“There is no need to be insulting,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “If you have come to cancel the wedding, then I would appreciate you completing the task so I can return to my duties.”
“What the devil?” His brows snapped together, shocked by her words. “You believe I have come here to cancel the wedding?”
“Why else?”
Something dangerous glittered in the silver eyes. “Has your father decided to end his threat to sue my brother?”
“I…” She gave a shake of her head. “My father has not discussed his intentions with me.”
“And you have no reason to suspect that he has lost his desire to acquire an earl as his son-in-law?”
She hunched a shoulder. “No.”
The prickling threat that had filled the air eased as Gabriel gave an impatient wave of his hand.
“Then, barring a miracle, it would appear the marriage will take place as scheduled.”
She clasped her hands together as she sought to comprehend his odd mood. What was the matter with him? He seemed almost…angered by her mention of canceling the wedding.
Or perhaps he was simply angry that she had reminded him of the distasteful event.
Yes, that was much more likely.
“May I ask why you have come?”
He gave a shake of his head before reaching for the stack of papers he had left on the mantel. With a sharp motion he shoved them into Talia’s hand.
“These must be signed by your father before our wedding.”
She glanced at the official-looking parchment in bewilderment. “What are they?”
“Legal documents that ensure I am protected.”
“Protected?” She frowned, lifting her head to meet his unwavering gaze. “From me?”
“From you, and more important, from Silas Dobson.”
“What threat could we possibly pose to the Earl of Ashcombe?”
He shrugged. “They are clearly described in the documents.”
She returned her attention to the papers clutched in her fingers, a nasty sense of dread settling in the center of her heart.
Silence filled the stuffy parlor as she attempted to unravel the legal nonsense. It took only a few paragraphs to wish she had not made the effort.
Mortification made her gasp at the cold, methodical dissection of what should be a loving union.
It was not the insistence that her dowry would be under her husband’s control, or that she was offered no more than a small allowance to cover her household expenses. Or even that she was to be given nothing in the event of the dissolution of their marriage. Those she had assumed from the beginning of their devil’s bargain.
But to know that Lord Ashcombe had discussed her most private behavior with a complete stranger made her sick to her stomach.
“You believe I would be unfaithful?” she rasped, raising her head to stab him with an offended glare.
He shrugged with an arrogance that made her long to slap his handsome face.
“I believe your morals are questionable at best and I will not be cuckolded in my own home.”
She clenched her hands. Unfeeling bastard.