Page 27 of His Bride

“We’re not going back until you have something to wear,” she says. “So stop pouting and follow me.”

I know I have no choice. I cannot imagine wearing this dress for a third day, let alone going back to Arthur empty-handed. So I give into Lydia’s demands, and I let her lead me about the town.

I am surprised to discover that I am pleased and nervous to see Arthur again. He emerges from his office as we return. There are two soldiers commandeered by Lydia carrying all the bags. I ended up getting a complete wardrobe.

“Did you girls have fun shopping today?” Arthur asks the question with a knowing, indulgent smile much like the one my father used to wear when my mother and sister would return from the markets. If there is one thing men like to think they know about women, it is that they allegedly like shopping.

“I hope you like what I bought,” I tell him, sidestepping his question.

“Mhm, I am sure I will,” he says. He then looks over my head, his gray gaze finding my bodyguard.

“Why was my innocent bride in a brothel supply shop today, Lydia?”

“She ran into it before I could stop her, sir.”

Arthur gives me a look. I know Lydia is not going to lift a finger to get me out of trouble—if I am in trouble. I’m not sure which one of us is in his bad books, as it were. Then he looks back at Lydia.

“You know that I know there is nothing she could possibly do that you could not stop her from doing,” he says. “I am sure you thought it was very amusing, but you are to guard her mind and her propriety as much as her body. I don’t want to hear about any incidents like that again, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir,” Lydia demurs immediately. She doesn’t argue with my husband. She submits immediately and completely to him. She doesn’t argue with him the way she argued with me, and she certainly doesn’t talk down to him.

He had people watching us the entire time, I realize. Lydia might be my bodyguard, but I doubt there is anywhere in the city I can go that he would not see me.

“Go and get ready, Mila,” he tells me. “We will be departing shortly.”

CHAPTER 4

Mila

As I do as I am told, I wonder what would happen if I were to tell on Lydia. He might know where I was, but I doubt he knows she called me a bitch.

I did end up with what I consider to be a very nice black dress. It has a certain sparkle in the fabric so I shimmer when I move. It clings to my body in what I am told are all of the right places. I think it transforms me. With my curves on display, I no longer look quite as young. I have also chosen to wear a very red lipstick as well as eyeshadow. It is too heavy and dramatic a look for the countryside, but it feels appropriate for this city.

“Look at you,” Arthur compliments me when I emerge from the bedroom. “You did well today, Mila. That is a lovely dress.”

“Thank you,” I smile, very pleased to have pleased him. I feel very sexy in this garment. I feel ten years older and endlessly more sophisticated. In this outfit, nobody can tell me anything. I don’t think I’ll ever take it off.

He puts shades on as he prepares to leave the house. They cover his eyes with a dark barrier that must block out the light that would otherwise hurt or harm. It is a pity, because I can no longer read his expression quite as well.

“I like that I am traveling with you,” I tell him as we get into a vehicle. Sleek, low-slung, with just two seats. There’s no room for a third-wheeling bodyguard with a fixation on my husband and an obvious dislike for me. I like that.

“That’s very sweet,” he says, smiling.

“I wish I could always travel with you, not Lydia. She’s rude to me.”

He glances over at me. “She will keep you safe,” he says. “Attitude aside, there are few I trust as much as her.”

Those words spark jealousy deep inside me. I don’t like the idea that he thinks highly of anybody else, especially Lydia, who is a woman. She might not be his mate, but she is obviously part of his life.

“You can wipe that sour look off your pretty face,” he says dryly. “She is not a threat to you in any way. She is not interested in men, least of all me.”

“Everybody is interested in you,” I say, entirely missing his meaning.

He chuckles. “That’s adorable. You’re already jealous.”

“Would you not be jealous if I were surrounded by men who all thought I was the most amazing creature on the planet?” I ask the question, and then immediately regret it. He probably would not care. He only met me yesterday, and he has to tolerate me,because the Artifice said so. Men aren’t jealous of women they have been compelled to take into their bed.

“I would kill any man who looked at you inappropriately,” he says smoothly.

---