Page 44 of Miss Harvey's Horribly Lovable Fiancé
He circled his arms around her, picked her up, pushed open the rough wooden door and carried her inside. One kick of his foot and the world was closed from them.
Shocked, she fought him. But he had anticipated that and curled her arms behind her back. In one glance around the room, he saw that the great room was just as he expected. Huge fireplace, settle table and benches, gun cupboard, a few over-stuffed King William chairs and one huge wooden postered bed. Good. Just what he needed.
He chuckled.
She whirled on him.
But he flipped her over his shoulder, one hand to her very firm derriere.
“Nothing to laugh at here, Giles.” She pummeled his buttocks. “You cannot make me marry you.”
“True. Nor would I want to.”
She sucked in air. “Let me go!”
“No.” He carried her toward the chair, sat and dumped her into his lap like a bag of wheat. Face-to-face, he smoothed errant tendrils from her flushed face as he gripped her wrists in one hand. “I am here to talk, Esme.”
She glared at him. “Do it then and leave.”
“My solicitor arrived yesterday morning, as bad timing would have it, soon after you had departed. My father did sign the papers. I told you at the ball that I had sent him another proposition and that I expected him to agree to it. He did.”
“I don’t care what it is. I won’t allow you to beggar yourself to him for my sake.”
“Good of you, my darling, but I didn’t.”
“You gave him money? Argh! Your own.”
“You are not listening. No. I did not.”
A flicker of hope passed over her lovely heart-shaped face. “Explain that.”
“My new agreement with Brentford is done. It is mine alone and I am happy with it.”
She set her teeth. “Well, whatever it is, three huzzahs for you that you are happy. I however am not. I will not allow my marriage settlement—my father’s hard-earned money to go to your father to pay his scurrilous debts.”
“They won’t.”
She went still. “How is that?”
He traced a fingertip over each of her brows. “You are frowning, my dear.”
“Careful. I may bite your finger.”
“I thought you wanted to be less impulsive?”
“Oh!” She huffed and crossed her arms. “On with this!”
“Argumentative, too. Tsk-tsk. This is no way to begin our marriage, with you in a brown study.”
“If you prefer, I can show you black.”
He arched a brow. “No need. I am in need of an agreeable woman who listens to reason. Will you be that for me?”
She scowled at him. “For myself, yes.”
“Good.” He went on and took up stroking the backs of his fingers along her cheek and down her throat.
She shivered but did not object.
