“I had to loathe you, Isolde. There seemed no other choice.”
“No choice? That is rather unexpectedly histrionic of you.” She pulled back to look at him. “I fear I require a wee bit more explanation.”
His dark eyes quietly drank her in while that rogue thumb continued its leisurely debauchery of Newton’s well-formed mathematical equations.
“Allie believes thatloveandhateare sibling emotions rather than true opposites, as they both involve similarly deep feelings.”
Isolde stilled, pondering the thought. “Like a binary star. They appear independent from one angle, but in reality, they orbit one another.”
“Precisely. Also, I rescind any unkind thing I have ever said about your university education.”
She poked his ribs.
He squirmed, lips curving upward.
“And how does this relate tae your loathing of myself?” She rested her palm against his sternum.
“I could only loathe or admire you. That was the binary choice.”
“Ah.”
So what did that mean now? He had decided to admire her instead?
Her lips could not form the question, much less ask it.
As with his insistence on her beauty, such admiration felt impossible. Unbelievable.
“But even then . . .” he began.
He lifted his hand from her leg.
Isolde raised an eyebrow, a question mark in her expression.
His eyes burned into hers, amber-streaked from the glowing coals of the fire. Lion-like, she supposed.
Without breaking her gaze, he brushed the tips of his fingers across her décolletage, tracing the collarbones beneath her gown.
The press of his fingers singed her nerves, setting them to sparking.
“Even then,” he repeated, eyes staring at his hand, “you knew what you did to me. How enamored I was. You tortured me.”
Isolde’s heart hammered against her ribcage.
She had suspected.
But that was hardly the same thing as hearing him admit it.
His fingers traced her collarbones again, just as her own had done in his library . . . and then again at Lady Lockheade’s soirée.
The sparks in her chest burst into fireworks.
“It was a wee experiment,” she whispered. “Tae see how ye would react if I . . .”
His hand moved to cupping her jaw. “And your conclusion?”
“Undetermined. Ye stared at me a great deal, and I did wonder if ye found me attractive.” Heat rose in her cheeks at the admission and her gaze dropped to his throat. “But it seemed so outlandish a thought, and ye generally acted as if I were a leper.”
He grunted and tilted her chin, lifting her gaze to his.
