The Unwilling Bride. Margaret Moore

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      She glanced at the sober crowd watching. Did they see his brutal, lascivious father in his son’s unwavering gaze and stern brow? Did they fear that he would be as harsh and greedy an overlord?

      “Merrick, my boy…or I should say, my lord!” Lord Algernon cried, breaking the silence as he trotted down the steps, his stomach bouncing with every step. “Welcome! Welcome to Tregellas! How wonderful to see you again after all these years!”

      Merrick stopped looking at Constance to regard his uncle with that same unwavering, unsmiling gaze.

      Lord Algernon came to an embarrassed halt. “Surely you remember me, my boy…my lord. I’m your uncle, Algernon.”

      That brought the merest glimmer of a smile to the stony visage. “Yes, Uncle, I remember you.”

      Constance had never heard such a voice. It was husky and deep, and although he seemed to speak quietly, she didn’t doubt that everyone in the courtyard had heard him.

      Lord Carrell likewise hurried forward, albeit with more dignity. “I hope you remember me, my lord. I’m Lord Carrell de Marmont, your neighbor and Constance’s uncle. Of course I would know you anywhere. You have the look of your father about you.”

      “Do I?”

      Constance had had long practice studying a man’s face for any hint of emotion, to better gauge what she should do. Never had she found a man more difficult to decipher, yet even Merrick’s gaze wasn’t impossible to read. Whatever else he was thinking upon his return, he was not flattered by the comparison to his late father.

      Her uncle turned to Constance and held out his hand. “I trust you also remember your betrothed, Lady Constance, although of course she’s changed.”

      “So I see,” Merrick agreed as Constance approached, and in the depths of his eyes something seemed to kindle—a spark of recognition? Or a spark of…something else?

      She knew she was a comely woman. She’d seen men watch her when she danced and leer at her when they thought she couldn’t see. She knew what lust looked like. Was he his father’s son that way, as well? If so, and betrothed or not, she would stay as far away from him as possible.

      Yet his expression was different, too. The desire was tempered, restrained. Held in check, like the rest of his powerful body as he stood motionless in the yard.

      Merrick put his hands on her shoulders and drew her close to exchange the kiss of peace. She steeled herself to feel nothing, and to betray nothing, either in look or word.

      “I remember you, too, my lord,” she said evenly as she moved back.

      Surprise flared briefly. “You were very young when I left here.”

      “Not so young that I don’t remember you and some of your…antics.”

      His brow furrowed slightly, as if he was trying to remember. “You must forgive me, my lady, if I have forgotten happier times. Much has happened to me since I last saw you.”

      She thought of the attack upon his cortege, and a tinge of guilt crept over her. Yet much had happened to her, too, and she would never forget Merrick’s merciless teasing and pinches and the cruel tricks he’d played on the servants.

      Merrick turned to the foxlike knight. “This is my friend and sworn comrade, Sir Ranulf.” He nodded at the knight in scarlet. “This other fellow is also my friend and sworn comrade, Sir Henry.”

      “They are most welcome, too,” Constance said with a bow.

      Sir Henry stepped toward Beatrice, whose face turned nearly as red as his surcoat when he gave her one of the most disarming smiles Constance had ever seen. “And who is this lovely young lady?”

      “That is my daughter, Lady Beatrice,” Lord Carrell said stiffly.

      “And she is my cousin,” Constance added, a note of warning in her voice. Beatrice was young and had a head full of romance; Sir Henry was handsome and flattering.

      “Then I am even more delighted to meet her,” Sir Henry said.

      Constance caught the look that passed between Merrick and his other friend—a sort of patient forbearance. So this Sir Henry was the sort who enjoyed charming women. She would warn Beatrice, and the maidservants, too. “I was expecting you to have more of an escort, my lord,” she said, loud enough to draw the attention of everyone nearby, including Sir Henry.

      “There was no need,” Merrick replied. “I regret I neglected to inform you, but I had other things on my mind.”

      Although she wasn’t sure if he was alluding to their marriage—and everything that went with it—Constance felt the heat of a blush steal up her face and tried to will it away. “What of your baggage, my lord?”

      “A carter is bringing it.”

      “Shall we retire, nephew?” Lord Algernon asked, a bead of perspiration running down his plump cheek. “We have some fine Bordeaux wine awaiting in the hall.”

      “A most welcome suggestion,” Merrick replied before turning to Constance. “I shall lead the way into my hall with my bride-to-be by my side, if she will allow me that honor.”

      Since she had no choice, Constance lifted her hand and lightly put it on Merrick’s muscular forearm.

      Which was as hard as iron.

      An unexpected flutter of heat spread through her body, but she fought to ignore the sensation. So what if he was strong and well built? Had his father not been handsome in his day? Yet look how he had ended. She must not, she would not, tie herself to a man who might turn out the same.

      When the group reached the dais, she immediately lifted her hand from her betrothed’s arm.

      Merrick didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he addressed Lord Algernon. “Is there not somewhere more private? I prefer not to discuss my estate and my wedding where any servant or foot soldier may overhear.”

      His wedding. So he did plan to honor the betrothal agreement. So much for the hope that he would wish to be free of her. She would have to implement her scheme to win her freedom, and the sooner, the better.

      “The solar, perhaps?” Lord Algernon suggested.

      Merrick turned to his friends. “I leave you in Lady Constance’s care.”

      She would have to be careful not to go too far, but she wouldn’t wait to begin her campaign for liberty. She would start now. “If you’re going to talk about our wedding, I should come to the solar, too, should I not? After all, I am the bride.”

      At Constance’s determined pronouncement, her uncle stared at her in amazement, while Lord Algernon gaped with undisguised disbelief.

      In spite of their obvious surprise, the lord of Tregellas merely raised a coolly inquisitive brow. “As you wish. Lady Beatrice, will you be so good as to take charge of СКАЧАТЬ