Marjorie scrambled back to her knees, using the moment ostensibly to straighten her dress, but instead shoving the missive down her front before she stood. “I wanted to see if I could reach the door,” she returned, brushing at her skirt. “I leaned too far. I told you not to come in without knocking.”
“But then I would’ve missed that.”
She glared at him, mostly for effect. His brother’s note—and his brother’s… friendship with her, she supposed it was—were both secure. “You don’t possess even an ounce of propriety and politeness, do you?”
“Nae. I dunnae. Sit in yer chair if ye want dinner.” He hefted the tray in his arms. “Ye decided against punishing me with silence, then?”
Making a show of limping and struggling with the heavy chain, she seated herself. “I decided my silence would appeal to you. Since you have no morality, perhaps you’ll bend to excessive nagging.”
Laughter burst from his chest, deep and surprisingly infectious. “Sassenach or nae, I do like yer wits, m’lady.” Setting the tray on the table, he moved the second chair back over and sat opposite her as he had at luncheon.
He liked her wits. Graeme Maxton’s approval happened to be the last thing in the world she sought. She wore the evidence of his brutishness, after all. And yet in the back of her mind she couldn’t help acknowledging that she’d never received a better compliment.
Teachers, tutors, dance masters had noted her fine posture, her pretty face, the artful shape of her hands, and the grace of her movement. Until now, no one had complimented her mind. Marjorie cleared her throat.
“Nae response to that? Och, ye dunnae care what I think, do ye?” he went on after a moment, his charming smile fading. “Ye’re a grand lady, after all.”
“I never said any such thing,” Marjorie retorted. “Though I have no idea why you think I should care a whit about anything you utter. And if you value my wits, perhaps you should listen to what I have to say instead of trying to force me into something neither of us wants.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I havenae said I dunnae want it, lass, though I’m beginning to think ye may be a madwoman. Now eat yer damned venison.”
“I am not your lass, and I would like to be returned from whence I came.”
“‘Whence,’ is it?” he repeated, clearly amused.
“Yes. ‘Whence.’ That is the correct word.”
He was right about one thing—she’d clearly begun to go mad, and after only a few days of captivity. She had no other explanation for the nonsense running through her mind. Squaring her shoulders and trying to set all that aside, she picked up the knife and fork.
“Ye’ve never been truly hungry, have ye?” he asked after a few moments, rudely staring at her mouth as she ate.
“No, I haven’t.” Until very recently she’d eaten simple fare, but Gabriel had always managed to send her enough of his salary to pay for her schooling, her clothes, lodging, and her meals. “Have you?”
“I’ve gone withoot from time to time. But with three brothers, if I took as long as ye do with every bite, I’d starve to death.”
“So none of you have manners. What a surprise. I imagine even the sight of me combing my hair must seem outlandish to you. Good heavens, what might happen if your brothers saw someone using utensils?”
“I reckon they’d think someone was aboot to start a fight,” he returned, more mildly than she expected. “Ye’ve the right of it. We’re a pack of hounds here, sleeping on piles of hay and gnawing on bones. Ye’re lucky the cook remembered how to roast that venison, or ye’d be eating it raw like the rest of us.”
Whatever he claimed, she did know that even the youngest of them could read and write, but she couldn’t say that without admitting she and Connell had been corresponding. It made her curious, though, about why he persisted in characterizing himself and his household as barbaric. Of course hewasa barbarian, but he actually seemed… proud of that fact. Highlanders, Mrs. Giswell had claimed, couldn’t be explained, and he was living proof of that.
“Will you at least give me the opportunity to prove that you can trust me? That I won’t cause trouble for you or your brothers?” she ventured.
“Nae. I willnae. Anything else ye want to ask me?”
The answer didn’t surprise her. “So you’ve made your decision and won’t be swayed. Before you reach the point of no return, though, consider that a special license still requires a priest, and that I will not remain silent, and I will not agree to marry you.”
He cocked his head. “Do ye want me to get doon on one knee?”
“I have a life elsewhere, sir, and I have no desire or incentive to give up that life for you. Even—”
“Ye have a beau in London, then, do ye?” he asked, his voice flattening a little.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes, but the part of her that remained supremely annoyed wanted him to acknowledge that the fault lay with him, and not some imaginary suitor. “Would it make a difference to you if I did?”
“Nae. I’m thinking ye dunnae, anyway. Ye wouldnae be so prickly if ye did.”
“I am not—” She took a breath, setting down her fork. “For heaven’s sake, you don’t even know me—nor I, you.”
