He smiled. “You fit my requirements.”
“Requirements?” She must stop squeaking.
“Your looks are not too grand and you are well past the age for marrying. You do not wear expensive jewels or gowns, which bodes well for future demands on my purse.”
Annabelle’s elation vanished. She stared at him, her cheeks growing hotter with each sentence he uttered. He listed her particulars as if he were buying a horse at Tattersall’s. Although the Marriage Mart was in many ways mercenary, she had never known any gentleman to be quite so blunt about it.
Her eyes smarted and she blinked at the tears, unwilling to make a spectacle of herself. She had finally met a man that stirred passion in her and he looked at her as nothing more than a dowdy spinster conveniently on hand when he decided to find a wife.
Ian gently squeezed her, the troubled concern in his eyes small comfort in the face of his words. “Dinna be distressed. You have all the qualities I’m looking for in a wife.”
“You already said that and it’s not a compliment.”
Thoughts kaleidoscoped in her brain like bits of glass crushed and tossed in the air, left to fall where they may. Just like the rest of the ton, Ian saw only her plain looks. He did not see the heart that beat beneath her breast, the mind that longed to share thoughts and ideas with a kindred spirit.
“I’m not looking for a long engagement. Would you be ready to take up residence in Scotland in a month or so?”
The words stung her bruised heart like a thousand embroidery needles pricking the message that he did not love her, would never love her. He found her so unremarkable that Ian had no doubt of his success. Resolve beat against her bleeding heart. Ian would soon learn that not all things were as they seemed. Not all bluestocking spinsters longed for wedlock, especially those who had read Wollstonecraft.
She straightened, pulling as far away as his restraining arms would allow. “I am not interested in marriage. If I were, it would not be to an arrogant Scotsman who believes my lack of face and fortune make me willing to marry on such short acquaintance.”
“I dinna need a long acquaintance to determine that you are all that I could wish for in a wife. I will make you a proper husband.” He gave her an engaging smile. “We will deal well together.”
So angry she could not speak, she glared at him.
“Surely you can see the benefits of marriage to me,” he cajoled her.
She felt an unladylike urge to box his ears. “On the contrary. I am a modern woman and I do not see the benefits of marriage at all, particularly to you.”
Ian’s grasp on her waist tightened. His eyes darkened. “’Tis no my intention to upset you.”
She felt the tension in his body and it was matched by an unwelcome sensation in her own. She wanted to melt into his embrace. The feeling infuriated her. She struggled to be released from his hold, not caring now if she caused a scene. “Let me go.”
“Nay, the music has not ended.” His reasonable tone enraged her all the more.
She was desperate to break his hold on her before her body betrayed itself. How unfair to experience her first taste of desire with a man who believed her too ordinary to court. “Do you really think I wish to dance with you after your insult?”
“’Twas no an insult, lass. ’Twas a proposal.”
“My name is not ‘lass’. It is Lady Annabelle, as Ceddy told you these many days past. Are you hard of hearing? Perhaps you need an ear trumpet.”
“Nay, ’tis no an ear trumpet I need, but a wife. You’re neither too beautiful, too rich, nor too young to pass on the proposal I’m giving you.”
She almost choked on her anger. “Must I be subjected to your list of slurs again? You may need a wife, but I do not need a husband.”
Ian danced toward an unoccupied corner and pulled her into it. “Do not be so foolish as to label virtues insults.”
“They are only virtues because you believe that by possessing these traits, or rather lack of traits, a woman would willingly marry you without even rudimentary courtship.” She tried to step around Ian. He blocked her path like a marble column. She glared at him. “That, my lord, is not a list of virtues, but an insulting recipe concocted by you to gain a wife without the customary work or effort.”
At Ian’s look of consternation, she was convinced that she had guessed correctly. “I’m right. You are too indolent to properly court a woman. I can only assume some catastrophe has generated the need for you to take a wife.”
“’Tis no indolence that causes me to avoid the playacting of courtship, but aversion to the games ladies play.”
The genuine emotion she heard in his voice confused her. He stood so close she could feel the heat of his body. It did strange things to her insides. Drat. Now was not the time to become a simpering twit. He would not win this argument.
“I may not be a beauty, but I do expect to be courted and I will only marry the man that convinces me I cannot live without him.” Her voice vibrated with emotion she wanted to suppress.
She had to leave before she turned into a watering pot and completely disgraced herself. She could not stand the strain much longer. When she tried to sidestep him again, he placed his hand on her arm. He squeezed gently. Against her will, she found comfort in the gesture.
Her breath started to come in short gasps as the nearness of his body continued to affect her equilibrium. He looked into her eyes as if searching them for the answer to some question.
Finally he sighed. “If it’s courting you want, lass, it’s courting you shall get. I’ll give you until the end of the season to reconcile yourself to the idea of our marriage.”
The man was mad. “Courtship is wooing, not giving me a set time to reconcile myself to your arrogant plans.”
“If it ’tis wooing you need, then wooing you will have. I’ll call on you tomorrow.”
