Chapter One
The rough wooden door splintered and bit into her fists. Pain from the gashes it left radiated up her arms but was forgotten instantly as Lara kept pounding and beating at the door, praying that someone, anyone would come and free her from this place.
Someone or anyone but him.
Matthew Trent, Fourth Duke of Marshalling, was the reason she was behind these doors, locked into a chamber that was high in the tower of his castle. He was the reason she was trapped here, unable to escape, unable to leave this place of horrors. She was to be forced into marriage, the contract signed and validated by people of power, leaving her no recourse but to be brought to this place.
It was her father's fault. If not for his stubborn refusal to quit the life of debauched gambler and the debts that he had acquired, she would not be here now, a prisoner to the worst of the rogues that court had ever seen. Lord Matthew was that, a rogue with the penchant for seducing young virgins and leaving them, soiled and spoiled, to be rushed into quickly contracted marriages. He drank and gambled, but unlike her father, Lord Matthew had a way with a wager, never leaving a table as a loser.
His prowess with both women and cards was legendary, as was his skill with the sword and his aim with a pistol.
He had come to their home, a small, modest manor house very unlike the huge castle that was his residence He'd come to retrieve what he was owed by her father. Money that they did not have and had no way of acquiring for her father's friends and family had cut them off without a cent. With his high hat and starched cravat, deep claret colored coat and fawn colored breeches, he'd been the epitome of the dashing young lord.
But in this instance, the clothes didn't make the man, though they did frame what the good Lord had blessed him with. Black hair, rich and thick, curled past his shoulders, clubbed back and tied with a black ribbon. High cheekbones under taut skin and a thin, aristocratic nose, sat above lips that were just a trifle too wide. Black brows slashed across a wide forehead and thickly lashed eyes that were a piercing shade of green seemed to see all with barely a glance. His face and hands were tanned, which bespoke of a man with a love of good horses and riding.
He'd been shown into their parlor by their one and only servant, a woman who'd been with them since before her mother's death ten years before. She'd taken over, raising Lara and her little sister Kathleen, as her father had lost interest in his daughters with the death of his beloved wife. The servant, Mary, was too old to go and find a new post and stayed with the family despite the fact that she hadn't been paid in years.
If Lara had only known, she would have stayed in her room that day instead of investigating the raised voice of her father. But no, the curse of curiosity had been stamped on her early in life, always leading her down the path of trouble, and today was no different.
She crept down the creaking stairs, carefully maneuvering around the third riser that would snap and pop and give her presence away. Slipping carefully past the door to the parlor, she'd peered inside, staring at the back of her father's head as he yelled and postulated to the man who sat in his big leather chair in front of the fire that must have been started just for him.
Lara felt her heart leap in her breast as she stared at the handsome lord, for he truly was a most pleasing specimen to look upon. His eyes were incredible, inscrutable, as was his expression as he listened to her father make his many excuses and rage about the hand he had been dealt.
She must have made some small noise, for he suddenly turned her way, his eyes spotting her in the open doorway and freezing her to the spot. She felt a thrill of fear, for his expression was no longer that of the bored lord. No, he stared at her with a smile that spoke of other things than boredom, things that she knew nothing about at her tender age. Things that she could only guess at and feel a shiver of terror as his eyes slid down her body.
With a gasp, she forced herself away, turning to flee up the stairs, jumping over that third riser and rushing to her room. Throwing herself upon her bed, she pushed down her long skirts and buried her heated face into her palms. There had been something there, something in his eyes that had made her feel dirty and ashamed. She would have to ask her father who he was, for the man had scared her, not a feeling she was used to as she was the one to whom all the problems of the manor fell to.
She didn't know how long she laid there before she realized that the loud and raucous voice of her father was silent now, though she hadn't heard the door close behind the strange visitor. Getting up, she went to the pitcher of water that sat on the small stand and poured some into the basin, rinsing her face and hands with the cool liquid.
As she was wiping them dry on the ragged towel left for that purpose, there was a knock upon her door. Mary opened it at her bidding.
"Milady, you are wanted in the parlor," she said, her well modulated tones enunciating the words carefully.
"Mary, is that man still here?" Lara asked, her voice quivering just a bit in fear.
"Yes, milady. A fine gent he is too, a duke or an earl, I believe." She bobbed a quick curtsey and left the room now that her message had been delivered.
