Page 85 of The Unfortunate Debutante
“You are naïve to the ways of men,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Eventually, he would have made you his mistress.”
“No, he was happily married to Rachel.”
“Love fades,” he declared dismissively.
She tilted her chin defiantly. “No, real love grows and deepens over time.”
“Oh, my dear,” he scoffed. “It’s a good thing I came along when I did. Your head is filled with utter nonsense.”
The door to the carriage opened, and Peter exited. He turned back and offered his hand. Emma glanced down at it, but she didn’t accept it. She didn’t want to accept any kind of help from him.
In one swift motion, Peter reached in, grabbed her arm, and yanked her out of the carriage. He waited until her feet were steady before he let go.
“I tire of your disobedience,” he hissed. “You will respect me.”
“Respect needs to be earned,” she contended.
“As your husband…”
She swiped her hand in front of her. “I willnevermarry you.”
Pulling his hand back, Peter slapped her hard across the face. “We will be wed as soon as possible.”
“No,” she countered, bringing her hand up to her reddening cheek. “I won’t marry you.”
Peter brought his hand back up to strike her again, but then it froze as his eyes scanned the thugs waiting outside of the cottage. Slowly, he brought his hand back down.
“I don’t want to fight with you now, my dear,” he said calmly. “Behave, and I won’t have to teach you a lesson later.” Grabbing her arm, he forced her towards the door. “I think it would be best if we continued this conversation in our bedchamber, don’t you?”
“Our bedchamber?” she asked, her steps faltering.
“Of course. We are betrothed, after all.” He gripped her arm tighter and dragged her towards the door. “Why wouldn’t we share a bedchamber?”
“Please, Peter,” she pleaded. “Don’t do this.”
“You were promised to me,” Peter replied as they stepped inside the darkened cottage.
Emma wanted to cry at the pain of Peter’s fingers digging into her skin, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting her.
“My father never promised me to you,” she attempted. “At least, he never told me that.”
“After you left boarding school to come take care of your father,” Peter answered as he led her towards the narrow stairs, “he was in no condition to carry on a conversation with you. He was already too far gone.”
“I wish I’d arrived sooner to care for him,” she remarked. “On my last holiday, my father was in perfect health, but his health declined so rapidly.”
“It was a crying shame, but it was for the best,” Peter said.
“For the best?” she contended. “How can you say something so horrible?”
“It’s merely a fact.” Peter continued to lead her down the hall towards a back room. “Your father was against change.”
“What kind of change are you referring to?”
He opened the door, causing the hinges to squeak in protest.
“Your land is rich with resources,” he replied, pushing her through the door, “but your father refused to sell it to me. He said that it had been in your family for generations.”
“Why would my father ever sell you our land?” Emma asked in disbelief as she glanced around the bedchamber with a dilapidated four-poster bed and a well-worn dressing table in the corner.
