Page 50 of The Unwilling Bride
A jolt of fear stabbed her. What if someone had seen Kiernan enter the chapel while she was there, and told Merrick? Yet if that had happened, surely he would have said something before now. Relief came, and then annoyance. How she wished Kiernan had stayed at home!
Given how she felt, she had no qualms about making her feelings for Kiernan—or lack of them—quiteplain. “Whatever Kiernan feels, I’ve never encouraged him to see me as anything other than a friend. I don’t love him, and I never have. All I harbor for Kiernan is affection for a friend.”
“He can’t be your only admirer.”
“There have been others,” she readily and honestly admitted. “A few bold young men who thought it would be an easy matter for me to break my uncle’s word, and others who thought my uncle could be persuaded to do so. After they met your father, they realized that his vengeance would be swift if they were successful, and thought better of their plans.”
“So they were cowards?”
“I would say they were wise.”
He came toward her, his gaze intense—and doubtful? “I don’t want you to accept me out of some sense of obligation or duty, Constance.”
She yearned to tell him the truth—her hopes and fears, and what she wanted most of all: a husband she could love, who would treat her as a trusted friend and not a child to be commanded and patronized. She studied his face, his eyes. Could he be such a husband?
His gaze faltered and he turned away to put on a gray woolen tunic. “I hope you won’t continue to hold my decision about Talek against me.”
After her conversation with Henry, which she wouldn’t mention now, she could no longer blame him for his suspicions. “Although I still think your decision was wrong, I was too upset to remember the attack uponyour cortege fifteen years ago, and why you might fear assassination.”
His dark brows furrowed. “You understand me, do you?” he queried as he approached her.
She shook her head. “No,” she admitted, wondering if she’d ever truly comprehend a man seemingly so full of contradictions, “but I can appreciate why you felt you had to send Talek away.”
“Then is there some other reason you dislike me?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.
“I…I don’t dislike you,” she answered, compelled to be honest by his voice and unexpectedly vulnerable expression.
“Yet you either quarrel with me or avoid me,” he replied. “I could believe you want to break the betrothal, except that you didn’t take the chance I offered, and your kisses tell me you want me, at least in your bed.
“Do you regret our betrothal, Constance?” he continued softly, taking hold of her chin and gently forcing her to look up into his questioning face. “Do you wish to be free of me? If you do, I beg of you, tell me.”
Doubt flickered in his eyes as he spoke to her with hushed but fervent resolve. “If you do want to be my wife, I would hear you say it. Or do you still fear that I’ll be like my father? That you’ll become nothing more to me than a broodmare? That in spite of my vows of fidelity, I’ll take other women into my bed when they’re willing, and force myself upon them when they’re not? I give you my word I will not. I assure you, I did vowlong ago that I would never take a woman against her will, and that includes my wife. Nor will I ever strike you, or mistreat you. I will be faithful to you, as I honor every vow and promise I make. So I will ask you this one last time—will you marry me or not?”
All the reasons she should refuse him flashed through her mind.
The younger Merrick had been a spoiled, cruel little brat. His father had been a lascivious, brutal tyrant given to fits of rage, living in constant fear of betrayal and assassination. She couldn’t face a future where she might have to endure living in dread and terror again.
What did she really know of Merrick? He was an enigma, a mystery, a man who betrayed almost nothing of his feelings…but he had shown her something she was sure he rarely revealed to another: a hint of doubt, a shadow of vulnerability, a notion that she could hurt him profoundly if she refused. And make him happier than he would ever say if she agreed.
Could she be happy married to him? She didn’t know. She couldn’t be sure. She had no compass, no guide to tell her what to do.
Except her heart, and the defeated, disappointed look lurking in Merrick’s eyes as the silence stretched between them.
If she denied that silent plea, and the urging of her own heart, she might regret it for the rest of her life.
And had he not treated her with respect? Had he not listened to her opinions and done as she suggested, oroffered a reasonable explanation when he had not? What more could she really expect from a husband?
No other man had ever aroused such desire within her. No other man made her feel as wanted and needed as he did. “Yes, my lord, I’ll marry you.”
With a gasp and a look of astonishment, he pulled her into his arms. He was going to kiss her, and, oh, how different was this anticipation from the dread of Kiernan’s embrace, or the worry that Henry’s kindness was not completely honorable.
When Merrick took her in his arms this time, his lips met hers not with fiery desire, but with tenderness, asking that she respond.
She did, willingly. At the first touch of his mouth on hers, her body ignited, the flames of desire licking along her limbs until she was alight with it. He was simply too much to resist. The need, the hunger he inspired, was too overwhelming. And wonderful.
As he continued to kiss and stroke her, her knees grew weak and her whole body relaxed against him. With no conscious effort, an encouraging moan sounded deep in her throat, while his fingers lightly brushed the pebbled tip of her nipple pushing against the fabric of her gown.
His mouth left hers to slide in slow torment down her neck. Gripping his shoulders, she leaned back, offering her body to him.
