regret my actions. I am sorry, though, for the price you must bear. When the time comes, demoiselle, I will provide for you. You need not worry on that score.”
She drew back as if he had slapped her. Already he referred to the time when he would grow tired of her and send her away. Tears stung. “And I should be relieved that you will not toss me aside penniless? Oh, how noble you are!”
Mary turned to flee. His grip clamped down on her wrist and she was jerked around to face him. Very low, he said, “You might remember that a man cannot mate alone, and you were as willing a wench as any I have ever taken to my bed. More so, in fact.”
Mary cried out inarticulately and tried to yank her arm free. She failed.
“You could have revealed yourself to me,” he said, his eyes black and blazing. “You were a partner to the deed, demoiselle, and you may choose to forget it, but I do not.”
“I am returning upstairs. I am no longer hungry,” Mary said with great dignity. The truth burned. She had been a willing partner to his passion, no matter that her ambition had been only to continue her deceit. She refused to give in to the rising tears which had no rightful place in this bitter confrontation. “But I am very tired. If you would excuse me?”
Stephen stared at her. Finally he said, “Go then, to the women’s solar. I will send your break-fast to you. And remember, demoiselle, I wish a truce, but I alone cannot achieve the peace.”
Chapter 6
M ary contemplated disobeying him yet again. But in the end she rushed into the solar as if it were her refuge. Closing the door, she leaned upon it, out of breath. Her mind spun. All she could think of was their recent encounter, the one last night, and the one that would occur this evening.
She did hate him. He had ruined her uncaringly; he had said he did not believe her to be Mairi Sinclair, yet he had continued his lovemaking, taking it to its final conclusion. He was ruthless, vain, and self-serving. Mary knew without a doubt that he would never ravish his English bride, he would not even ravish the daughter of an insignificant English knight. The difference was that she was a barbarian Scot.
A barbarian Scot, yes, but a princess, Mary reminded herself. Had he known the
As if sensing her thoughts, Stephen stepped closer, a second later catching her palm in his. “Give to me, mademoiselle,” he coaxed. “Instead of fighting me when you are going to lose, why not bend? There is much to be said for anticipation. Even now, I anticipate being in your armsagain—and I believe you share the same feeling. I am going to pleasure you regardless of your willful pride, and we both know it.”
“I believe you are trying to seduce me even now!”
Stephen straightened, his height and breadth overpowering. “And if I am? What upsets you so? That you find me as desirable as I find you? If you bend to me, you will more than enjoy your stay at Alnwick.”
“I desire you, it’s true,” Mary said slowly through stiff lips, hating admitting it, even to herself, “but I do hate you more. Whoreson bastard!”
His grip tightened; he almost smiled. “I much prefer the sound of my given name coming from your lips.”
There was no mistaking to what he was referring. “Do you prefer the sound of your name coming from my lips—or from Adele Beaufort’s?” Mary hissed.
Stephen froze. Then, “She has never spoken my name with the
relish
that you have.”
“Oh?” She was shaking, as much in hurt as in rage. “So she is too good for you to abuse? You only abuse maids you abduct, sirrah? Even when they are not as they seem? Or is it because I am a Scot? Is that why you took my maidenhead without a care for the consequences? I am a
Scot,
but your heiress is an
Englishwoman!”
Red tinged his cheekbones. “I did not abuse you, so cease with your abominable hypocrisy. And what is done is done. I do not regret my actions. I am sorry, though, for the price you must bear. When the time comes, demoiselle, I will provide for you. You need not worry on that score.”
She drew back as if he had slapped her. Already he referred to the time when he would grow tired of her and send her away. Tears stung. “And I should be relieved that you will not toss me aside penniless? Oh, how noble you are!”
Mary turned to flee. His grip clamped down on her wrist and she was jerked around to face him. Very low, he said, “You might remember that a man cannot mate alone, and you were as willing a wench as any I have ever taken to my bed. More so, in fact.”
Mary cried out inarticulately and tried to yank her arm free. She failed.
“You could have revealed yourself to me,” he said, his eyes black and blazing. “You were a partner to the deed, demoiselle, and you may choose to forget it, but I do not.”
“I am returning upstairs. I am no longer hungry,” Mary said with great dignity. The truth burned. She had been a willing partner to his passion, no matter that her ambition had been only to continue her deceit. She refused to give in to the rising tears which had no rightful place in this bitter confrontation. “But I am very tired. If you would excuse me?”
Stephen stared at her. Finally he said, “Go then, to the women’s solar. I will send your break-fast to you. And remember, demoiselle, I wish a truce, but I alone cannot achieve the peace.”
Chapter 6
M ary contemplated disobeying him yet again. But in the end she rushed into the solar as if it were her refuge. Closing the door, she leaned upon it, out of breath. Her mind spun. All she could think of was their recent encounter, the one last night, and the one that would occur this evening.
She did hate him. He had ruined her uncaringly; he had said he did not believe her to be Mairi Sinclair, yet he had continued his lovemaking, taking it to its final conclusion. He was ruthless, vain, and self-serving. Mary knew without a doubt that he would never ravish his English bride, he would not even ravish the daughter of an insignificant English knight. The difference was that she was a barbarian Scot.
A barbarian Scot, yes, but a princess, Mary reminded herself. Had he known the
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