Evangeline shook her head, unconvinced, and he wondered if she already had lost her desire for him. “Lust is more readily measured than love, to be sure, and it is a fine feeling between husband and wife.” She wagged a finger at him. “But duty, I am assured, is more constant than any impulse and is thus the sole basis for making a match.”
Ramsay had to ask. “Will you wed Rufus for duty?”
Evangeline caught her breath. “I shall strive to avoid it,” she said, her words strained.
Ramsay understood. She would wed Rufus if her father insisted upon it, and she would wed that man because he was in possession of a fortune and a title, though his nature was base. She would wed a man determined to kill her, if her family did not take her cause and void the betrothal agreement, because that was her duty.
She did not want him.
She did not care for him.
She might have been a stranger.
This woman who Ramsay worshipped beyond all others he had ever known, this lady who had laid claim to his heart with a single glance, did not desire him beyond a night’s amusement.
Not if he were impoverished.
Nay, affluence and comfort was of greater import to her than love.
Ramsay was not impoverished, but he was not without a measure of pride either. He loved Evangeline. He would do any deed for her. He would pay any price to ensure her happiness, but she was prepared to discard him and his affection over the comfort of a full belly and a warm bed. She might as well wed a miller.
He had wed her to defend her dignity. He had pleased her that they might begin their years together as well as possible. He had married her to protect her and her denial of him did not change his regard for her a whit.
Her refusal simply was the sole thing that could make him abandon his courtship.
He would not surrender her defense.
“I would have wed you if you were a goat girl,” he said, his words husky.
Her eyes lit, then she shook her head, averting her gaze. “That is a tale, Ramsay. I cannot believe it would be the truth.” She began to appeal to him. “If you could abandon your choices…”
But Ramsay turned away.
That she doubted his regard was too much for him to bear in this moment. That his supposed trade and assumed poverty meant he had no value could only burn. He spun on his heel, leaving her alone as he conferred with Hugues about their course that night. He knew Evangeline watched him but he could not even look at her.
Aye, in this moment, Ramsay realized his sole desire throughout his life had been to be desired for who he was, not for who his father was, not for his affluence or lack of, not for his family name or kinship. He had merit in himself. Aye, all of his merit was in himself, his nature and his deeds, and he had been certain that Evangeline was the one to see and appreciate as much.
But Ramsay MacLaren had been wrong and the realization burned as naught else could have done.
He would see the lady safely delivered to Kinfairlie, then he would ride for Normandy again as Talbot desired, and never set foot in Scotland again.
Chapter 9
Evangeline knew her confession had been less than ideal. She grimaced as Ramsay spun on his heel to march away, his shoulders stiff. She hated that she had injured his pride, but he had to see the sense in her choice—even though it was but half of the truth.
She might have wed a brigand and tried to change his views, if that thief had been Ramsay and if he had loved her in truth. But the mention of Alienor, a woman who stood between Ramsay and Rufus, convinced Evangeline that she had been no more than a moment’s distraction.
Ramsay had aided her to vex Rufus, because Rufus had committed some deed regarding this Alienor. Evangeline might as well have been a maiden selling ale in a town square, a convenient means of striking a blow against his sworn foe.
Or a goat girl.
She desired more than that from any man she wed.
Would the loss of her maidenhead dull Rufus’ ardor for their match? Evangeline doubted as much, but would have to consult with her cousin, Alexander, in private about how best to proceed. He would not approve of her actions, she knew it well, and Ahearn might chastise her, but what was done was done.
She could not regret that wondrous night, either.
Perhaps Alexander or Ahearn would have a suggestion.
