Page 10 of Wickedly Yours
I must find a way to escape Corbett and my own foolishness.
The lock clicked behind her and the door swung open.
Corbett was rather smug, his previous good humor restored. He waved in Bess who hastily laid the small table with fresh linens and steaming plates of food before bobbing once again.
Corbett pressed another coin in the girl’s palm.
Shutting the door, he approached the table. “Muttonmy love, with potatoes.” Every word laced with false cheer and affection. “It smells delicious, does it not?”
Arabella turned, facing the bad bargain that was Augustus Corbett. A hasty agreement she’d made in anger. Corbett could not be trusted and the thought struck her that freedom wouldnotbe hers if she married him.
“It smells delicious,” she lied.
While she’d had little to eat since leaving the Dunbar coach, only some cheese and bread Arabella doubted she would be able to eat. Her earlier hunger faded abruptly as she contemplated her future.
Corbett bowed low and pulled out the chair nearest to her. He motioned for her to sit. “My dear. May this be the first of many pleasant evenings together.”
Perish the thought.The brush of his fingertips lingered against one shoulder and her stomach curdled.
“I was so very pleased when you agreed to our marriage, Arabella.” He moved around the table, covering her hand with his. “So pleased.”
She tried to move her hand away.
He slid his fingers through hers, gripping hard. “So cold and aloof. Is it any surprise no man will have you? Exceptme, of course.” He sat himself across from her, the corners of his mouth twisting. “I like a challenge.”
Arabella’s heart raced wildly in her chest as panic escalated. She struggled to focus on her mutton, trying to ignore the bits of oil congealing around the bone. The potatoes, artfully arranged around the meat looked to have been harvested last fall. A bit of mush on the side of her plate may have been a vegetable of some sort. Possibly carrots.
Corbett poured himself wine, studying her before tipping the glass back to drain it. His eyes flitted to her breasts. “I shall ask you in the future to wear more appealing gowns, Arabella.” He waved his glass in the direction of her bodice. “I like to see a bit of skin, possibly your neck would be a start. Or the tops of your breasts.”
An unpleasant feeling clawed against her chest. “As we discussed earlier, your opinion of my clothing is of little consequence. I will continue to wear what I wish as my attractiveness holds little bearing in our marriage.”
A hungry look entered his face. One that frightened her more than she cared to admit. He meant to take his husbandly rights. Stupidly she had believed Corbett when he claimed to not be interested in consummating their marriage. Of course he’d lied. Arabella looked down at the tines of the fork she clasped. It was the only weapon available to her. Lifting her chin she shot him a look that silenced twittering matrons at the fundraisers she so often hosted.
“Verygood, Arabella. Do you use that look to put your servants in place? Perhaps frighten some poor girl who has offended you?” He threw back his wine and poured more.
“I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided we don’t suit.” She was surprised at the firm tone of her voice as she was bloody terrified. “I shall arrange passage back to London on one of the coaches sitting in the courtyard.”
Corbett giggled, slapping his palm against the table. Wine sloshed out on the tablecloth. “Oh, youareamusing, aren’t you Queen Sour?” Patting the grease from his lips he glared at her from across the table. “The only coach you’ll be leaving in is mine.” He nodded to Arabella’s untouched glass. “Drink.”
Arabella stood on shaky legs. “You cannot force me to marry you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I can. Do you think I would allow you to just flounce out of here and go about your merry way? I made sure Seagraves informed your aunt of our agreement. I didn’t wish her to worry.”
Arabella paled. “She would never believe such a thing.”
“Wouldn’t she?” He tossed back the remainder of his wine and poured himself another full glass. “Sit down.”
“I will scream.” It was no idle threat. She wanted to scream her head off. Beat at the door. Surely someone would help her.
“You’re given to fits, Arabella.” His boyish face took on a mournful cast. “Delicate nerves and all that. I’ve already informed the proprietor you have delusions I’ve kidnapped you. My poor,dearwife. I fear you may be destined for the sanitarium.” His mouth grew hard. “Have you ever been to a madhouse, Arabella? Evenyouwouldn’t last long inside such a place. If you continue being disagreeable, I shall send you to one after our marriage. And wewillbe married. Now drink your wine like a good girl.”
Arabella’s mouth went dry at his words. Slowly she eased herself back into her chair, shaken to her very core. A sanitarium? Such a thing had never crossed her mind, for she’d never thought him so bold. As her husband, he would be within his rights to lock her away forever. “I don’t drink spirits,” she whispered.
“Well I think now would be the time to try, don’t you? I’ve no desire to be married to a prude.”
Arabella glared back defiantly as his blue gaze raked over her bosom once more. His interest had become more than passing. She pierced a tiny bit of mutton on the fork, studying the tines and wondering at their sharpness, before chewing the meat. Good Lord, the mutton was terrible. She laid the fork back down next to her plate.
“Youarea prude, aren’t you? Cold, like a block of ice. Not an ounce of fire in you. Perhaps I shall be the man to finally warm you.”
