Page 64 of To Wed an Heiress
Her hands were damp. Her heart was racing and there was an odd feeling in her stomach, almost as if she were going to be ill.
“We’ll return to New York as soon as possible,” he said.
She shook her head. “Ruthie can’t travel yet. Her arm is broken.”
“Then she can stay here.”
“She can’t stay here,” Mercy said.
“That’s the last time you’ll correct me, Mercy.” Gregory’s smile thinned but didn’t completely disappear. “Do you understand?”
She managed to pull away a little. He grabbed her arm and jerked her back, placing his hand on her face again. She closed her eyes, but it didn’t matter. He was still there, still smiling that odd smile at her, his eyes holding a gleam she’d never seen until now.
“Do you understand, Mercy?”
She managed to nod.
Although there had been times when she found Gregory overbearing, he’d never before frightened her.
Until now.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
What the hell did that mean, The man who thinks he’s my fiancé?
Lennox didn’t know why he was angry. Maybe the ache in his arm was bothering him. Another week or so and he’d take out the stitches himself.
There wasn’t one damn reason why he should care that Mercy had a fiancé or that she hadn’t told him. The subject had never been broached.
It should have. When he’d bent his head to kiss her, she should’ve pushed him away, told him that she was engaged to be married. She hadn’t demonstrated any loyalty toward the man who’d asked her to be his wife.
Instead, she’d not only allowed him to kiss her, but she’d cooperated fully.
What a kiss it had been.
He’d lost track of where he was, who he was, and anything other than her. The top of his head had floated off into the clouds and all he’d been conscious of was deep, unrelenting pleasure.
He’d wanted to take her to his bed, keep her there for a week or until they’d worn each other out.
One kiss and he’d nearly lost his mind.
Turning, he stared at the place where she’d worked for nearly an hour. He’d expected her to complain, but she hadn’t. Instead, she’d been intent upon her task. More than once he’d glanced over at her, admiring the picture she presented, the sun bringing out the gold and red in her brown hair. Her lips had been pursed in concentration, the movement of her hand holding the brush capturing his attention.
She hadn’t uttered one word about being warm or bored.
He’d threaded his fingers through her hair and she hadn’t objected to that, either. He’d never done such a thing before. Nor held a woman’s face and tilted her head up to study her features.
He’d been around beautiful women before and had flirted with more than a few. Mercy was different. She had a sparkle in her eyes, a kindness in her heart, and endless curiosity. Since he, too, wanted to know the answers to various questions, he appreciated the trait in others.
No, she wasn’t like other women he’d known. At least he’d thought that until her maid had appeared. There had been plenty of time for her to tell him that she had a fiancé. Why hadn’t she?
He told himself that he wasn’t angry. He certainly wasn’t offended. Any other emotion was out of the question.
She was going back to America shortly. He was a fool to feel anything more than a mild interest in the woman, especially one who said things he didn’t understand. The man who thinks he’s my fiancé.
Yet he liked her. He was interested in her. He wanted to know all sorts of things about her. What were her thoughts about the Macrorys? What was her life like in America?
She wasn’t who she appeared to be, a single woman engaging in an adventure, tempting scandal for a bit of freedom. Mercy was engaged. Soon to be married. Spoken for. Her emotions had already been involved, her future planned.