She couldn’t believe his denseness. “You may call on me until I’m old and gray, but I will never marry a man I do not love and respect.”
It would have been a wonderful last word had he still not blocked her path. “Please, let me by. The set has ended.” She could not prevent her voice from trembling.
Thankfully, she was promised for the next set. She watched her partner approach with relief. “I must go.”
“We are no finished with our discussion.”
“Please.” She hated that she begged him, but she needed to get away before her devastated emotions slipped her control.
Mr. Green’s voice came as welcome relief. “Lady Annabelle, I believe our set is forming.”
Ian turned and gave the younger gentleman an arrogant glance. “’Tis our dance, I believe.”
Fury overcame Annabelle’s pain. “It most certainly is not.” She wanted to throttle the man.
Ian just stared at Mr. Green who mumbled an excuse and retreated. He had deserted her. The coward.
Yanking her arm from Ian’s, she said, “Regardless, I did not promise this dance to you.” She turned to hurry away.
“’Twas an oversight, I’m sure.”
In her haste to get away from Ian, she bumped into another gentleman. “Pray excuse me. I did not realize you were there.”
The gentleman placed a monocle in his eye and gave her a condescending stare. “It was nothing, I’m sure.”
Annabelle’s skin grew unbearably warm. Twisting her head, she hissed at Ian, “Do you see what you made me do?”
His rich laughter stoked her fury. “Dinna let that popinjay upset you, lass. ’Tis of no account.” He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm.
“Release me.”
He sighed. “Would it no be easier to finish our talk?”
“It is finished.”
He shrugged.
“Your arrogance is only exceeded by your stubbornness.” Conceding defeat, but only for the moment, she said, “Fine.”
She would convince him to leave off this ridiculous courtship. “Wouldn’t you do better to search
among ladies more amenable to marriage for the sake of marriage than myself?”
Rather than answer her question, he posed one of his own. “Marriage for the sake of marriage? What do you mean, lass?”
She twisted her fan with her free hand. “There are many ladies of the ton whose greatest desire in life is to be wed.”
“Yours isn’t?” The words held a hint of mockery.
“No, it is not.” She spoke forcefully, willing him to believe her.
“Why come to the season if you dinna wish to be married?”
If only he knew. She was tempted to tell him and see how quickly he would go looking elsewhere for a wife. She would not betray her secret in a fit of temper, however.
“I would gladly marry if I knew I would share a union like that of my parents.” The emotion she felt when she thought of her parents’ love spilled over into her words.
“And what was so grand about your parents’ marriage?”
“They loved each other.”
“You canna expect a love match?” Ian sounded horrified.
“Yes, that is exactly what I do expect.” For the first time, Annabelle felt she had succeeded in piercing Ian’s complacent assumption that she would marry him. Giving him a full-blown smile, she nodded her head for emphasis.
“Ye’ll get over that soon enough. Love is no basis for a marriage.” In his agitation, Ian’s burr was more pronounced.
Her smile died on her lips as indignation filled her. “I will not get over it. Marriage for me will have a great deal to do with love or I will not get married at all.”
“Finchley said your head was no filled with romantic drivel.”
Incensed, she frowned at him. “Love is not drivel.”
He put his finger under her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “You will marry me.”
“Never.”
He shrugged and stepped aside. “I’ll call on you tomorrow.” Catching Annabelle’s hand, he bowed over it, never taking his eyes from hers. When he let go, she felt she had been branded by his touch.
She stood dazed for several moments after Ian left. She noticed that he left after speaking to her without dancing with anyone else. Why should he? He had found what he was looking for, an aging spinster to marry.
He doesn’t need a wife. She doesn’t want a husband. Destiny’s not listening.
Gypsy Legacy: The Duke
© 2008 Denise Patrick
Gypsy Legacy Series, Book 2
As children, Brand Waring, heir to the Duke of Warringham, and his brother were kidnapped and sold to a plantation in the West Indies. Now Brand is back to wreak vengeance on those responsible for his brother’s subsequent death. The last thing he wants, or needs, is to be distracted by an instant attraction to a flighty Society belle.
Felicia Collings has found it easy to refuse every marriage proposal, thanks to a ring left to her by her gypsy great-grandmother. Reportedly it will lead her to the man whom she is destined to marry. To her relief, the ring has been blessedly silent on this issue. Until Brand recognizes it, and sparks fly.
In spite of himself, Brand finds himself drawn to the beauty, and to the wounded soul reflected in her eyes. At his gentle hands, Felicia begins to learn what it means to be cherished and loved.
Then the past rears its head to threaten their fragile happiness. As Brand begins to doubt whether vengeance is as sweet as a lifetime with Felicia, he finds himself racing to save them both from not one cold-blooded killer—but two.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Gypsy Legacy: The Duke:
After lunch, Brand followed her from the room. Once in the hall, she hesitated. Brand did not. Taking her arm in a vise-like grip, he led her out into the gardens, away from the house. She was content to keep silent until they were far enough away from the house to be out of earshot.
