Page 77 of Taming the Heiress
She turned. "I know why you wish to speak to me."
"Do you? Excellent. Let us get straight to it, this wee question of the heart."
"It is hardly that," she said, "and you know it."
"Margaret, you wound me, for you have my lifelong devotion. Now, please do me the honor of marrying me." He captured her gloved hands, his fingers strong and overly warm on hers.
She could not look at him, glancing toward the back garden wall, with its neatly tiered flower beds and espaliered fruit trees. This was one of her homes, a place she loved very much. Yet now she would have to allow him here, tolerate his presence, pretend to others that she loved him.
She would have to allow him into her bed. His hands seemed even hotter over hers, tugging at her wrists.
"Well, Margaret?"
"I—I must have more time," she said. "It is too important a decision to make so quickly."
"You have had months to think about it, from my first mention of it," he said. "I gave you these last weeks and was promised a final answer tonight."
"I cannot, Frederick," she whispered.
"Cannot answer or cannot marry me?" he asked.
"Neither," she said. "I can do neither."
He drew her closer, so that the flexible cage of her skirt flattened against his legs. "You will," he said, bending down. "You know there is no choice for you. I will tell the world. You will be ruined, lady.Ruined." He snatched her shoulders.
"Please—stop!" She twisted against his cruel grip.
"I wish to God I had been the one to ruin you first," he growled, and yanked her toward him so fast that her back ached with the snap. He planted his mouth on hers in a rich, wet, eager kiss, grinding his lips and teeth against hers.
Repulsed and angry, she gave a guttural cry and shoved against his chest, then shoved again, hard. He flew backward, stumbling to the ground, protesting with a loud cry.
Surely she was not that strong, she thought, dazed. Then she realized that Dougal stood over Frederick in the shadows. He had grabbed Frederick, had flung him away from her. Now he clearly meant to finish the task.
He hauled Matheson up by the lapels of his waistcoat. Shoving the man against the glass-and-stone wall of the conservatory, Dougal pinned him there, half lifting the man, though Matheson was slightly taller and a stone heavier.
"So you intend to ruin the lady?" Dougal demanded.
"No—I—that's not what I said," Matheson protested, clawing at Dougal's wrists.
"That's what I heard," Dougal growled. "And I'll tell you what I saw." He shook Matheson again, pressed him flatter against the wall, his arms digging into the banker's chest. "I came out to say farewell to my hostess," he went on, his voice rough edged with controlled rage, "and I heard you threaten her and saw you grab her." He slammed Frederick tighter against the wall as the man struggled to get free.
"Mr. Stewart—please—" Meg said.
Dougal paused. "Are you harmed, madam?" he asked, still glaring at Frederick.
"I'm fine," she said. She glanced up, saw the businessmen who had been with Dougal, saw Guy and Angela, Mrs. Larrimore and the butler, and beyond them a thick cluster of maids and grooms, all gaping. "I'm fine, truly. Please let Sir Frederick go."
"I expect he needs to apologize," Dougal growled.
"I need not apologize for asking the lady to marry me," Frederick said. "She was on the verge of saying aye when you interfered."
"Is it true, Lady Strathlin?" Dougal asked, barely audible.
"I—well, he did ask—"
"Is it true?" Dougal demanded. "Were you about to accept?"
She looked at Dougal, with his strong and fierce heart, and at Frederick, whose heart seemed cold and vicious. She loved one and loathed the other. And she had to protect them from each other.
