Page 78 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer
As he leaned across her, his breath touched her neck, making the small hairs on her skin rise as they had done from the very first time Paul had introduced her to this man.
She wished she could run. But to where, and what about John? How would they survive without Lieutenant Colonel Hillier’s shelter and food?
He slid the pearls about her neck, his fingers brushing her skin as he secured it.
She shivered. It felt as though he had secured a collar about her neck, as though she was his pet, to be secured with a chain. Perhaps a silk chain…
‘There, they look perfect against your skin, and your hair, Ellen.’ He returned to his seat.
Ellen said nothing.
‘Are you not going to thank me?’ The pitch of his voice changed from the tone he used when he believed himself to be expressing love, to the one he used when he gave up asking and forced her.
Ellen looked at him.I hate you.
He held her gaze, his expression becoming bitter. ‘I said, say thank you.’
‘I do not need them or want them,’ Ellen answered quietly, hoping the footmen would not hear.
‘You will be grateful for them.’ His pitch lifted in defiance.
Damn you!All the other coarse words she had learned among Paul’s men spun through her head. She wished to throw them all at Lieutenant Colonel Hillier… ‘Thank you.’ She whispered her answer, while she shouted the wordsI hate youin her head.
He looked away and bid the footman, ‘Serve the meal.’
No matter her fear, when dinner was served, her stomach growled at the prospect of a proper meal; she had been eating only leftovers, cold meats and cheeses in her room.
The footman filled her plate, then poured her wine. She ate, listening to the lieutenant colonel speak without replying in anything more than words of a single syllable, desperately rushing to finish the meal and return to her room.
He drank constantly, taking a gulp of his wine between nearly every sentence. By the point her glass was empty his had been replenished thrice.
Ellen held her hand up, covering her glass when a footman sought to refill it.
‘Let the man pour,’ Lieutenant Colonel Hillier barked.
Ellen looked at him, discomfort unravelling in her nerves. ‘I do not want more wine, thank you.’
‘You are living in my home, if I say have more wine, you will have more wine.’
Embarrassment and anger prickled up Ellen’s spine, as she removed her hand. She could not bear the servants hearing his rudeness.
She looked at the remnants of her meal. She was no longer hungry. She placed her knife and fork together, left them on the plate and lowered her hands to her lap as she looked at the unwanted full glass.
‘Well, drink it as it has been poured for you,’ he said.
The man was obnoxious. She looked up and saw that he had drained another glass and held it up to be refilled. Her stomach tumbled over, unease closing in on her as if the walls of the room were moving inward.
‘Drink,’ he ordered.
With the servant in the room to watch, she did, uncomfortable to even live within her skin. She would get out of this house.
Sipping only a tiny little taste of wine, she watched him smile, as if pleased. He talked again, between mouthfuls, as Ellen continued sipping her wine and watched him, saying nothing now.
The plates were taken away and dessert presented – a grand statement of meringue and orange jelly. The sweetness was oddly bitter in Ellen’s mouth, as across the table she saw Lieutenant Colonel Hillier’s glass refreshed again. He was edgy, and irritable, and she was afraid of doing or saying something which would lead to…No, she could not think of that nor endure it, not now John was upstairs.
But he had bought her a gift and she knew what that meant. The pearls lay heavily about her neck.
They ate the last course in silence, as the footmen stood back and watched, and while Ellen occasionally took tiny sips of her wine to prevent the lieutenant colonel’s anger, he took great gulps and then waved a man forward to refill his glass.
