Page 3 of Harpy of the Ton
“The means?” she couldn’t help asking. “As in…my fortune?”
The weak expression in his eyes hardened, then he stroked her hand, as if petting a dog. “That’s not a subject a lady should bother herself with, my dear,” he said, his voice carrying an edge that sent a cold fingertip running along her spine. “You shouldn’t fill your pretty head with such vulgar notions. Crawford can deal with that on our behalf.”
“Who’s Crawford?”
“My lawyer.”
“I thought Mr. Stockton dealt with my fortune. He—”
She drew in a sharp breath as he gripped her wrist.
“You must desist, my dear,” he said, his chin wobbling. “Your aunt will think you’ve grown quite uncouth if she hears you speaking of anything related to…commerce.”
He spat out the last word, as if it left a nasty taste in his mouth.
“But…”
“I trust you’re not going to prove to be as troublesome a wife as you are a fiancée.” The laughter in his voice belied the cold expression in his eyes. He took her face in his hands, and she stiffened in anticipation, clamping her lips together. But rather than kiss her, he stroked either side of her face. His fingers caressed her chin before settling for a brief moment on her neck and curling around her throat.
He lowered his mouth to hers, but she turned aside, and his lips brushed her cheek. A brief flare of anger shone in his eyes.
“All in good time, my dear,” he said. “All in good time. When you’re my duchess, you’ll belong to me, utterly and completely—will you not?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Yes, what?” His fingers twitched, tightening against her throat as if by accident. “Yes, what?” he repeated.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He smiled, then patted her cheek.
“Sweet young thing—what am I to do with you?Your Grace, indeed! I’d prefermy lord, orsir. But nothing will be as delectable as to hear the wordhusbandfall from your lips. And fall it shall.”
Arabella lifted her chin in the manner of the haughty debutante Aunt Kathleen had schooled her to be.
“Yes, my lord,” she said coldly.
“That’s better.” He patted her cheek. “And now, my dear, I must abandon you once more. Important business that cannot be avoided.”
“I’ll bear your absence with fortitude, my lord.”
Before she could withdraw, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it, sliding his lips across her skin.
Then he bowed and retreated.
Arabella glanced at the back of her hand, which glistened in the afternoon sun, reminiscent of the sticky trail a slug left in its wake. Gritting her teeth to temper the bile rising in her throat, she wiped the back of her hand against her sleeve.
How would she stomach the bridal kiss at the altar—let alone the wedding night?
She reached for her necklace—a thin gold chain with a tiny pearl pendant. A gift from her parents, the mother and father she’d never known, always just out of reach in her memories, beyond the wall of fire she couldn’t penetrate. Not even in her dreams.
Had they lived, would they have insisted she accept Dunton’s hand? Or, had they had a son, would she have remained at the home of her birth, rather than be evicted?
What if…
That was a question she’d asked almost daily since her come-out.
She let out a sigh, glanced out of the window, and froze.
