The Chadwick Ring by Julia Jeffries Read Free Book Online Page A

whatever I like, and I like Mary Wollstonecraft. She was a great woman.”
    “A notorious one, you mean,” he drawled. “She was the mother of two bastards, and now her daughters seem bent on emulating her. Their affairs with Byron and Shelley have become so flagrant that they have shocked even the ton , no mean accomplishment. The whole ménage is expected to flee for the Continent momentarily.”
    Ginevra’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the slim book, blushing at his mockery. She stammered, “I ... I am not certain that ... that what you say detracts from the sense of her words. I have learned much from her.”
    “Indeed? You mean you wish to learn a trade, venture out into the world and compete with men without allowance for your feminine frailty? What occupation would you pursue, Ginevra? Something physical, a stonecutter, perhaps, or do you think you would prefer—”
    “Stop it!” Ginevra cried, tears springing into her eyes at his sarcasm. “You have no right—”
    “I have every right,” he said implacably, “and I think perhaps that after we are married I shall have to monitor your reading habits.” He saw the sudden stricken look in her wet eyes. “For we are going to be married, aren’t we?”
    “Yes, my lord,” she choked, looking away.
    He caught her chin between his fingertips and turned her face back toward his. Her small jaw trembled in his hand, and her golden lashes vibrated against her cheeks. Chadwick’s stern expression softened slightly. “Is the idea so very appalling, little Ginnie?”
    She gnawed at her lip. “It will take some getting used to, my lord.”
    His fingers dropped away from her face, and he caught her left hand. “Then here,” he said roughly, “perhaps this will help accustom you to your fate.” As he shoved the heavy betrothal ring over her knuckle to the place where it had rested for more than a year, he rasped, “Don’t ever try to take off the ring again, Ginevra. It signifies that you are mine, and what I have, I keep.”
    Ginevra outstretched her fingers to stare at the gems flashing coldly in the firelight. The ornate gold hoop, a Chadwick heirloom for over a century, was a posy ring whose stones—lapiz lazuli, opal, verd antique, emerald, malachite—spelled out the simple but poignant plea: Love Me. The band and its message seemed to weigh down Ginevra’s slender hand. She thought: In all the time I wore it for Tom, it never felt the way it does now, like a shackle...
    She was not aware that she had spoken aloud until Chadwick exclaimed irritably, “Ginevra, this so-called shackle that you despise is one that a considerable number of women have sought from me.”
    Ginevra glared at him. “I’m sure they have,” she snapped, her spirit reviving, “and I’ll wager that by rights you owed it to most of them, too!”
    When she realized what she had said, her cheeks reddened furiously, and she bowed her head, waiting for him to retaliate. But once again the marquess surprised her. Instead of striking back for her rash words, he studied her flushed face and asked seriously, “Tell me, child, do you resent the life I’ve led?”
    Slowly she shook her head. “No, my lord. I ... I take many things amiss, but not that. Your past life is nothing to me.”
    “How very tolerant of you,” he drawled. He took her hand in his and began to toy with the ring, tracing the carving with his fingernail, as he asked. “Ginevra, will you explain to me, please, what it is exactly that troubles you about our marriage? Do you object to me personally? If so, I think that, given time, I could change your opinion of me.” His voice became somber. “Or is it because I am Tom’s father? True, that cannot be altered, but my poor boy is gone now and will not be hurt by anything we might do.” He smiled again and kissed her fingertips one by one. The touch of his lips startled her, shooting hot tremors along her arm. When he turned her hand over and pressed a kiss