Page 5 of Brutal Serpent

I remembered what she said about my mother.

Strumpet

Baggage

Whore

Sir Philip entered the room and immediately engaged me in conversation, wanting to know about my horses and what kinds of hunting I enjoyed in the country.

I didn’t give a shit about the country, but I responded curtly, feeling my body tense. I wanted nothing more than to kill SirPhillip right here, tear his tongue out and garrote him. Although he was a big man, he looked lazy and soft.

But it was going to be better to take everything slowly away from him instead.

Everyone in the family was anxious to please me.

ExceptMiss Wendover herself.

She sat on the couch in a simple gray gown with a high neckline, her eyes on her needlework, a little pink flush spreading across her pale skin.

There was something very amusing to me in her soft little defiance of refusing to look at me. I could tell she was frightened of me, and I couldn’t deny that that made my cock twitch in my pants.

There was a knock at the door, and I hid a smile. It was someone passing by who had seen Millward in the gutter. Looking flustered and upset, both Sir Philip and Lady Julia Wendover left the room.

Leaving Catherine alone in the room and at my mercy.

And the sooner she realized it the more entertainment it would be for me.

I moved to sit next to her, feeling a sudden flash of excitement that surprised me. Even before I had made my money in the Navy, stealing cargo from French ships, I had never had trouble bedding women. Lowborn, highborn, they came when I wanted. But this little shy dab of a woman was not just an opera singer to bed, but my wife to be bred with a baby that would make my triumph over the Wendovers complete.

Although Catherine didn’t look up, I sat down next to her, stretching my long legs out, getting closer than was proper, our thighs almost touching. She pretended like she didn’t notice, but I could hear the hitch of her breath.

Up close, I saw a few things I hadn’t noticed before. Her skin was pale and delicate, making it easy to see every flushof embarrassment or change in emotion, her breasts full in her demure gray gown.

I looked over her shoulder to see what needlework she was working on. It was an elaborately rendered portrait of the Garden of Eden, the jewel tones of the green serpent bright as it wound around the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

“And are you a good girl who does what’s in the Holy Book?” I asked, not because I gave a shit about religion, but to see her squirm.

“I-I hope I do what is right, sir,” Catherine replied, darting her eyes around, barely looking at me.

I scooted closer, forcing my thigh against hers.

“My wife needs to be a good girl.”

That did make her look at me, her brown eyes wide and astonished.

“And who is your wife?” she gasped.

I could feel a slow smile spread across my face.

“You,” I said. “Youare going to be my wife.”

“W-why should you want to marryme?” she asked, trying to scoot away from me on the couch.

I moved closer again, my hip hitting hers, the feeling of the soft cloth of her skirts raising an unexpected heat in my body. They rustled as she tried to draw them away from me.

As if anything she could do would prevent me from doing exactly whatever thefuckI wanted to her.

“All you need to know is that you’re going to be my wife,” I said harshly.

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