Bride For A Night. Rosemary Rogers

reluctantly followed in the butler’s path.

      Her heart was thundering and her palms sweating by the time she reached the formal parlor, but she did not allow herself to pause as she stepped into the room heavily decorated with lacquer furnishings and crimson velvet. The slightest hesitation would allow her cowardice to take hold, and she would be fleeing to her room in terror.

      The idea of flight remained a distinct possibility as her gaze landed on the tall, golden-haired man who always managed to make her heart leap with a dreadful excitement.

      This morning he was attired in a pale blue jacket and silver waistcoat that was fitted to his body with flawless lines. Standing confidently near the ornately carved chimneypiece, his elegant style only emphasized the gaudy opulence of the gilded ceiling and massive Chinese vases that were arranged about the carpet.

      He stiffened at her entrance, his expression unreadable as his gaze ran an unnervingly intimate inspection over her disheveled appearance.

      Talia flushed, acutely aware that the lace of her gown was worn and her simple braid was better fitted for a servant than a lady of breeding. She had no notion that the steam from the laundry room had made the thin gown mold provocatively to her feminine curves. Or that the glossy curls that had strayed from her braid only emphasized her earthy beauty that would tempt any man, particularly one jaded by the frigid perfection of most society ladies.

      And she most certainly would never have considered that any man could be imagining her spread on a bed of wildflowers as he ripped away her worn dress to reveal the smooth purity of her ivory skin.

      She only knew that his unflinching survey made her feel hot and flustered in a manner she did not understand.

      Licking her dry lips, she offered a clumsy curtsy. “My lord, I fear I was not expecting you.”

      Almost as if her words had jerked him from an unwelcome spell, Lord Ashcombe stepped from the fireplace, a sardonic expression hardening his handsome features.

      “I surely do not need an appointment to call upon my fiancée?” he mocked.

      Her flush deepened. “Of course not, but I was not prepared to receive visitors. If you do not mind waiting I will change…”

      “But I do mind.” He cut short her babbling. “I am a very busy man, Talia.” His lips twisted in a self-derisive smile. “Besides, we both know I was not driven here by the overwhelming urge to catch a glimpse of my beautiful bride-to-be.”

      She flinched, wounded by his scorn despite her determination to remain immune to his taunts.

      “There is no need to be insulting,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “If you have come to cancel the wedding, then I would appreciate you completing the task so I can return to my duties.”

      “What the devil?” His brows snapped together, shocked by her words. “You believe I have come here to cancel the wedding?”

      “Why else?”

      Something dangerous glittered in the silver eyes. “Has your father decided to end his threat to sue my brother?”

      “I…” She gave a shake of her head. “My father has not discussed his intentions with me.”

      “And you have no reason to suspect that he has lost his desire to acquire an earl as his son-in-law?”

      She hunched a shoulder. “No.”

      The prickling threat that had filled the air eased as Gabriel gave an impatient wave of his hand.

      “Then, barring a miracle, it would appear the marriage will take place as scheduled.”

      She clasped her hands together as she sought to comprehend his odd mood. What was the matter with him? He seemed almost…angered by her mention of canceling the wedding.

      Or perhaps he was simply angry that she had reminded him of the distasteful event.

      Yes, that was much more likely.

      “May I ask why you have come?”

      He gave a shake of his head before reaching for the stack of papers he had left on the mantel. With a sharp motion he shoved them into Talia’s hand.

      “These must be signed by your father before our wedding.”

      She glanced at the official-looking parchment in bewilderment. “What are they?”

      “Legal documents that ensure I am protected.”

      “Protected?” She frowned, lifting her head to meet his unwavering gaze. “From me?”

      “From you, and more important, from Silas Dobson.”

      “What threat could we possibly pose to the Earl of Ashcombe?”

      He shrugged. “They are clearly described in the documents.”

      She returned her attention to the papers clutched in her fingers, a nasty sense of dread settling in the center of her heart.

      Silence filled the stuffy parlor as she attempted to unravel the legal nonsense. It took only a few paragraphs to wish she had not made the effort.

      Mortification made her gasp at the cold, methodical dissection of what should be a loving union.

      It was not the insistence that her dowry would be under her husband’s control, or that she was offered no more than a small allowance to cover her household expenses. Or even that she was to be given nothing in the event of the dissolution of their marriage. Those she had assumed from the beginning of their devil’s bargain.

      But to know that Lord Ashcombe had discussed her most private behavior with a complete stranger made her sick to her stomach.

      “You believe I would be unfaithful?” she rasped, raising her head to stab him with an offended glare.

      He shrugged with an arrogance that made her long to slap his handsome face.

      “I believe your morals are questionable at best and I will not be cuckolded in my own home.”

      She clenched her hands. Unfeeling bastard.

      “And am I allowed to insist upon a similar pledge of fidelity?”

      His smile was without humor. “Of course not.”

      “Surely that would only be fair?”

      Without warning he strolled forward, his hand cupping her chin in a touch that scalded her sensitive skin.

      “I do not intend to be fair, my dear,” he murmured, the silver gaze studying her pale face with an alarming intensity. “I am in the position to dictate the rules of our marriage, not you.”

      “And your rules include the right to parade about town with your mistresses while I am expected to remain at home and play the role of the dutiful wife?”

      She shivered as the heat of his body easily penetrated her thin gown. Dear heavens, she had so often dreamed of this man holding her in his arms as they danced across a ballroom, but harmless fantasies did not prepare a poor maiden for the reality of his overpowering presence.

      “What do you think?” he growled.

      She lowered her lashes, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing how painful she found the thought of him with another woman.

      “I think you will do whatever possible to humiliate me.”

      He lowered his head until she felt the brush of his warm breath on her cheek.

      “Would you prefer that I remain at home with you, pretending to be a devoted husband?”

      She hastily pulled from his touch, as horrified as she was baffled by the quivering sensations that fluttered through her at the brush of his hard body against her.

      “I would never ask the impossible,” she muttered, “but it would be a pleasant change…”

      “Pleasant