The same way she had done to him.
“Violet then,” he forced himself to say at last. “I prefer wife. Or Duchess. Specifically, the Duchess of Strathmore. That is who you are now, is it not? I was not dreaming the ceremony that took place yesterday, or everything that came after it?”
Her flush deepened, but her heightened color gave him no pleasure this time. He did not want to be her forbidden memory. He did not want to be her shameful secret or the man she regretted welcoming to her bed. He wanted to be the man she loved. Her husband. He wanted to be worthy of her. To earn her.
He had not done so before, and it was his fault for failing to notice what was plainly before his eyes. He saw it now. He sawhernow, in a way he never had before.
“You were not dreaming,” she said at last, her tone still frigid. “Though it would seem I was, for believing you would ever wish to marry someone like me.”
Someone like her?
He stared at her, trying to comprehend. “What the devil does that mean?”
Her nostrils flared. Her color went from pink to pale white. “Plain. Someone who cannot attract a proper suitor on her own. My brother procured Charles for me. Why would I ever think someone like you would wish to shackle himself to a plain and frumpy spinster, who cannot even crochet a proper scarf?”
Her words were like blades, scoring his flesh, cutting into him, stinging and bringing him pain. “Why would any man not fall at your feet, Vi?”
She was still. Only the skin around her mouth moved, a slow ripple, then a pinch. Her lips were turned down and pressed tight. That mouth had no right to be so small, so sad.
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Why? Does it make you feel something?” he asked, canting his head, considering her, perusing her from head to toe and then back. Allowing his stare to linger like a touch. Damn, but she was beautiful.
She shook her head with so much force, a stray curl that had worked its way free of her coiffure fell across her cheek. He reached out to remove it without thought. It was as natural as breathing. His fingertips grazed her skin. She was warm and smooth as silk, and so unbearably lovely, she made him ache.
“It makes me feel nothing,” she said, but he knew it was a lie from her tone. “You make me feel nothing. And you had better go, Strathmore. My brother is here, his room but one door to the right of mine, and he is intent upon either your murder, or your incarceration. If I were you, I would not linger to investigate which is his preference at the moment.”
“I am not afraid of Arden.” As he said the words, he recognized the truth in them. He had been fearful in the past, it was true, but fearful of being cast into prison. Fearful of his life being stolen from him. He had never, not once, been afraid of the Duke of Arden. “I could beat him to within an inch of his life with my fists.”
Arden was a large fellow, but Griffin possessed bravado. And a healthy respect for the damage his large frame could do when in a position of defending himself.
“I do not want the two of you to fight,” she said.
“What do you want, Vi?” he dared to ask. “Why did you leave me?”
“Why did you follow me?” she countered, her tone bitter.
“Because you are mine,” he gritted, staring at her, consuming her once more with his eyes. The dark hair, the green eyes, that mouth, her lush form. Damnation, she was glorious. Glorious andhis. He would win her back. He would earn her however he had to. He would not stop. “You are mine, and I would follow you anywhere. And no one, no man in possession of his faculties, would ever refer to you as plain, darling.”
She pressed her lips together. “You need not feed me your false flattery now, Strathmore. You already got what you wanted from me, did you not? Your stay from imprisonment. I am your pawn and nothing more. Foolish enough to believe every word you said to me the first time. Not foolish enough to believe it the second.”
She had heard everything then.
He had no one to blame but himself, and he knew it. “I love you,” he blurted.
She blanched. “You must think me the simplest woman in the world.”
“No.” He took one step. Just one. Bringing them closer together again. He stood on the threshold of her chamber now, and if she attempted to slam the door upon him, his booted feet would interrupt the motion. “I think you the bravest, the kindest, the most intelligent, the loveliest. I think you the best woman in the world, Vi. And the only woman I want. What I said earlier, when I spoke to Carlisle, O’Malley, and Ludlow…it was my fears ruling me. Convincing me I did not need love. That I did not need you. But I was wrong. My fears were wrong.”
“Iwas wrong for ever believing in you.” She shook her head, and he did not miss the sheen of tears in her eyes. “I cannot even blame you; I can only blame myself. You never claimed to marry me for any reason other than your own gain. But you did not need to manipulate me the way you did; telling me things, wooing me, coming to my bed. You did not need to make it all seem soreal.”
He reached for her hands, but she kept them from him, clenching them in her skirts when he would have taken them in his. He stood there, unwanted, palms facing the low ceilings of the old inn, beseeching. The halls smelled of pipe smoke and a thousand dinners that had been cooked in the kitchens below. At any moment, they would be interrupted by a fellow traveler or, worse, by Arden himself.
Griffin didn’t care. All he did care about was her. The woman he had married in haste. The raven-haired, jade-eyed creature who always wore purple and crocheted scarves and had lost her mother when she was a girl. The woman who could bring him to his knees with a kiss, with a touch. The woman who could consume him, like a flame held to dry kindling.
“It was real, damn it.” The admission was not an easy one for him to make, but he could. He had to. “Every moment, every kiss, every touch, every word that passed between us was real, Vi.”
Her lips tightened. “Do not pretend. Not any longer. You have no need. My brother will not spare you because of our nuptials. In fact, he is more determined than ever to see you imprisoned. If you value your freedom, you would best be served to leave this inn before he sees you.”
