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“Yes, I knew.” Dallas sighed. “As I said, I love your accent. It’s just that your actions, mannerisms, and the words you say need… refinement.”
“Refinement?” Megan’s voice raised again.
“Stop shouting,” Dallas ordered. “You will not speak to me in such a manner.”
Megan smirked. “Oh no? Ye will not tell me what to do, wife er not! And I will speak to ye in any manner I choose.”
Dallas narrowed his eyes. “You have a lot to learn about being a wife and submitting to your husband.”
“And ye have a lot to learn about how to treat a wife.” Megan turned her attention out the window, hurt. She had to admit that he lavished fine things on her, but he also wanted to change her, who she was, and that was something she wasn’t willing to do.
Dallas pulled her back abruptly, hurting her arm. “Don’t you turn away from me like that!”
Megan looked down at the grip he had on her arm. “Let go of me or ye’re going to feel the backside of a frying pan.”
Dallas laughed. “You don’t have one.”
“We’ll be home soon enough.” She looked him squarely in the eye, never wavering. “Now, let me go now and don’t ye ever lay a hand on me again.”
Dallas smirked as he released her arm. “I’m going to enjoy taming you.”
“Good luck trying.”
They rode in silence the rest of the way home. Soon, they pulled down the long driveway leading to his ranch. How could such a wonderful day end so badly? When the carriage pulled to a stop, the sun was beginning to set behind the cabin.
“Ye could have asked about the lessons, and I would have considered it. But ye will not order me to do anything.” Megan jumped out of the carriage before Dallas or the driver could open the door.
Dallas jumped out behind her. “Megan, you will do as I say.”
“You will ask me.” Megan lifted her skirts and started to walk away, but then turned back to him. “And another thing. Don’t bother coming to me bed tonight.”
He smirked. “And you think a locked door will keep me out?”
Megan smiled, her eyes twinkling as she thought of the frying pan. “Well, enter at yer own risk.” Then she stormed into the house and into the kitchen.
“What is the meaning of this?” Jacques’s voice bellowed, filling the room.
Megan ignored him as she looked around, her eyes settling on a cast iron frying pan. She grabbed it and stormed up the stairs to the bedroom and locked the door, gripping the pan tightly.
The sound of boots stomping loudly against the stairs grew closer, louder as he reached the top. He tried the door handle and stopped. Then he kicked in the door, sending it flying against the wall, still attached to its hinges.
She held up the frying pan and glared at him. “Don’ ye dare come near me!”
He stomped toward her and ducked when she swung the pan at him. Then he grabbed the pan from her as she fought and threw it across the room, sending it crashing to the floor. He pulled her roughly into his arms and his lips descended upon hers. She pushed against him and pounded her fists on his back, but then passion overtook her, and she melted into his arms.
Then he pulled back abruptly, his lips curling into a devilish smile. “Don’t ever lock a door to me again.” Then he picked up his hat that had fallen onto the bed, slid it on and tipped it to her, smirking. “Good night, my lady. Sleep well.” Then he walked out.
“Why, you!” Megan picked up a hairbrush and threw it at the doorway as he walked out. Then she stormed over to the door and slammed it shut. It would no longer lock, but she knew he wasn’t coming back that night anyway. He had made his point and that was enough. “That man is so infuriating!”
Megan had intended to stay the rest of the night in the bedroom, but as the night progressed, hunger got the best of her.She tiptoed across the floor and opened the door. In the hallway, she looked around and, seeing no one about, she crept down the stairs.
On the first floor, she looked around the cabin, amazed by its size, and walked in the direction that she hoped led to the kitchen. To the right was a drawing room with a fireplace and Dallas was there, watching the fire, holding a glass containing a dark colored liquid. She had a feeling that it wasn’t coffee.
Megan walked into the kitchen and there was a plate of leftover roast, so she sliced some bread and some roast beef and made herself a sandwich. She put it on a plate and then poured some lemonade.
After she put everything away, she picked up the plate and the glass, walked into the dining room, and sat at the table. She had thought of eating in the bedroom but was determined not to show Dallas any fear. She picked up her sandwich and took a bite when Dallas strolled in, carrying the glass.
“What are ye drinkin’?” Megan asked, almost afraid of the answer.