"A fine gentleman," Lara repeated softly, her hand at her breast as her heart beat rapidly as if trying to flee from her body. Taking a deep breath, she went to her dressing table and picked up her brush, quickly taming the blonde mass of curls that resisted her pins. She thought of changing her gown for the one she kept for good, to go to mass or to tea if they were invited, but decided against it. Her father would be up here himself to drag her down to the parlor if she didn't come in goodly time.
Brushing her skirts into place, she took a deep breath and left the safety of her room once more, descending the stairs in a much more refined manner than she had before. She tapped on the parlor door and then stepped inside, her head bowed as she waited for her father to bid her to speak.
"Here she is, your grace, here she is." Her father sounded as if he and the duke, or was it earl, had debated upon her arrival. And now that she was here, he was rubbing his hands in glee. "Stand tall girl, raise your head and let his grace get a good look at you."
Lara did as she was bid, lifting her chin and letting her shaking hands clasp in front of her skirt. She felt the eyes of her father's guest upon her and stiffened her resolve. She would not let either man see her fear for her father was known for his little tortures. It would give him much pleasure to break her resolve this day and in front of this man, Lara could sense it.
She didn't know what their guest thought, but he took his time with his inspection of her person, finally rising to walk with a limping gait towards her. Lara met his eyes, feeling the power of his green gaze and fought not to turn away. She wanted to, for the things she saw there were frightening to the innocent girl. As he came towards her, she lifted her chin, finding that he was so much taller than she, much taller than she had expected.
* * *
Matthew’s eyes roamed over the beautiful girl standing in the doorway, his gaze widening. She was love, graceful and vivid; nothing like the man standing before him. "She is a fine looking girl, Edward. But what would I do with the insipid miss?" he asked, his voice bored, his stance languid, belaying the depth of attraction that pulled at him.
Golden curls escaped pins and tumbled around her with an artless beauty, skin as pale as ivory and as flawless as silk blushed under his inspection. Her eyes, when they met his, had seemed hazel but as he came closer, they turned amber with a dark brown ring circling the iris. A pert nose and lush, full lips completed the picture in a heart shaped face blessed with a pointed stubborn looking chin.
The gown she wore was horrid, unflattering and plain. She should be dressed in satins and silk, velvets and lace, with diamonds dripping from her pretty ears and caressing the long length of her neck. He could see her in midnight blue velvet with a plunging neckline that made the most of her exquisite breasts, the color causing her skin to gleam like a pearl.
She was petite, but her figure was curvaceous though much too slender. He would have to fatten her up some if he took her with him.
"You said your family was after you to wed, your grace. My family is related to royalty, though we have fallen upon difficult times. If you were to take my daughter as your wife, her bride's price could be the amount that was agreed upon."
"A wife?" Matthew asked, his voice breaking with laughter. "What would I do with one of those? They cling and whine and are inordinately annoying if the truth were to be told."
But even as he laughed off the suggestion he realized the merit of the man's ideas. She was a timid lass and would probably be happy shipped off to his country estate once he tired of using her body to slake his lusts. And she would make a lovely hostess for the balls and parties his family was hounding him to have so that he could launch his three younger sisters into society.
He needed sons to pass his title and lands down to, though he had no plans to die for many years yet. Matthew walked around the girl once more, his hands clasped in thought, one finger tapping his lips as he mused over the idea.
"Wife?" the girl gasped, staring at her father with a look of horror. She'd thought to meet and marry a tender and gentle young man, one who would love her and care for her. Not someone like this dark lord whose eyes seemed to strip her bare and make her feel wanting. "You cannot be serious, father."
"Quiet, girl. Do as you are bid. This matter does not concern you." Edward could have slapped Lara. She would ruin everything with her unruly tongue and her overly intelligent mannish ways. He'd never understood the girl, for she showed none of the traits that he thought a genteel young woman should. Her nose was always in a book, but he knew not where she got them, for he had sold all the books in the house and had wagered the money on a horse race.
She bickered and fought with him, her voice nagging in his ears as he dragged himself home, drunk and more in debt night after night. To be rid of her would be a blessing. He couldn't for the life of him think why he hadn't had this idea before.
Matthew's eyes lit as he saw her argue with her father. There was some spirit in her after all. It would be a pleasure to teach her a wife's place in and out of bed. "I suppose that the idea does show merit. Fine, have her things packed. I shall send a coach for her to bring you both to my estate where the papers shall be signed and the banns posted." He stepped closer to the girl, causing her to tip her head back far to stare up at him. With a grin, he dropped a kiss upon her nose, startling her so that she took a step back. "We shall deal well together, ah," he looked at Edward in askance.
