The Defiant Lady Pencavel Read Online Free

“You must be extremely wealthy and able to pluck a bride from any of the major families you might choose.”
    “Egad, I should have married the Widow Whale. She’d have been a calming influence,” Father muttered to himself. He dropped his snuffbox in his pocket. “Please try to remember your deportment, my dear. I...I will consult our housekeeper to see if dinner is ready.” He lumbered from the room like a beleaguered, beaten dog.
    “Forgive me, Papa.” Her heart began to sink, but she must remain strong.
    “I take it you have no interest in being mistress of Merther Manor?” Lambrick arched a sardonic eyebrow.
    “I only wanted you to know what sort of bargain you’d struck, so there will be no misconceptions, if I agree to go through with this.” She walked toward him, trying not to notice his patrician profile. An aura exuded from him she couldn’t define, like the moment before a storm. “I’m not some timid female who will swoon over your every word.”
    “Is it myself who offends you, my lady, or men in general?” He smiled slowly, which rendered him more handsome.
    “Oh, men are fine when they’re not arrogant, and I know little about you. It’s husbands I don’t trust.” She forced herself to meet his gaze steadily. “Or the idea of a husband, you might say.”
    His eyes traveled across her, and up her, halting at her low bodice with a cold calculating expression. “You have a strange manner of dress if you hope to discourage any man.”
    “Well, stop eyeing me like a prize ewe. If you want a stupid, compliant wife, you need to look elsewhere.” She fought a prickle at his scrutiny.
    “If you stop heaving your bosom at me, I might find it easier to look elsewhere.” He smirked and finished his drink.
    Her cheeks heated; but what had she expected? She tugged up her neckline. The viscount’s boorish behavior made this so much easier. “Then I assume you will tell my father that we don’t suit at all?”
    “Unfortunately, I’m beginning to think we might suit, as I detest simpering females.” He poured himself another sherry. “Indeed, the idea of you is a daunting prospect. And women do require a taut harness.”
    She seethed inside. He continued to mock her. “I believe you are too old for me, sir, and will never keep up. Don’t suppose you will ever suppress me.”
    “That remains to be seen, my dear. I am all of two and thirty, so still quite robust.” He raised his glass. “I came here with the intention of informing your father that I desire no flibbertigibbet slip of a girl, especially one whose mother cannot restrain herself from flipping up her skirts for a lackey.”
    “How dare you.” Melwyn felt punched in the stomach, even as she admired his candor. She gripped her hand on the back of the triple-arched sofa upholstered in striped silk. “You are a jackanapes, sir. I will never marry you.”
    “Truthfully, you will find few who will dare, my lovely earl’s daughter, after your peccadilloes about the region.” He chuckled, chucked her under the chin, turned and departed the chamber. 
    Melwyn rushed to the hearth and smacked her hand on the marble mantel. Her skin smarted, and the ormolu clock and two gold candlesticks jostled.  She glared again at the faded rectangle on the wallpaper. “Double fie! What will I do now? I cannot allow him to best me, and I’ll never marry such a blackguard—or any man!”
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    Griffin held tight to his horse’s reins. Why did he always taunt fate? He should have simply written to Earl Pencavel and asked to have the betrothal rescinded. Something integral in his nature drove him to act the devil-may-care. Perhaps he’d been hit too hard by a cricket bat at Harrow.
    He twisted at the leather. Then when his brother Alan was commissioned into the army, and the devastating results, Griffin’s reckless attitude increased. Life could be over in such short order.
    Now the arousing figure and derisive tone of