Submitting to Him by Alysha Ellis Read Free Book Online

speak. If she were a man, she would grab her sword and strike him dead. Her fists clenched in fury at her powerlessness.
    The Marquis stood. “I leave you now. You have two weeks to prepare yourself for our wedding.”
     She stared into his loathsome face. “I will never marry you.”
    “You have two weeks. Enough time to have bride clothes made,” D’Arly said. “I do not wish to see you in the black of mourning. During this time, however, I do not permit you to leave this house. You are mine, and, until I tire of you, you will not be seen by anyone but me. You are very beautiful.” He reached out and ran his bony finger down her neck and lower, to dip beneath the bodice of her dress. He traced the curve of her breast with one long, yellowed fingernail. “You are young and fresh and moist. I paid highly for such purity and I will not risk it being sullied.” He turned and left.
    The door shut very quietly behind him and Angelique drew a shaking, horror-filled breath. How could her stepfather have chosen such a man to be her husband? She would rather die an old maid.
    She hurried off in search of the Vicomte and found him in his study, leaning back in his chair, holding a glass of Armagnac. “Papa, please, you must find me a different husband. The Marquis and I will not suit.”
    He slammed the glass from which he sipped onto the desk and his brows furrowed into an angry frown. “You are promised to the Marquis D’Arly. The marriage will take place on the date he stipulated.”
    “I can’t marry him, Papa. He disgusts me.”
    “Your feelings are irrelevant. The matter is decided.”
    “Papa, he means me harm,” she protested. “He threatened me with unspeakable things if I did not obey him in every way.”
    Her stepfather took another sip of brandy. “It is time someone taught you the wisdom of obedience. It appears I have failed to do so.”
    “I won’t marry him and you cannot make me,” she shouted, no longer trying to hide her defiance.
    “We’ll see, my girl.” He surged to his feet and swung his clenched fist in an arc towards her face and Angelique braced herself for the blow. His arm lifted, then stopped just short of contact to drop heavily to his side. Nothing could have more clearly demonstrated her stepfather’s fear of D’Arly. The Marquis wanted his property undamaged.
    Her stepfather stepped back and grabbed the bell pull, shaking it with such intensity that three footmen hurtled into the room. They drew to an abrupt halt, waiting for orders.
    “Take her to her room and lock her up. She is not to come out for any reason.” He turned back to Angelique. “You will marry D’Arly, even if I have to drag you to the altar.”
    “You can force me to be there, but you cannot force me to say I do ,” she hurled over her shoulder.
    “Do you think your silence will make any difference?” the Vicomte replied. “I have only to send Père Bronard a case or two of brandy the day before the wedding and the good curé will be too drunk to notice your lack of consent. Your future is decided!” her stepfather roared, and turned his back on her.
    The silent footmen made a circle around her, but she shrugged them off and walked with dignity to her room. Only after the door was securely locked and she heard footsteps descending the stairs did she sink to the floor and cry.
    She briefly entertained the thought of running away, but she had nowhere to go—no family or friends who would take her in, even if she knew how to escape from a locked room, in a house guarded by staff who would obey her stepfather implicitly.
    Realisation slowly seeped in. She had been bought and paid for. The signs that her father’s fortune had not survived the depredations of the Vicomte de Valenne had been obvious since before her mother’s death. But, in the last week, the meagre fare they used to dine on had been replaced with lavish dishes. The Vicomte could again afford to host raucous gatherings of his friends,