"Lara, your grace. Lara Elizabeth Ashley Maitland."
"Lara, yes, we shall deal well with each other." He stepped back awkwardly, bowing quickly and left the room.
As he was handed his hat at the door, he heard her voice ring out in tones of anger that made him smile. "You've just sold me in marriage to a man who didn't even know my name, father. How could you?"
* * *
The coach had come as Matthew had promised and Lara was loaded aboard as if she were just so much baggage, her arguments and recriminations ignored. She'd thought to run but had found herself locked in her room with the order to pack her things or find them left behind and sold off for what they would bring if she didn't. And then the door was locked and she was left to stew.
She'd packed her few belongings, her books and the locket she'd managed to keep hidden from her father that had belonged to her mother. Her other gown was folded and placed with care in the small valise she'd been given, a drawing done by her sister Kathleen went on top and that was it, all she had in this world. She'd had no other choice; stubbornness would have meant losing everything.
Lara hadn't even been allowed to wish her sister good-bye, though Kathleen sat in the window in the parlor and waved as the coach had driven off.
When they'd reached their destination, a huge castle that could be seen from a great distance, Lara thought she'd disgrace herself and be sick. She was terrified, more than she'd ever been before. Her life had gone careening out of orbit, instead of being in charge, she was now the one being ordered about, made to perform actions not of her liking.
Her father had helped her out of the coach, taking her arm in his fat, strong fingers and pulling her up the long stairs that led to the massive front entry of the castle. A footman stood in attendance, opening the door and allowing them inside where he took Lara's tattered cloak, holding it gingerly and then folded it across his arm.
"His lordship is waiting for you. Please, follow me," another footman spoke up, ushering them through a massive entryway that opened up into a hall large enough to fit their entire home in.
Lara stared in awe at the exquisite detailing of the frescoed ceiling, at the curving staircase that was wide enough for an army to climb in formation. She longed to gaze at the many fine paintings that graced the silk covered walls and the tiny portraits, done on ivory disks that sat upon delicate rosewood tables. Marble floors were polished to a high gleam showing off veins of pure silver that ran through them.
For just an instant, Lara wished she could stop and study the paintings and sculptures, and enjoy the wealth of creative talent that was housed in the grand entryway. But that was not to be the case. Her father took her arm, half dragging her behind the footman that led the way to where the duke was waiting to greet them.
The room they were taken to was obviously used as a library as row upon row of books were shelved to reach the high ceilings. There were bookcases on every wall, interspersed with floor to ceiling windows and a huge fireplace where a roaring fire was laid, warming the large room wonderfully. Lara felt her heart leap at the sight of all those books, a veritable orgy of delight to the senses for those who had the intelligence to glean meaning from their printed words.
But then she spotted the Duke, settled in behind a large teak wood desk, a stack of papers in front of him. He looked up as the footman knocked on the door, calling for entry before returning to the pages sat in front of him.
"Sir Edward Maitland, your grace, and his daughter, Lady Lara," the footman announced in a sonorous voice.
"Thank you Jeffrey," Matthew said. "Have Mrs. Owens bring in a tray, please."
He studied his papers for a few moments after Jeffrey had closed the doors behind them and then looked up at his guests. "Please, be seated. I was just going over the required paperwork and contracts to make sure my solicitor had drawn them up properly. I think you'll find all is in order." He slid the papers across his desk, waiting for Edward to pick them up.
"It but requires your signature, Edward. I've made arrangements for the banns to be posted for the next three Sundays hence and until that time, Lara shall remain here with me."
"But, your grace, the scandal would..."
Matthew interrupted, waving his hand through the air as if waving away the objections. "I've thought of the scandal, Edward. Lord, man, you know me by reputation if not by contact. Would you think me too daft to ignore my wife-to-be's sterling reputation?"
"No, your grace," Edward said, the denial quick and fawning as he stood before the desk. "I just wish to know what means you have put into play to protect my girl."
Matthew felt a twist of derision, a feeling of nauseated disgust as he stared at the short toad of a man before him. Edward had all but thrown Lara at him the instant he'd expressed any curiosity at all about the girl. He'd even offered the use of her body for an evening of pleasure, without the stricture of marriage or even of becoming his mistress. All to pay off his gambling debt and keep him from the beating he'd been sure he was to receive.