“I think we should talk, my lord.” She couldn’t stop the nervous wobble in her voice.
Felicia stole a glance at him when he didn’t answer. His face was carved in stone and the expression might have made a more timorous soul shake in their shoes. But she was made of sterner stuff, she told herself.
“I cannot…”
“Don’t.” Brand’s voice was little more than a growl.
Felicia stopped and turned to look at him. He was still scowling, but his eyes softened as he looked down at her.
“We cannot continue on this way,” she blurted out in a rush.
“On that we agree.”
Heartened by his agreement, she dove in. “We just don’t suit.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I can’t be what you want me to be.”
“How do you know what I want you to be?”
Felicia turned to gaze out over the gardens. The early flowers were in bloom, turning some areas into a blaze of color. Folding her arms around her waist in a protective gesture, she told him what she’d never told another soul. “I cannot be your wife. I cannot be anyone’s wife.”
“Why?”
The question surprised her and she turned her head to look up at him again. “Why?”
“I don’t think you misheard me.”
“Because…because, I just can’t.” Felicia had never considered herself a coward, but for some reason she couldn’t explain, she could not tell Brand she was afraid of the marriage bed.
“You’ll have to provide more information if you hope to convince me to release you.”
Brand felt a tiny twinge of guilt as he watched a small ray of hope dawn in her eyes. He had no intention of letting her go. She was his, and in a very short time he had grown used to the notion. Every possessive instinct he owned refused to see her any other way.
She lifted her chin defiantly. “I won’t share your bed.”
He managed not to let his astonishment show. “Why not?”
She looked away. “Because I won’t.”
He would not get any more information this way, he decided, so he tried another tack. Folding his arms across his chest, he asked, “So, if you don’t plan to be anyone’s wife, what do you plan to do?”
She began walking again and he followed. “I’ll take Davey to Journey’s End and raise him there. Then, when I’m gone, it will be his.”
“I see you’ve figured it all out.” He watched her head nod in agreement. “But there’s something you should know.”
She stopped and turned toward him again. “What is that?”
“Journey’s End is not yours to give.”
Felicia’s mouth dropped open. “Wh-what?” Quickly closing her mouth, she looked up at him through narrowed eyes and demanded, “What do you mean it’s not mine?”
Brand shrugged. “Jon and I have discussed the settlements. The property is only part of your dowry. No marriage, no dowry.”
“But, but—” Felicia stammered, unable to create a coherent sentence.
“According to Jon, Jay does not want the property. If you don’t marry, he will probably sell it. He has received offers from a number of landowners in the area around it.”
Brand watched comprehension, then horror, dawn across her face. Something twisted inside him as he watched her realize all her planning was for naught. The property she so blithely assumed belonged to her didn’t.
He was sure Felicia did not realize how suddenly lost and forlorn she looked. If she had, she might have done something rash. Instead she merely stood there and looked at Brand through wide, moisture-filled eyes. The pain in them was more than he could bear, despite that he had caused it.
Stepping toward her, he gathered her into his arms and held her gently. There was nothing he could say to make it better. He knew she would just resent him more if he offered now to let her give the property to Davey. He had told her she didn’t have a choice. It was just taking her time to realize it.
She’d surprised him with her statement about not sharing his bed. But, he reasoned, all young brides held a fear of the marriage bed. He knew young girls often went into marria
ges knowing little about the physical side of it. There was no telling what mothers told their daughters, but what happened to daughters with no mothers, like Felicia? He sighed and looked down at the dark curls resting against his chest.
“Are you all right?”
Felicia had taken the time to regain her composure. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of unhappy news, but you must see there is no other way.”
Felicia shook her head. “I shall just have to find another way.” She spoke as if she hadn’t heard him. “I know Papa settled some money on me, so I’ll have to ask Jay about it. Maybe I’ll just convince Tina to give me the property anyway.” Brand’s arms dropped away and she stepped back from him. “Tina will understand,” she said more to herself than him.
Brand ground his teeth in frustration. Would she never give up on this foolish idea of hers? What was it about Davey that required she waste her life for him?
“Felicia,” he said patiently. “Felicia, I doubt you will sway your sister if her husband does not want her to be swayed.”
She looked back up at him, before turning to walk away again. Once again, he followed. “Tina will understand,” she threw over her shoulder. “Davey will need…”
He reached out and grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him. “For God’s sake, Felicia, why are you throwing your life away?”
Sparks flew from those blue orbs and she stared up at him as if he had two heads.
“You don’t understand!” she nearly screamed at him. “I’m not throwing my life away. Davey needs me!”
“And what about you?” he demanded. “What do you need? Don’t your needs matter?”
She shook her head and continued. “You just do not understand. Davey is the only thing that matters.” Then she turned and hurried away, leaving him staring after her in consternation.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
It’s all about the story…
Action/Adventure
Fantasy
Historical
Horror
Mainstream
Mystery/Suspense
Non-Fiction
Yorkshire: Richard and Rose, Book 1 Page 25
