"Your father's money," said Lord Lyndwood quietly, looking at her with dangerous eyes, "bought what your father most desired, and what I thought you also desired, since ye did not protest. It is a thing done with."
"It is a thing but begun," she answered fiercely. "Bought! Do ye care to use that word?"
The Earl's breath came hurriedly. The passion she had longed to evoke was bared now in his face and voice.
"Mr. Hilton's daughter had not received my name as a gift," he said. "What should we wed for with you save our convenience?"
At the scorn in his gaze she shrank.
"We sink low enough when we barter with traders," continued my lord, "and when we mate with them. But it is not a degradation you can estimate, nor, by God, is there any obligation—even if your father's money had been ten times as much. You are my wife."
She hated him. But she could not answer. Her lips were dry, and her limbs trembled as she caught herself back against the bookcase.
Rose Lyndwood came forward, dominating the room.
"This is the last time, madam, we bandy words upon this or any other subject. I do not love dissension in my house. You will remember this. I am usually obeyed."
She looked at Marius. As she read it, here was his chance. He could turn on his brother now. Surely he would dignify her by a champion, redeem the scene by a challenge, a duel.