The Scottish Bride - Catherine Coulter [45]
And those eyes of hers, that soft green color. She had her mother’s eyes. He remembered how Gweneth was so very beautiful and hot in her passion. Mary Rose’s nose was narrow, her brows nicely arched. Her mouth—he did like that mouth of hers. He wanted to kiss her again, to feel whether her lips were as soft as he remembered. There was a line of light freckles over her nose.
She was looking at him, and the look wasn’t promising. Why didn’t she want him? No, it had to be a ridiculous woman’s game. He was getting impatient with her. He had planned to go slowly, to woo her, but she wasn’t cooperating. Damn her, she should be on her knees, kissing his hands, grateful to him for rescuing her, but no, she was shaking her head at him, that damned chin of hers up.
“Please believe me, Erickson. I’m not toying with you. This is no teasing game. I have never learned how to play those sorts of games. Listen to me now. I truly do not wish to marry you.”
In that moment he finally believed her, and she saw that he did. Then, because he couldn’t begin to comprehend why she wouldn’t want him, he knew it had to be because she had given her affection to someone else. He asked, his voice rough in his growing anger, “Then who is the man you want?”
“There is no other man.” Even as she spoke, he saw something in her eyes, something that betrayed her. But there was no other man about for her to—“By God, it’s that damned vicar, isn’t it? You’ve known the man for a week. Just because he is a vicar, a man pledged to God, you, you silly girl, believe he has to be kind, gentle, a soft creature who will always treat you like a bolt of silk. Given who and what he is, well then, that’s probably true. He probably is soft and gentle. Damnation, he isn’t the sort of man a woman needs.”
She jumped to her feet. “Shut up, Erickson. How dare you insult him? I know him and you don’t.”
“I’ll wager the pretty fellow wouldn’t know what to do with a woman even if she were to stand naked before him.”
“That is absurd. He has three children!”
“His wife must have guided him, told him how to accomplish his manly duty.”
“Be quiet.”
Erickson realized he wouldn’t gain anything by continuing on this track. He still wanted to reason with her, gain her compliance. He said more calmly, with a bit of compassion in his voice, “You’re being foolish, Mary Rose, shortsighted. He is the new Lord Barthwick. He comes from a noble English family. He won’t marry you. But even beyond that, I honestly doubt he even comprehends what it is like to feel affection or lust for a woman. He’s a vicar, for God’s sake, he sleeps with his Bible, clasps his hands in prayer when he sees a man who would harm him.”
He saw that her face had turned red, the freckles were standing out against her white skin. “Oh, leave go, Mary Rose. You’re a bastard, for God’s sake. Neither are you anymore a young girl. I’m the only one who wants to marry you.”
“No.”
“Very well,” he said, his eyes on her breasts. She knew there was no hope for it, not with that gleam of pleasure in his eyes, that gleam that bespoke a man’s victory over a woman. Yes, Erickson was looking forward to this no matter her protestations. She shook her head, beyond words now. She knew he would try no more arguments to win her compliance.
“I have no money. A man with your responsibilities does not wed when there is no gain. It makes no sense. It would be very stupid of you. Your mother would not like it. She would forbid it.”
“It doesn’t matter. I will have all that I want. Trust me, Mary Rose. I can give you pleasure.”
“No.”
“Then it will be a bit rough for you. Perhaps you will not fight me overly much once I have given you a taste of lovemaking.” He took a step toward her.
He was twice her size. Mary Rose had no choice. She took a deep breath and jumped into the stream.
She shrieked