“Leave him alone,” she hissed as her eyes flashed a dark, ominous gray. “You were the one I chose and you were the one I married, God help me. There is no need to bring up the past.”
“Why ever not?” It wasn’t often that Rodger managed to get beneath his wife’s skin and she could tell by the vindictive gleam in his eyes that he wasn’t going to pull out his knife until he’d drawn blood. “I knew you fancied him, of course. But I never thought you actually loved the poor bastard.”
Scarlett drew in a sharp breath.
“Do not speak another word,” she warned.
“The rich earl’s daughter and the poor baker’s son.” Shadows spun from the fire danced Rodger’s face as he threw back his head and laughed. “Can you imagine what people would have said if you had actually run away with him?”
“This conversation is over.” But when she tried to walk past him Rodger’s hand shot out and grabbed her chin in a bruising grip.
“Not yet.” His breath reeked of brandy as it fanned across her face. “Tell me, would you really had done it? Eloped to Gretna Green and become the wife of a baker?” He made a tsking sound under his breath. “You know as well as I that you never would have been suited for such a life.”
“Are you quite finished?” Despite the frantic pounding of her heart her voice was level and even and a bit bored. “I should change before we leave for the Manheim’s. This dress is too simple for a dinner party.”
His gaze flicked down her body, lingering on the swell of her breasts before returning to her face. “Yes, go make yourself presentable. Devil knows it’s the one thing you are actually good at. And do something with your hair,” he added before he released her chin and stepped back. “It’s bloody hideous.”
Resisting the urge to spit in his face – barely – she offered a thin smile instead. “Anything else, my dear? You know how I so love to please you.”
He gave her a withering glance. “You haven’t pleased me in years.”
Scarlett watched him as he left the parlor and waited until his footsteps had receded down the hall before she allowed herself to sit down in front of the fire. Hugging her legs to her chest as a young child might, she rested her head on her knees, closed her eyes, and wept.
The Autumn Duchess (A Duchess for All Seasons Book 4) Page 10
