“Everything,” he gritted.
His response left her with more questions than it answered.
What waseverything? Was there someone he loved?
The knot inside her grew.
I will not expect fidelity from you. Nor should you expect it from me.
Or perhaps, he only wanted to marry an Englishwoman for the sake of his title, but he would return to Spain and the woman he loved. The notion ought not to send a pang straight to her heart, but it did.
She removed her hand from his and took a step back, putting some necessary distance between them. “And yet, you choose to return there,” she said coolly. “Why?”
His eyes remained flat, his expression like a mask. “It is the home of my heart.”
Of course he would not confide in her. Why had she imagined he would? More questions swarmed her. What manner of husband would he be? Whilst he intended to return to Spain as quickly as possible, she would be living with him. Sharing her body with him.
The foreboding increased.
“A fortnight,” she repeated. “That is how much time I require, Lord Rayne.”
His jaw tensed. “That is simply not possible. Seven days, Lady Catriona. No more.”
And here was a discovery about both of them, they were equally stubborn.
They stared at each other, at an impasse.
He made no effort to move closer to her, and neither did she to him. The chasm between them seemed to grow by the moment.
“I know nothing of you,” she said.
He raised a brow. “What do you wish to know,querida? Ask and I shall answer.”
If only she believed that. “I already asked, and you refused.”
He slapped his glove against his thigh. “Maldición, I do not want to speak of my past. Ask any other question, and the answer will be yours.”
His acknowledgment did not stay the chill threatening to sweep through her, chasing away the heat. The questions she longed to pose most were the ones he would not satisfy.
She forced herself to offer another, which had also been eating at her. “Does it not bother you that I have been compromised?”
His gaze darkened. “I already told you, I do not observe the rules of your society. They mean less than nothing to me. I govern my life in the manner I choose.”
Something else occurred to her then. “If you think to rush the marriage because I am ruined, my lord, you need not do so.”
“I am not rushing the marriage,” he denied swiftly. “One week is ample time. But please explain yourself, my lady. What sin is it you suppose me guilty of now?”
Her skin went hot. Her cheeks were bathed in flames. The place between her thighs ached anew. And even her breasts tingled.
If only she were not so painfully aware of him.
“Do you want to marry me in haste because you imagine me…experienced, Lord Rayne?” she asked, gathering her courage.
He considered her. “Whether or not you have shared another’s bed before does not signify. All I ask is that you remain faithful to me until you bear my heir. We have discussed such matters already. Our discourse grows tired.”
She did not like the bite of his tone, or the suggestion she was boring him.
How could he be so unaffected, so cool, when merely being in his presence had her in a tumult?