"Your girl will be my wife in but three weeks time, Edward, and is none of your concern as soon as you sign those papers." He opened the top drawer of the desk, picking up a small pouch and weighing it with a quick toss of his hand. It clinked inside, drawing Edward's eyes like a beacon in the dark. "This is for your trouble, a reward if you like, and also the last money you shall see from me, ever," he said, his tone warning the man easily of the dire consequences of crossing a man of his stature. "Now sign the papers and get yourself gone from my sight. I wish never to see you again, Edward."
Edward, his face pale, scooped up the pouch that had been tossed on the desk and thrust it into the pocket of his coat before taking the feathered quill offered to him by Lord Matthew. With a quick flourish, he signed his name beside the ‘X’ left for him, dating the document and then handed back the pen.
Lara waited for her father to turn to her, to speak some word of caring or compassion. Instead, the man hurried towards the door, glancing fearfully behind him once as if Lord Matthew would change his mind and wish the whole situation undone.
When the doors closed behind her father, she felt betrayal and despair as her only parent sold her to pay his debts and for the money to feed the illness that had changed him so drastically. He'd once been a loving and kind father, devoted to their mother, until her death had changed him. He cared for nothing then, not her or her sister, their home or his own life. Only the gambling and the drinking that had become so all important to him.
She'd taken over then, finding the means to keep the household together until he'd finally gambled away their home and moved them into the small manor house with its cold floors and leaky roof. Even then, she'd persevered, keeping Kathleen and herself safe and as well fed as she could, hiding their few possessions from their father to keep the wolf from the door.
And now here she was, standing in the richness of this castle being stared at by a wolf in man's clothing. "What of me?" she asked, unable to keep the hostility from her voice.
The smile that touched his dark face made her nervous and she wished she'd kept her mouth closed instead of speaking up. It was a curse that came along with the curiosity, this insufferable need to speak her peace instead of staying in the background such as a good wife and daughter did.
"What about you, Lara? Would you like to discuss your future with me?" He chuckled as he watched her stubborn little chin rise and her hazel eyes turn amber with anger. He pushed back his chair, coming from behind the desk to stand in front of her. "What will happen to you is this, my dear. We shall be married, you shall submit to me in all things and after a suitable period, I shall send you to live on one of my country estates. Of course, I shall pay you visits periodically; it wouldn't do for those in positions of power to believe that I have deserted you and banished you to the far reaches. What would such do to my reputation?" He chuckled again, running one finger down her soft cheek.
Lara jerked away from his touch, backing away from him. He followed, stalking her with a cynical twist to his smile. "You can't get away from me, my dear. You've been given to me, signed and delivered."
"Why?" she asked, her voice breaking though she tried to cover it. "Why would you want me?"
"That is a good question, my dear. And one I can answer readily enough. I see what is beyond that ugly hair style and tattered gown. You are most desirable. And your father was correct; my marriage to you will call my family off and make my mother quite happy, especially if she thinks we are glowing with marital bliss."
Lara started as she felt the hard knob from the door pressing into her back. "But I don't wish to marry you," she stuttered, trying to show no fear.
"It's good that it doesn't matter what you wish or don't wish, my dear. I have bought you." His hand came up, his fingers taking a hold of that stubborn chin that gave him such amusement. Staring down into her pretty face, he found himself fighting with an impulse. He wanted to kiss her, to taste her mouth, to sink into her until she learned her place.
"You are lovely," he moaned, his mouth moving to cover hers even as he felt her tiny fists come up to strike out at him.
Lara couldn't move. He held her chin in his hand, his fingers tight against her soft skin. His lips were harsh upon her own, so different from what she'd thought her fist kiss to be, twisting her mouth until it opened and his tongue could probe inside, pushing against her clenched teeth. She felt a sob building and fought against it, pride keeping her from pleading for him to stop. Instead she fought, striking at him with her small hands, kicking at his legs with her slipper covered feet.
Matthew felt the softness of her mouth under his, the sweetness of her breath, the heat of her small body and seemed to forget where he was. His hand held her still even as his mouth roughly captured hers. He felt her struggles almost as an afterthought, blotted out by the streak of desire that shot through him. A groan, unexpected and embarrassing, tore from his throat and he pushed away from her, backing away to stare at her as if she were some kind of witch.
Her hand at her mouth, Lara felt her lips, swollen and bruised from his brutal kisses. Her breasts heaved as she fought for composure, wanting to scream and cry at the blow fate had dealt her. Her hands shook and her body quaked as she wondered how she would fair being his wife, being forced to submit to his wishes as was her wifely duty.
