Page 8 of The Scot is Hers
“Terrible. One of our grooms was struck by lightning, and our carriage had to be repaired when it slid on the road. We should have waited to come. Do admit that such catastrophes on the road are not a good sign.”
“A good sign of what?” He tilted his head, studying her. His eyes squinted at her, and there was a furrow between his brows.
Giselle couldn’t decide if he was stupid or if he was challenging her to admit these were all bad signs for their union. There was a twitch in the corner of one of his eyes and a gleam that came into his regard, which had her tongue stilling. This was more than a challenge; it was a dare because he wanted to react. And she had a feelingthatreaction would be more unpleasant than his roving gaze or hands.
How unnerving.
“Oh, nothing.” Giselle took her hand from his to wave it away, both an escape from his touch and dismissal of her previous statement. She laughed in a way she’d learned during her seasons to convey that she meant to be silly. It was fake but necessary. “Just me being superstitious.”
But Sir Joseph didn’t laugh with her. He didn’t even smile. His frown deepened, and the air around her became charged with a sense of doom. “Do explain.”
Giselle licked her lips, fighting back a fit of nerves that suddenly gripped her belly. She gave a little laugh that she’d seen other women in the ballrooms do when they had put their foot in their mouth. “Oh, Sir Joshua, ye are funny.”
Still, he didn’t bite. “How so?”
Goodness, but either he was purposefully trying to make her uncomfortable or not at all good with deflection. Either way, she was utterly failing at her task. Giselle was always straightforward. Out of practice with this sort of illusory conversation. Perhaps it was her face. She’d always had a hard time keeping her expressions hidden. Her mother often lamented that she was like an open book. And right now, Sir Joshua was eagerly reading the pages.
“Are ye no’ superstitious, sir?” she asked, deciding to do away with the game she was bound to lose and embrace her talent for directness.
“Nay.” He frowned. “That’s ridiculous. The weather does no’ predict anything.”
That wasn’t entirely true if one were being literal, but she decided not to argue again because what she really wanted now was for this conversation to be over and for him to leave her room in peace. Her toes were beyond wrinkled from being wet and cold, and she desperately needed to kick off her slippers, yank down her stockings and wiggle her bare feet before the flames in the hearth.
“Quite right.” She offered a demure smile, hoping that would appease him, even if it made her face hurt.
His demeanor changed then, and he too smiled as if he’d not been displeased with her. Challenging her. Indeed, possibly threatening her. But his smile was not welcome, nor his advancing step, which closed the already minuscule distance between them.
Joshua grabbed both of her arms above her elbows, his grip a little too tight, and tugged her against him. Her breasts were suddenly crushed uncomfortably against his chest. A sharp jewel on the pin of his lapel jabbed her painfully on the neck. Shocked speechless at the pain, she attempted to step back, if only to put an inch of space between them, but he held steadfastly.
“I want to greet ye properly with a kiss, as ye will be my wife.” There was no dare in his words this time but a demand and an expectation that his desires would be met without defiance.
“Oh, but we could no’,” she said, shaking her head, instinctively pressing her lips firmly together, and her body stiffening. “That would no’ be proper at all.”
“But we can. And we will.” He leaned in, his lips puckered, and Giselle turned away, only for his seeking mouth to follow.
Joshua pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. Using his hand, he forced her face forward until he had planted his hard mouth onto hers. His breath fanned harshly against her face, smelling very much like liver and onions with a hint of something else sour as if he’d washed it down with rancid milk.
The experience was unpleasant and unwelcome. Giselle’s stomach roiled, and she swallowed hard, knowing that if she vomited against his face, the repercussions would be unbearable. His mouth stayed too long against hers, his passion increasing as evidenced by the rapid way he was breathing through his nose.
“Oh, Giselle,” he murmured against her lips as if they were lovers and this a pleasant embrace.
Her eyes were wide open, his closed, and she watched with horror as he continued to kiss her, almost as if she were out of her body. Was she going to be subjected to this for the rest of her life?
Aye, she would be, and worse because she’d have to perform the marriage act with him. More than once—at least twice for the heir and spare. While she might be able to hold her gags in now, being forced to lie with him would be different.
Giselle had not done a lot of kissing. This was her first. But she was fairly certain this was not the way it was supposed to be. The kisses she’d read about in her novels were full of passion, fluttery hearts and sweaty palms. Right now, the only thing she was passionate about was how to extricate herself from this situation.
At last, Joshua pulled away, a hungry look in his eyes that had her fearing he might kiss her again, or worse, start pawing at her person. She was quick to take a step back, her cheeks hotter than Hades.
“More of that later,” he murmured, smacking his lips like a feral animal.
Giselle cleared her throat, not knowing the right response to that at all and fearing if she opened her mouth, all she’d do was scream “Nay, nay, nay, get away from me.”
Joshua backed toward the door. “I will see ye downstairs shortly.”
Giselle nodded because, again, she was too afraid to speak for fear of shouting something inappropriate.
3
