She frowned, and even in her expression of confused distraction, she was lovely. “I am afraid I do not understand, my lord. Precisely what is it you express gratitude for?”
“For saving me from an untenable fate.” He chose his words with care, enjoying himself for the first time since his arrival. A worthy opponent, Lady Catriona. “I can see clearly now we would never suit.”
Her frown deepened. “Why not, Lord Rayne?”
He would have felt a hint of compunction for what he was about to do had not Lady Catriona begun this battle between them. But she had fired the first volley of cannon, and Alessandro was declaring war. Lady Catriona Hamilton was a menace, just as her brother was. Her insolence spurred him on. He had been gone from the battlefields too long, and his endless thirst for vengeance would only be quenched in one fashion.
“I require a wife with mettle,” he said, “not a girl who hides from me like a mouse.”
Her shoulders stiffened as his taunt found its mark with ease. “I was not hiding from you, Rayne. I merely had no wish to take part in whatever madness you hatched with my brother. If you owe him a debt, surely you may find another manner in which to repay it.”
He ought not to toy with her. There was something about Montrose’s defiant sister that would not allow him to go. If she was a mouse, he was the cat, pawing at her for his own amusement, tricking her into believing she could escape before sinking in his claws and making her bleed.
He moved one step closer to her, near enough now to not just touch but to note faint details, such as the flecks of violet in her eyes, the freckles on the bridge of her nose. “You have been hiding from me on three occasions. I can understand a pale, timid English lady such as yourself cowering in fear. I must terrify you, no?”
“No.” She pursed her lips, remaining where she stood rather than retreating. “I do not, nor have I ever, cowered, Lord Rayne. Nor am I a mouse, I assure you. If I were, I would not have returned to England at all.”
Ah, the suggestion of her past. He had not bothered to ask for a full accounting of the scandal, for it had not mattered to him. Her innocence was immaterial. He was not attempting to woo her, after all, but to get her with child and return to his life. She was a duty, nothing more.
He did not even require a wife to be faithful after she produced the necessary heir, forCristoknew he had no intention of upholding English vows when he was at home in Spain, where he belonged. And when the only vows that would ever bind him had already been spoken and shattered by death.
But now that Lady Catriona was at last standing before him, he found himself curious. He could well understand an English fop losing his head over her. And he wanted to know more about this vexing creature herself.
“If you are not hiding from me, then who is it you are hiding from, Lady Catriona?” he probed. “Your lover?”
Her face drained of color, her sensual lips compressing into a harsh line. “How dare you?”
He should have felt pity, he knew, but he had spent the past few years witnessing horrors greater than the beautiful, spoiled aristocrat before him could possibly comprehend. He had lost everyone he loved except his half-sister Leonora.
His compassion was gone. So, too, his ability to feel. There was a reason for his name,El Corazón Oscuro,the dark heart. His soul was even darker. Death and murder had a way of making their claim upon a man. Though he had not committed a quarter of the atrocities which it had been rumored he had throughout Spain, he had indeed killed and wounded his enemies.
He had needed to in a land where it had become either kill or be killed.
Alessandro flashed her a feral smile. “I dare everything, my lady. You are ruined, are you not?”
“You are a brutish boor to dare utter such a hateful thing to me,” she snapped.
Still cold, still haughty.
He could not resist goading her, for she had made a fool of him, and Alessandro was no one’s fool,maldición. “Do not look so surprised, Lady Catriona. I may have been gone from these putrid English shores the last few years, but I am not stupid. Montrose wanted me to wed you because no other man will have you, and he wishes to free himself of the burden of a spinster sister.”
Cruel of him, perhaps. Honest, too, however. He had endured a lifetime of being treated as if he did not belong, and he would be damned before he would allow a beautiful duke’s sister who had never known a bit of struggle in her life to look down her nose at him. If she was making a fool of him because of who his mother had been, he would return the favor by reminding her she was no angel.
Her nostrils flared, the only sign his words had affected her at all. “Yes, I am ruined. Is that what you wish to hear, Lord Rayne?”
The bitterness lacing her words was not lost upon him. “What happened?”
“Why are you still here, my lord?” she returned coldly. “I have made my opinion of a betrothal between us apparent, I believe. There is no reason for you to linger.”
Lady Catriona Hamilton nettled him. He wanted to oppose her. To match her in wits and wills. Some unfettered part of him was enjoying this battle between them after all. Enjoying it more than he had enjoyed anything for as long as he could recall. He was not ready for it to come to an end.
“Mayhap I have decided to take pity on you and wed you despite the insults you have paid me, Lady Catriona,” he said.
“And mayhap I neither want nor need your pity, Lord Rayne.” Her manner was regal as any queen’s. “Nor do I wish to become your countess.”
“You are prideful for a ruined woman,” he observed.
In spite of himself, he admired her courage. Her defiance was appealing. The sparks of interest developed into a searing flame within him. If he must wed—and he must, though the notion still displeased him mightily—he wanted to wed a woman who at least possessed a modicum of spirit.