"I won't marry you," she whispered, her eyes defiant even as her lips trembled. "I won't stay here with you. I can't," she sobbed, losing her battle for pride. Her hand found the door knob that was still pressed against her back and turned it, hurrying through the door to run for the entry way, her skirts flying up and around her.
Matthew limped after her. He reached the door just as she was struggling to open it, her hands pulling futilely at the panel, beating upon it when it resisted her every effort to budge it. She felt his hands upon her slender arms and tried to fight, but he was so much larger than her, so much stronger. With a curse, he lifted her in his arms, amazed at how light she felt and how quickly she gave up her struggle, lying limply against his chest.
Lara felt him pick her up, the movement so quick that she grew dizzy and light headed. The room spun around her and she blinked her eyes, staring up at him as his face moved in and out of focus. She closed her eyes tightly, a sick nauseated feeling growing in her stomach. She'd already humiliated herself enough, getting sick and vomiting on him would have been the final straw.
He carried her quickly up the long flight of stairs, hurrying down the wide corridor to a smaller darker one. Instead of silk upon the wall, here it was stone and mortar, the air carrying a distinct chill. Matthew managed to open a small door close to the end of the corridor and carried her up a long circling flight of stairs that lead to a small door at the top. He walked inside, staring around at the dust and dirt, the cobwebs that hung from the ceiling to the floor. A sickly light came in though the dirty windows that were small, little more than mere slits in the stone.
It was cold and damp here in the west tower, a place that not many of the castle folk would come. There was talk of a ghost, the spirit of the first Duchess of Marshalling who, rumor had it, had thrown herself from the top of the tower and onto the rocks below, despondent over the death of her children, all but one of whom had died in infancy. It was said that she haunted the tower and the west wing of the castle, causing dire harm to any that set foot in the area.
The rumors would keep all from the tower. He dropped her legs, letting her slide down his long body until her feet touched the ground. "You find me disgusting, my lady?" he asked sarcastically.
"Yes," she almost spat at him, her hand coming to her head as the dizziness threatened to overwhelm her once more.
"You have no wish to marry me?"
"None!" she cried, forcing herself to step back and face him. "I find you despicable and loathsome, your grace, and wish nothing more than to go back to my father's home where I will pray that I will never see you again."
"We shall see what a few days here in the tower will do to change your mind, my lady. My mother was to send my elder sister to come and chaperon you until our wedding day but I shall tell her you have decided to stay with your father until that happy blissful event." He turned toward the door, taking the heavy iron key from its bolt and palming it. With a sarcastic bow, he headed out the door. "Enjoy your stay, Lara."
Then he was gone and the door was shut, the heavy lock turning with a resounding click. And she was locked in this strange and dirty place.
Panic overwhelmed her and she ran to the door, her fists pounding on the scarred and splintered wood until blood ran in tiny rivulets down her arms. Only then did she manage to stop, sinking down to the dirty floor, her back against the door, her head bent as the tears she'd fought so long began to stream down her face.
"How could you father?" she sobbed despondently, burying her face in her sore hands. It was the pain that finally brought her out of her despair, pain and the cold that was getting steadily worse. While she still had light enough to see, she had to do something for herself so that she wouldn't freeze and to make herself more comfortable. But first, she had to see to her hands.
A few splinters still stuck in her flesh, her skin was abraded with nasty scratches and gouges where the splinters had torn out. With a hiss of pain, she pulled the first splinter out, and then the next, a tiny whimper escaping as she reached the biggest one.
Lara bit her lip, grabbing the thin wood with two fingers and pulling quickly. As soon as the splinter was out, blood welled in the long cut that was left, one drop falling from her palm and landing on the skirt of her dress.
There was no hope for it; she had to bind her hands. With a sigh of regret, she reached down and carefully ripped a long strip of fabric from the bottom of her skirt, staring at the ragged edge that was left. Then she ripped it in two, using her teeth to pull it apart and then wrapped the strips around her hands, stopping the blood. It would keep the wounds clean, or cleaner than they would be otherwise.
Getting to her feet, she felt her head spin again and fought the now familiar feeling. She had sold the last of their saleable items weeks ago. With that gone, they were forced to ration their food, hoping beyond hope that father would finally get that change of luck he was always going on about. But until that time, Mary was old and needed nourishment to continue working and Kathleen was still just a girl and looked to Lara for her care. She couldn't disappoint either of them.
So her portion of the rations had mostly been given to the two of them. It hadn't been bad at first, giving away a few bites of food, and going to bed slightly hungry. But now it had been two days since she'd had anything more than a small slice of bread, filling her gnawing stomach with water to take away the pain of hunger.
