Page 161 of Harpy of the Ton
“Would he have been so willing were I carrying another man’s child?”
Dunton’s face reddened. “My dear, you’re distressed,” he said, rising. “You should return to your chamber to rest.”
“I shallnot.”
“I expect you to honor me as a fiancée ought.”
“Will you honor me in return,” Bella asked, “or merely spend my fortune?”
He strode toward her. “It’s my fortune now the marriage contract’s been drawn up.”
She stood, scraping her chair back. “Come no closer.”
“Tut-tut, what a willful harpy you’ve become,” he said, grasping her arms.
“Unhand me,” she snarled. “Do you think I’d marry a man who thinks nothing of abusing me to get his own way?”
He curled his fingertips into her flesh. “You’ve no idea what I’m capable of doing to get my own way,” he said. “You think I can’t control one silly, spoiled little heiress?”
He grasped her chin and forced it upward until their eyes met, his glittering with lust and fury.
“You will marry me, my dear, and you’ll show me proper deference and gratitude.”
“Your Grace!” Aunt Katheleen cried. “Please desist.”
He released Bella’s chin, and she could have wept with relief at her aunt finally coming to her rescue.
“I’ll discipline the girl as I see fit,” Dunton said.
“I did not mean to question your authority, Your Grace,” Aunt Kathleen said, “but with the wedding approaching, it’s better to leave her face unmarked.”
Dunton smiled. “How sensible and practical! Arabella, you’re fortunate to have such a caring aunt.”
He forced his mouth over hers, and her stomach churned as he slipped his tongue along the seam of her lips, probing to gain entrance. She jerked her head back, and he let out a low laugh.
“I like a little spirit,” he said. “It’ll makes the victory so much sweeter when I break you in.”
“You’ll never have me, Dunton,” Bella said.
“Where would you go?” he asked. “You’re already ruined. Nobody in Society will receive you if you refuse to marry me. Whitcombe told me as much.”
“Wh-Whitcombe?” Bella cringed as she recalled the contempt in the man’s eyes the day he encountered her in the Trelawneys’ garden. Whitcombe hated her, and with just cause, given how she’d ridiculed and tormented his wife. Why hadn’t she befriended the gentle, pure-hearted Eleanor? Never did she need a friend more than now.
“I saw Whitcombe at White’s when I was in London,” Dunton said. “He warned me that I’d suffer a lifetime of misery were I to indulge your whims.” He grinned. “I do declare, my dear Lady Arabella, that heloathesyou. Do you think you’d survive without the protection of my title?”
“You cannot force me to marry you,” she said.
“I can, and I will.” He turned to the footman. “Thomas, escort Lady Arabella to her chamber. I’m concerned for her state of mind.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my—”
“She’s been having violent outbursts of late, and I fear for her safety and that of others. Take her to her chamber and let me know if she gives you trouble.”
“Don’t be foolish!” Bella cried. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“I beg to differ, my dear,” Dunton said. “A woman in possession of her wits would not abandon her family and disappear for months, nor would she have violent fits of temper. What say you, Lady Smith-Green? Should we perhaps send for a doctor to determine her state of mind?”
Bella shivered at the undercurrent of threat in his voice. “Y-you wouldn’t…”
