The Convenient Felstone Marriage (Whitby Weddings 1)

In which case, why not accept Robert’s proposal? It was a good one, everything her new sensible persona could ask for, even if it was all a pretence. Neither of their hearts was in any danger. He’d been brutally honest about that, telling her he wasn’t capable of love—lau

ghing at the very idea—and making it abundantly clear that he’d no romantic intentions towards her, let alone physical ones. She didn’t need to provide him with children, didn’t need to do anything except put on a respectable façade.

More importantly, he was the one who’d said the past didn’t matter. And if it really didn’t, if he was truly looking to the future, then perhaps there was no need for her to tell him anything about hers either. The only people who knew about the elopement were Percy and Albert’s family, none of whom were ever likely to tell. So long as she was beyond reproach now, surely that was all that mattered. The past could stay in the past and she could accept his proposal with a clear conscience...couldn’t she?

She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on top, already knowing the answer. The truth about her elopement wasn’t particularly scandalous. She’d shared a closed carriage and a few stolen kisses with Albert, that was all. But Robert had proposed believing her to be someone she wasn’t, someone without a past, without any hint of scandal, and definitely without the strange urges he seemed to awaken in her, urges that would probably repel him if he ever knew about them.

Not that he’d seemed entirely averse to her at the ball. During their dance—those few moments of weakness when she’d let the old Ianthe free from her self-imposed prison—his expression had shifted to something strangely akin to yearning. He’d accused her of looking like a different woman, but he’d seemed a different man, too. His tall, powerful body had moved to the music in perfect time to hers, the metallic hardness of his eyes turning smoky, as if the iron in them had melted, boring into hers with a nerve-tingling intensity...

She heard a crunch behind her and glanced casually over her shoulder, expecting to see a squirrel or bird and finding Sir Charles there instead. For a few terrifying seconds her heart seemed to thud to a standstill and then start pounding again, harder and faster as if to make up for lost time. He was standing only a few feet away, staring at her with a voracious expression that made her blood run cold.

She scrambled quickly to her feet, alarm bells clamouring a warning in her head. Something in his expression warned her that things had changed between them. There was nothing elegant or urbane or remotely gentlemanly about him now. Outside the trappings of society, his face looked leaner, sharper and more predatory, the fervent look in his eyes pinning her to the spot.

She dragged in a breath, trying not to panic as she looked around for a route of escape. It was impossible to think that he’d simply found her by accident. She was in a secluded part of the ruins and she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. He must have followed her deliberately. Why? What did he want from her? If the look on his face was anything to judge by, she didn’t want to find out. She only knew that she had to get away from him as quickly as possible.

Even if the only way out was around him.

‘Good morning, Sir Charles.’ She tried to brazen it out, keeping her tone as casual as possible. ‘It’s a pleasant morning for a stroll, is it not?’

‘Ianthe.’ His voice was a hard monotone. ‘I don’t like being made a fool of.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her throat tightened uncomfortably.

‘You left the ball very early last night.’

‘I was tired.’

‘You embarrassed me.’

He took a step forward, and she dug her heels into the grass, resisting the urge to back away. She had a feeling that he’d pounce if she showed even the faintest sign of weakness. Her only choice was to face him down, confront him and hope that she found an opportunity to escape.

‘That wasn’t my intention, but I had every right to leave when I wanted.’

‘What about spending half the evening with Robert Felstone?’

‘That would be my business.’ She inched her chin up defiantly. ‘He’s an acquaintance. I don’t see how my talking to him reflects upon you.’

‘I made introductions on your behalf.’

‘I never asked you to.’

She glanced quickly past his shoulder, searching for aid and finding none. There was no one around, no one to see, just crumbling stone walls and a screen of foliage. What had she been thinking, coming here on her own, believing that the romance of the past would somehow protect her? How could she have been so naive? Again! She might as well have sent Sir Charles an invitation. Every instinct told her to get away from him now. If she could just get away from the castle and back on to the street, surely he’d never dare to accost her in public like this.

‘Now if you’ll excuse me...’ she stepped to one side, attempting to curve around him ‘...I’m late for lunch with my aunt.’

A hand shot out, catching her arm just above the elbow. ‘You know I’ve always taken a keen interest in you, Ianthe.’

She froze, her blood turning to ice beneath his touch. ‘There’s no need for you to do so.’

‘I think there is.’ He yanked her towards him suddenly, holding her so close that she could feel the rasp of his breath on her cheek. ‘And you’re not going anywhere until we understand each other.’

‘No!’ She tugged on her arm, but his grip only tightened.

‘Your mother was wilful, too.’ His voice hardened as he watched her impassively. ‘Headstrong. Impulsive. Stupid.’

‘How dare you!’ She stopped struggling and swung her free hand up instead, slapping him hard across the face, but he hardly seemed to notice.

‘I loved her anyway. I always did, but I was too young when we met. My parents refused to consider the match so I let her get away. It was the biggest mistake of my life. I won’t make the same one with you.’