“And why? To humiliate myself?”
“Is this why you married me?” he paused and looked back at her. “This infatuation?”
Leah longed to melt from mortification, but she stiffened her spine.
“Of course, it’s why I married ye.” She nearly threw her hands up in frustration. “Yes, I did want a household and family of my own. But my life with Malcolm wasnae so bad as all that, to force me to rush off and marry the first man who proposed. Iknewye were a good man from past experience.”
“Does Malcolm know all this?”
Leah said nothing.
“That’s ayesthen,” Fox continued, pacing once more, muttering words under his breath that sounded likeDennisandbastardandnot again.
“I dinnae regret marrying ye, Fox Carnegie.” Leah bit her lip. “But Idoregret not making ye court me a wee bit first. Ye think that because ye purchased me so cheaply—because I came so willingly—that I dinnae value myself. But that isnae true. Ye married me to acquire a glorified housekeeper. But I married ye because I care for ye.”
“Care for me?” Finally, he stopped, pinning her once more with his ice-blue eyes. “You said you loved me earlier. Do you love me still?”
Her mouth opened, but how could she state the words?
Of course, she did.
But this was hardly the way any woman wished to declare her love.
He spun in a circle then, surveying the cabinetry.
“Damnation,” he growled, “I need a drink. I cannot do this sober. Please tell me there is still some alcohol in this castle. Surely the kitchens have retained something.”
His reaction confirmed her worst fears. Humiliation and hurt surged through her.
Fox knew that she loved him—had loved him for so very long—and he found the information distressing. He didn’t want to be burdened with her affection.
All she hoped for—that he would love her in return, that he would someday reach for her just as she always reached for him—evaporated.
He yanked open the servant’s door in the corner of the library and took two steps down the tight staircase.
“Fox, no!” She raced after him, stumbling down the steps, grabbing hold of his upper right arm. “Whisky will solve nothing.”
He whirled on her quickly in the tight space, instantly pinning her to the stone wall with his larger body.
He kissed her, savagely, hungrily.
“Are you offering another sort of forgetting, wife?” His mouth burned hot on her neck.
Tears pricked Leah’s eyes, even as her fingers threaded into his hair. “Why is the thought of me loving ye so terrible?”
He stilled against her, air gusting from his lungs.
“It’s not . . . oh, Leah . . . it’s Dennis and . . . and . . .” He rested his forehead against hers, shaking his head. “It’s just . . . there is so much old pain . . .” He swallowed. “I don’t know how—”
A man cleared his throat.
Startled, Fox pushed away from Leah.
William stood several steps below, his expression ashen.
“William?” Leah’s heart sped up. “What is it?”
“Mrs. Carnegie,” he managed. “You’re needed at Thistle Muir immediately, ma’am.”
