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you to become the kind of wife I want.” He reached her at last, and put his finger under her chin, pushing her jaw closed. “When your mouth is shut.”
    Miranda stepped away from him. “You make me sound like a thoroughbred mare, good wind and fine legs, a little too high-spirited, but ready for the saddle.”
    â€œI prefer to think of you as more like a statue of Venus. Perfection in glorious, magnificent silence.”
    She wondered if it might be a joke. She scanned his face, but found no mirth in his eyes. Her hopes for a marriage of happiness, love, and respect died instantly. Kelton regarded her with the look of a greedy man who had won a prize, something others wanted. He was gloating . He would never love her, or even care for her. She was simply another possession.
    She took a breath, felt it catch in the back of her throat, refusing to go in or out. She began to walk toward the fireplace after all, desperate for heat.
    â€œCome here,” he demanded, his tone harsh, the way someone spoke to a dog that had misbehaved.
    She froze where she was, stared at him, and with an impatient oath, he came toward her. She resisted the urge to flinch or run. He reached up and tugged one of the sapphire earrings off, pulling her hair in the process, hurting her. He examined the jewel, turning it over in his hand, appraising it.
    â€œAs I thought—the clasp is loose. Did you not think to check it before you wore it?” he demanded, as if she were stupid. “You could have lost it!”
    Her mother’s earring, one of the few mementoes that Miranda had left. She might have lost it forever. She began to shiver, felt anger turn to sorrow in a heartbeat. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, fighting tears now.
    He held out his hand. “Give me the other one. I’ll have the settings checked.”
    Miranda hesitated, and he stepped forward and yanked it off. This time she yelped at the pain. “Your first lesson. Did you imagine I was joking when I said I expect you to obey me?”
    She watched the jewels’ glint go dark as he slid them into his pocket.
    â€œGrandfather wanted me to wear them for the wedding,” she said, a weak protest in the face of the reminder that it wouldn’t matter what she wore now.
    He lifted her chin once more, tilting her face up to his, examining her, assessing her as he had the sapphires. She watched his gaze slide down the décolletage of her gown, and stop at the necklace. Under his eyes, the stones chilled against her skin. She shuddered.
    He met her eyes at last, and smiled. Was it meant to reassure her, or console her? She held her breath, hoping he would say he’d changed his mind, would allow the wedding to take place at Carrington after all, but he didn’t. He ran his fingertips down her jaw, a mockery of a caress, and stroked her neck. She clamped her lips shut and closed her eyes to stem the nausea that rose. She felt his breath on her cheek as he leaned toward her, caught the harsh fumes of the brandy on his breath.
    â€œA perfect beauty. Almost flawless,” he muttered. He cupped the back of her neck with a sudden violence that made her cry out with shock and fright. He pulled her toward him and kissed her, crushing his mouth against hers, his lips hard, cold, dominating, His body ground against hers, and her gorge rose. His touch was abhorrent, frightening. She twisted her head and pushed against his shoulders, shoving him away.
    He let her go at once and laughed, and she read interest in his eyes now. “I hope you won’t be so missish on our wedding night.” He drew his hand across his mouth, “I think that’s enough of a lesson for now.”
    Without another word, he crossed the room and picked up his hat and cloak. Miranda stayed where she was, too numb to move, waiting for him to go so she could scrub the taste of his lips off hers. The nausea was real now, not just nerves. He regarded