Read Not Quite Married for Free Online

to the slit at the edge of the door, there was a vile grin on Raoul’s face.
    “Speaking of ‘harvests,’ how fares la belle Devereaux ?”
    “Packed off to relations in Austria, I believe. Your son is now in the care of a gardener’s family or some such. Can’t say I blame you there—a fair piece of goods, that one. Even used, she’d make a prize bedwarmer.” Their laughter grew louder and more humorless.
    Shock immobilized Brien. He had already made a child with some young woman? With several young women? She clamped her hand over her mouth to contain her gasp.
    “A bloody pot of jam, you’ve got here. Out of the stew and into a pot of jam.” A clink of glass betrayed their toast. “Your father . .
    . how does he take it?”
    “He is overjoyed that I have at last realized my responsibilities to the family.” Raoul’s tone was mocking. “For a paltry investment he rids himself of an infamously fertile son and gains a financial alliance. Southwold is far wealthier than mon père supposed, and so deliciously eager to have a grandchild. I have already paid my gaming debts at Madame Fontaine’s. And as soon as the first child is born, he will put half of Weston Trading Company into my hands. With the birth of a second child, I will control the rest and he will retire to the country.”
    “Then you’d best plow your bride well. The sooner she’s with child, the sooner you’ll control the old man’s fortune.” The stranger rose and shuffled across the room to replenish his drink.
    “And what of this bride of yours?”
    Raoul’s next words seared into Brien’s mind.
    “A plump partridge. Docile. I’ll have her breeding by Michaelmas. She’ll be no trouble.”
    “‘Plump,’ you say? In fact?” The stranger belched. “Always favored them that way myself. Makes for a softer ride. Have bigger tits as well. Has she?” He laughed at Raoul’s silent gesture, whatever it was. “If you find yourself detained on your wedding night, I’d be pleased to stand in for you. My”—another belch—“pleas-sure.”
    Raoul’s answer came on an ugly laugh. “Give me time to get my hands on Southwold’s fortune, and I may let you have her for a few nights.”
    “It’s a deal.” His friend laughed wickedly and there was a pause.
    “I must get to the inn whi-ilst I can still ride.” There was a scraping sound and their voices faded as they moved toward the library doors that led onto the terrace.

    “You will arrive a week before the wedding and stay here with me.” She heard Raoul clearly. “ Mon Dieu, it will be good to have your wit to relieve the boredom. Louis is driving me mad with his whining and hand-wringing.” Then the terrace door closed.
    Brien flattened back against the wall as Raoul doused the candles and the light dimmed in the library. Soon the glow of a single candelabra edged into the darkness of the hall and the door swung back, stopping just short of hitting her. She bit her lip and covered her mouth tighter, panic rising. But the light moved steadily on, ascending the stairs and turning along the balustrade toward the guest rooms.
    It was several minutes before she could force herself to move. In the darkness of the hall, she searched for familiar objects to act as guideposts. Her only thought was of the safety of her own chambers. Each step seemed to take an eternity. When the latch of the door clicked softly behind her, she groped for the key and turned it before staggering to the hearth and crumpling into a heap on the rug before the wheezing embers of the fire.
    The sun was filtering around the curtains the next morning before she could bring herself to move. She dragged herself to her bed and wrapped her arms around her middle, holding herself together.
    No exercise of will or logic could dismiss the horror of what she had heard or its devastating effects on her. She had been sold. To a man who had no regard for her or for marriage. A profligate who had disgraced his family