The Heir - Catherine Coulter [50]
He stood by the door, unmoving, just looking at her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Your hair is beautiful. The nightgown is beautiful. You look very virginal. I’m pleased, but a bit surprised.”
“Indeed, I hope you are pleased. Why should you be surprised?” She was so filled with excitement she didn’t hear anything strange in his voice.
Still the earl did not move toward her nor did he answer her question. Arabella, with a light, dancing step, skipped to him, her bare feet soundless on the thick carpet. She laid her hands on his shoulders, felt the smooth flesh beneath her fingers, rose to her tiptoes, and kissed him.
His hands moved to her arms, and suddenly, with no warning, he shoved her away from him. She staggered back, clutched the back of a chair, and stared at him, mouth agape, stunned with confusion. “Justin? What is wrong? What happened? Didn’t you want me to kiss you?”
He wanted to kill her. No, he couldn’t do that. But he would make her suffer. He would hurt her as she had hurt him. He said in a very precise voice that was colder than the winter frost of the previous winter, “You will take off your nightgown. You will do it now and you will do it quickly.”
Now she understood. Men were men, her father had told her that men got foxed at the oddest times. “Justin, if you have been drinking, I would just as soon that we did not—” Her voice fell like a stone from a cliff as he strode toward her. She saw the taut, angry cords standing out in his neck. She saw the fury in his gray eyes.
Fury?
At her? What was going on here? He should be as excited as she was. He had loved kissing her, pressing her close. He had told her that he wanted her breasts against his chest. Now was his chance. It was his wedding night as well as hers. Why was he angry?
“Do as I tell you, you damned slut, or I will rip it off you.”
Slut? He had just called her a slut. She could but stare at him. “I don’t understand,” she said slowly, eyeing him as she backed away from him, and stood behind a very large winged chair. “Please, what is the matter? Why did you call me that? How could I be a slut? I’m eighteen and married for only five hours. I’m a virgin. More than that, I’m your wife.”
There was no mistaking the raw fury in his eyes, in the way he held himself. He said nothing. He stalked her. She didn’t understand what was wrong, but she wasn’t stupid. She ran to the other side of the chair. Soon he had cornered her behind a dressing table set close to the wall. She held out her hands in front of her. “Justin, stop this, please. If this is a game, I do not understand the rules. I don’t like this game. My father never told me that it could be like this.”
He laughed, a raw harsh laugh that brought fear hard and deep into her. Something was very wrong. He was furious with her and she had no idea why.
He grabbed her suddenly, but she jerked her arm free, whirled about and raced to the door. She was very fast. Fear did that. Oh God, the door wouldn’t open. She turned it wildly first one way, then the other, but it wouldn’t move. Damn, what was wrong? The key. He’d locked the door. Her palms were sweaty. She grabbed that key and wrenched at it. She felt him standing behind her, watching her. Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of hair and began to wind it about his hand, pulling slowly, inexorably, until she cried out in pain and stumbled back against his chest. He jerked her about with his other hand to face him.
For a very long time, he simply stared down at her. Then, very quietly, he said, “You will do what I told you to do and you will do it this instant. You really don’t want to know what I will do if you refuse me.”
Instinctively she realized that she could not reason with him, that he was beyond reason, he