His tone was so polite, it was difficult indeed to believe he was the same man who had prowled into the library three days before, upending her life as she knew it. She searched his gaze, wondering if it was wise to linger here with him, where Mama could not see them.
His lips quirked into a half-smile. “There is no need to fear me. I promise not to compromise you.”
She drew back her shoulders. “I do not fear you, Lord Rayne. I merely did not wish to sully my gown.”
It was a lie, of course. He did incite an inkling of something much like fear deep within her. Nor did she particularly care for the state of her gown. The bench looked clean enough.
He turned toward her, so they stood chest to chest, and he looked down at her, his stare scouring her face. He was solemn. “Are you certain? The look in your eyes tells me otherwise.”
He saw too much. More than she wished for him to see. She looked away, severing the connection of their gazes, settling her eyes upon the hedges surrounding them with their twin walls of greenery.
“I am certain.” But this, too, was a prevarication. He made her feel…unsettled. He was an intense man. “You did not answer my question, my lord. How quickly do you wish to wed?”
The notion of marrying him at all still left her with the same feeling she had experienced once when she had taken out a horse Monty had prohibited her from riding. She had known the beast was dangerous and unpredictable, but she had been too tempted by the forbidden. The ride had been exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
He studied her, his smile fading. “Three days hence.”
Three days.
“Surely you jest, my lord,” she sputtered, finding her tongue. “I require time to prepare.”
“What do you have to prepare?” he asked dispassionately. “All I need is a bride.”
How coolly he spoke of their marriage, as if she could be anyone. As if any woman would do for the role of his countess. Though he had presented their nuptials to her in just such a bloodless manner, and she ought not to be surprised, she could not quite quell the spear of disappointment his detached manner produced in her.
“I need to prepare my trousseau,” she said.And myself.
“You shall want for nothing as my wife.”
“Nevertheless,” she insisted, “three days is not sufficient time for me to plan.”
He clenched his jaw, and even sullen, he was beautiful. “Five days.”
“I am afraid that is still not long enough—”
“Maldición,” he interrupted her. “A sennight. No more, Lady Catriona. I cannot linger here in England forever. The sooner we are wed, the sooner I will have an heir.”
The sooner he would bed her, he meant.
She felt hot and cold at once. “I am sorry, Lord Rayne, but when I agreed to become your wife, you did not make it clear you were desirous of such a hasty wedding. If that is what you require, perhaps it is best for you to find another bride. Our betrothal has yet to be announced, so ending it will not cause any undue consequences for you.”
His full lips compressed. “You are being stubborn, my lady. The marriage contract has already been made. You are mine.”
Mine.
His pronouncement chased away the ice within her, leaving only fire in its wake. Languid, licking through her, settling in her belly, and lower still, between her thighs. What would belonging to this somber, fascinating man mean?
“I am not yours yet,” she cautioned, chasing her unwanted reaction to him with common sense. “If we cannot agree upon marrying, I will not be yours at all.”
He touched her, gently holding her chin captive with his gloved thumb and forefinger. “Do not fool yourself,querida. You have been mine from the moment you agreed to marry me.”
She thought, for a breathtaking moment, he would kiss her. Catriona held still, refusing to wrest her gaze from his. She had only been kissed by one man, and the longing to dispel those kisses forever, to chase away their painful memory with the Earl of Rayne’s sinful lips rushed over her.
“My lord,” she forced herself to protest, but she was breathless. Helpless. Held captive by his intense regard. Shewantedhis kiss, and the knowledge frightened her more than anything else could.
But he did not bring his mouth to hers.
“A sennight is the longest I am willing to wait, Lady Catriona,” he said, still holding her chin in a gentle grip.