The gnawing ache was now a pain that was hard to ignore, especially now since she had no water to soothe her cramping stomach with. She had to do something to take her mind off the pain. Looking around the room, she noted it was mostly empty. A small iron bed, the mattress lumpy looking and covered by a very dusty blanket took up most of the space. In the corner was an old wardrobe, one door hanging half off on one rusty hinge. An ancient rocking chair sat next to the window, as if waiting for its owner to come back and stare out at the view of the rocky hillside.
Lara went to the wardrobe, yanking weakly on the door until it opened. Inside, a sheet had been draped loosely and she started to work to pull it free.
The cloud of dust that rose from the sheet made her sneeze and she stepped back to let it settle before peaking into the wardrobe to see what treasure she'd uncovered. With a gasp, she let her hand trail over her discovery, feeling materials of every description she could think of brush her fingertips.
A pale blue velvet caught her eyes and she pulled it free, holding the material against her waist with one hand while holding it up. It would be warm and soft and feel wonderful against her skin, so much more so than the ragged cotton day gown she wore.
She shook the gown once, hard, to make sure it was free of any kind of spider or insect and then laid it down across the old bed. Stripping out of her own gown took seconds and then she was slipping the velvet on. The gown fit as if made for her, cupping her breasts and holding them tightly, flowing from a darker blue ribbon high on her waist to just cover the toes of her slippers. It had long sleeves that fell from a gathered shoulder and formed a point over the back of her hands, fitting tightly.
The gown smelled a little musty, a little like the wardrobe it had been tucked into, but it was warmer and covered more of her than her own little day gown. Now that she was a little warmer, she went to work on cleaning up some of the mess, pulling the gowns made from heavier material out of the wardrobe to use as bedding of sorts, she layered them on the lumpy mattress, finally lying down as the last of the light left the room.
She must have slept, though she didn't remember falling into slumber, for when she opened her eyes, darkness unlike any she'd felt before was around her. The moon, though high in the sky, was far from being full, its pale light falling short of illuminating the tower. Something had disturbed her sleep, something strong enough to pull her from her exhaustion. Pushing aside a velvet skirt, she sat up and looked around the tower.
She heard an eerie creak and then a footstep but no matter how hard she strained, she could make out no form in the darkness. Suddenly, a slight glow appeared, a figure, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her head held at an unatural angle, seemed to materialize from that glow. The figure paid her no mind, gliding to the small chair and sitting down. She seemed to be staring out the windows, her eyes searching for something or someone.
Just as Lara was working up the nerve to say something, the figure rose once more, her hands reaching behind her neck as if unclasping an object, and then she seemed to throw herself through the window, the glass shattering around her body, the sound of her scream cut off suddenly as she hit the rocks far below.
Lara jumped out of the bed, a scream escaping her own mouth, running towards the window, her hands hitting the window sill as she tried to look down. Her head connected with the glass, surprising her. She'd seen and heard the glass shatter, watched as the woman had thrown herself onto the rocks below.
But the window was unbroken, nothing lay upon the rocks.
"It's hunger," she said, her voice loud in the eerie silence. "I'm seeing things because I'm hungry and tired and so upset."
She huddled on the bed, gathering the warm fabric of the dresses around her. She thought she wouldn't sleep again but her eyes grew heavy and closed despite her fear.
* * *
Matthew stared down at the small figure huddled under a rainbow mountain of fabrics. He'd brought her a tray for breakfast for it was not his want for her to starve despite her stubbornness. Setting the tray on the floor, he noted her bandaged hand, the blood soaking through the thin material, though it was dark brown and not bright red as it would be if the wound were still bleeding.
He sighed, wondering what there was about him that would make her fight marrying him to the point that she would injure herself and wish to return to that cold, fetid manor house he'd rescued her from.
"Stubborn minx," he said quietly, his eyes tracing her fine features and silky skin. She seemed pale, too pale, he thought, feeling the urge to brush his fingertips over the skin of her cheek and see if it was as soft as it looked.
Lara opened her eyes, feeling a presence in the room. She'd slept well after watching her midnight visitor leap to her death, neither dreaming nor waking again until now. The scent of food assailed her nostrils as she sat up, seeing Lord Matthew standing over her, his eyes hardening as she looked up at him with fear.
"I've brought you food," he growled, feeling a frustrated anger simmer in his stomach. "And come to see if you've decided to be reasonable, or if a more direct approach must be taken. Will you consent to the marriage?"
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