His Independent Bride: Wife Against Her Will / The Wedlocked Wife / Bertoluzzi's Heiress Bride

Her heels clicked on the tiles as she headed almost blindly for the door.

‘Darcy—wait.’ Joel suddenly came after her. His hands were on her shoulders, turning her squarely to face him. His voice was strained. ‘If you want me to understand, why not try to offer an explanation? Talk to me. I’m ready to listen.’

To other people, she thought with sudden anguish. But not to me. Your mind is made up.

She shook herself free, her face and voice cool with challenge. ‘Joel, surely you must know that you’re the last person I’d ever confide in about anything. Now may I get back to the party? Please?’

‘Presently,’ he said harshly. ‘But first I think you need a reminder of exactly whose wife you’re going to be. And that if you attempt to play around elsewhere while you share my name, then you’ll suffer the consequences. So, sweetheart, if you’re that desperate to be kissed…’

He jerked her towards him, and his mouth came down hard on hers, with none of the consideration he’d shown her before.

This time she was being punished, she realised wretchedly, and there was little she could do but stand, unmoving and unmoved, while he possessed her trembling lips, forcing them apart so that his tongue could enjoy the moist inner warmth of her mouth with a relentless pagan sensuality that was totally outside anything she’d ever experienced before.

And which scared her in a way that almost—almost bordered on excitement.

She was pinned ruthlessly against him, the heat of his hard, strong body surging through the thin taffeta of her dress as if she were naked.

Every bone, every muscle of him seemed to be imprinted on her, as if they were part of each other.

Darcy was trembling violently inside, her stomach churning and her legs turning to water. It would have been so easy in that moment to give in. To succumb to the warm weakness pervading her body, and sapping her resistance. To slip to the floor at his feet, and stay there.

But that might have seemed like an appeal for mercy, and she couldn’t let him think that. There could be no quarter asked for in this battle between them.

No matter what he did, she told herself desperately, she had to maintain her stance of total indifference.

So she had to stay there, and endure. To steel herself against the calculated insult of this brutally invasive kiss that he was deliberately inflicting on her, because she could not risk making him angrier than he already was by attempting to struggle free from the imprisonment of his hands.

And as she mutely endured she found suddenly, incredibly, that she wanted very badly to weep.

And then, at last, Joel raised his head and looked down at her. A flush was staining his cheekbones, and the blue eyes had darkened stormily, almost to the colour of ink.

She heard him say something half under his breath that might have been her name.

For a moment she felt again that curious stammer in her heartbeat, as if her entire being had shifted slightly off its axis, then, summoning all her strength, she stepped backwards, shrugging off his grasp with as much contempt as she could muster.

Her breathing was still ragged, but she managed to find her voice.

‘Thanks for the warning,’ she said. She lifted her clenched fist, and wiped it across the new-made tenderness of her mouth, trying not to wince.

Her breasts felt crushed inside the tight taffeta that sheathed them, their rosy peaks hard and painful. There was an aching hollow inside her too, which scared her by its frank intensity.

‘Now that I know what to expect,’ she added, ‘I’ll make damned sure I don’t transgress again.’

‘That—might be wise.’ His voice followed her, raw and husky, as she walked away from him, neither hurrying nor looking back. ‘Because I have no intention of letting you go, darling, and don’t you forget it.’

Darcy stood at her bedroom window, looking down at the bare garden. The sun had been shining a few hours ago when she’d come out of church, a married woman. Mrs Joel Castille.

But since then the clouds had gathered, and the view was sombre, threatening rain.

An omen, perhaps? she thought, her mouth twisting. Under the circumstances, that was entirely possible.

Lois had offered to help her change out of her bridal white, but she’d told her quietly that she’d prefer to be alone. She had not missed the anxious glance her friend had given her as she turned away.

But then she’d been well aware of Lois’s concern, ever since the night of the restaurant get-together the previous week, and its aftermath.

Darcy had frankly dreaded meeting the Latimers, who were clearly among Joel’s closest friends. And her nervousness was exacerbated by the fact that, since the party, contact between Joel and herself had been spasmodic, brief and formal.

And when they had met, there’d been no reference to any of the events of that evening, least of all that degrading kiss he’d forced on her.

He’d probably forgotten all about it, she thought, smouldering with resentment. But she could not. It was a constant shadow on the edge of her mind, waking and sleeping. And she found this disturbing.

As he’d driven her to the restaurant she’d sat beside him, her hands clasped tensely in her lap, wishing with all her heart that she’d ignored Lois’s prompting and never suggested this.

Joel noticed, of course. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘I’m just wondering what your friends will be thinking about this patched-together marriage.’ Darcy bit her lip. ‘They must realise it’s not the genuine article.’

‘Not all hasty weddings are business arrangements,’ Joel returned coolly. ‘They might think that we met and fell so madly in love that we can’t bear to wait.’

‘That’s hardly likely.’

‘Certainly not while you’re giving the impression that you expect to be hanged in the morning.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ She sent him a muted glare. ‘You, of course, are wasted in engineering. You should have been on the stage.’

‘I won’t take that as a compliment,’ he said drily. ‘Because I’m sure that’s not your intention. But years of overcoming tricky terrain, plus dealing with corrupt regimes and reluctant workforces, has taught me to make the best of things, or at least pretend they’re better than they are.’ He paused. ‘If all else fails tonight, try and enjoy the food.’

In other circumstances, Darcy thought, she might easily have warmed to Greg and Maisie Latimer. He was tall, fair and laid-back, while she was small, dark and cheerfully direct.

‘Well, you’re not what I was expecting,’ she told Darcy when they found themselves alone in the powder room at one point.

Darcy carefully replaced the cap on her lipstick. ‘Is that a good thing or a bad?’

‘Good, I think.’ The other girl considered her for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes, good absolutely.’ She paused. ‘You know, of course, that Joel and Emma Norton had this thing about each other?’

‘It’s been—mentioned.’

Maisie lowered her voice confidentially. ‘The family didn’t want them to marry, of course, because of the first-cousin thing. So she went off and hitched up with this other guy—Harry somebody.’

‘Metcalfe,’ Darcy supplied woodenly.

‘That’s the one. Joel had to go to their wedding, of course, and it hit him really hard. He was like a stranger for some time afterwards, and that’s when he began freelancing—staying away so much.’

Her smile suddenly beamed. ‘And as he’s far too good to lose, thank you for bringing him back to the real world. Giving him something to live for again.’

Oh, God, thought Darcy, if you only knew. Because you and Greg are his friends, and you really love Joel, and I’m such a fraud.

She forced a smile of her own. ‘I think Joel is well able to resolve his own problems without help from anyone.’