Page 51 of Married to the Lord

His warm breath whispered across her face and she could smell his expensive fragrance. She gulped hard and closed her eyes to his study of her. Even behind the comforting darkness of her lids, she felt his gaze travel across her, taking in every inch of her body and features. Her limbs ached something fierce from being so stiff but still they would not move. If she tried, she suspected she could shove him away long enough to either make a run for the door or snatch up that poker as a weapon.

Yet again, she was so terrified of life that she could do nothing but wait.

Warmth from his skin skimmed her face and she scrunched her eyes more tightly closed. Maybe he would realize she did not want this. Maybe he would see her fear and just leave. Maybe...

“I have had to ask myself what it is about you that has me so enraptured,” he murmured. “But you really are quite beautiful.” He laughed. “The only man who saw it was that idiot Ashwick and I regret I did not notice it sooner. If he had not been around, plaguing us with his looming presence, we could have spent time together sooner.”

Plaguing her? Miles had not been plaguing her. Quite the opposite. He’d been protecting her and comforting her and trying to help her make the right decisions. Well, she would be damned if she let him down now.

“Leave,” she said, opening her eyes and summoning enough courage to make the word hiss out of her.

“My dear Miss Snow...”

“Leave, I said.” She put palms to his chest, registering how her hands trembled against the planes of his body. He was nowhere near as strong or tall as Miles but her fingers looked tiny and fragile against the breadth of him. Regardless, she lifted her gaze to his. “Whatever you think I did, you are wrong. A mere conversation does not preclude an affair and it certainly does not make you entitled to my body.”

“I think—”

“I do not care what you think!” She gave him a shove. It was ineffectual but she had hardly used all her strength. Drawing in a breath, she summoned more, tightening her arms in case she needed to push him again.

“Are you really going to deny that you were not awfully bored of waiting for your fiancé? That you were looking for a little entertainment?”

“I was bored, certainly. I was, however, not looking for anything like this and I highly doubt any woman is.”

Mr. Jenkin’s skin began to grow red, a flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. She could hear the grinding of teeth. Nausea rolled in her stomach and she fought back the bitterness rising in her throat. He curled a hand deliberately slowly around one arm, then another. She flinched under his touch but he pinched hard, keeping her pinned.

“You cannot tease a man, Miss Snow. I think that is a lesson you should learn now.”

His mouth lowered to hers.

No! It could not happen. The only man she had ever kissed had been Miles and that was how she wanted it to stay!

Shoving both palms against his chest with as much force as she could muster, she managed to create enough space between them for her to swing her knee straight up into his groin. A groan emitted from him and his eyes seemed to almost cross as he doubled over, his hands between his legs. She used the opportunity to grab the poker and brandish it in front of her as he staggered back a few steps.

“Know this, Mr. Jenkins,” her voice trembled but she drew up her shoulders and forced her legs to remain firm, despite the urge to flee the room entirely, “should you come near me again, I shall happily stab you with a hat pin.”

“Damn you,” he hissed.

“I suggest you do as I originally asked and leave.” She gestured toward the window with the poker.

He groaned and glanced at the open window. “You cannot expect me to...”

“You climbed in here and I assumed you had planned to climb out. You can manage.”

“Not with bloody broken bollocks I cannot!”

“If they really are broken, I have done the whole of womankind a favor. You, sir, need to spend less time thinking with them.” She gestured again to the window. “Leave or I shall have my father come up here with his shotgun. The rest of the world might not believe you broke in here but my father would take my word and happily shoot you.”

His jaw ticked while he remained bunched over. For the first time, she heard how heavy her breaths were. She kept the poker stiff and steady, refusing to break eye contact. Finally, he turned to leave. As soon as his fingers were clear of the window, she slammed it shut. She almost hoped he fell if it were not for how horrified her parents would be should they find him in a crumpled heap beneath her window. Her parents would believe she had not invited him in, she was certain of that, but it would not take the housekeeper long to spread word of his visit.

She peered out of the window and watched him scurry away. The gall of the man! To believe that her politeness meant to invite him into her bedroom for a...a liaison! She never realized wearing new dresses and a touch of makeup would invite such behavior. But at least now, she knew the truth. Whoever she had pretended to be, it was not her. She did not enjoy the attention or the gossip it brought.

Slowly, she lowered the poker back to its holder and unfurled her fingers, eyeing the red marks from where she had held it so tightly.

A bubble of laughter escaped her as she recalled Mr. Jenkins’s expression when her knee connected with his groin. He had not been expecting that from her! And, if she was honest, she had not been expecting it from herself.

Well, with any luck, he would never come near her again. She suspected he would go find a more willing woman and lose interest in her now. Augusta lowered herself onto the wide windowsill and pressed her heated forehead against the cool glass. She had lost sight of Mr. Jenkins fleeing from the house but he was likely over in the fields by now at the pace he was moving. She cast her gaze about the gardens and nodded to herself. Just wait until she told Joanna and Chloe what she had done—they would be so surprised.

And hopefully proud. She could not help feel proud of herself. She had finally stood up to a man and refused to let him dictate her moves. Now if only she could do that with the rest of her life...

A flicker in the sky from the corner of her eye caught her attention and she squinted at it. Smoke rose into the air, black and growing in thickness. She did not think the gardener had anything to burn and she had seen no bonfire prepared in the last few days. He usually did that in autumn after scraping up all the leaves.

The smoke grew darker, winding and billowing like an ominous storm cloud. She moved off the windowsill and pulled open the window once more. The acrid scent struck her immediately and she leaned out of the window to try to see the source of it.

Her heart jammed to a half.

The stables.

Someone had set fire to the stables.

Augusta raced out of her bedroom and downstairs. “Fire,” she yelled as she barreled outside in her delicate slippers, not waiting to find out if anyone had heard her as she sprinted to the stable block. There was no chance she was going to let her horses die.

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