Raith waited a moment. Was she still so stubborn? Why, when she must know how futile a gesture it was to defy him? He turned his eyes away, unable to bear the glinting pallor of her features as they flickered in the light of the candle, gripped tight so that her knuckles stood out white.
“The man is a gambler. Not as reckless as my brother, but quite as determined. He consorts with men of ill repute, and I know him for a loose-living rake. He is tolerated by the world for his social veneer of charm, I imagine, but men of my father’s stamp would not give him the time of day.”
She heard it with resentment, crushing down her awakened senses. Whence this catalogue? To make her feel how low she had sunk in his esteem?
“Why do you tell me this?”
The barb of his bitterness sounded in his voice. “How do you imagine it makes me feel, to know that you have had dealings with a man of that sort?”
Rosina stiffened in the shadows. “Dealings? What, pray, is your meaning?”
“You know well enough. You have had some ... acquaintance with him.”
Acquaintance! Why did he not say it outright? “You will have to be more explicit, my lord, if I am to understand you.”
Raith moved towards her, slowing as she shrank back. The candle guttered as her hand shook, drawing his attention. He took it from her and set it on the window sill, his eyes on her face as it darkened with the removal of the light. His chest felt as though it must burst. It came to him he felt murderous and he hissed in a breath. Jealous to the point of madness? Heaven help them both!
He slid his hands about her throat, caressing with his thumbs. He spoke in a guttural whisper. “I ought to be whipped for my thoughts, Rosina.”
She did not flinch, but he could feel the tremble of her limbs. Her black eyes glittered in the dark. “Is it your wish to throttle me? If your hatred is so v-vengeful, you had b-better do it.”
A groan escaped him, as his fingers loosened, dropping to her shoulders. “You think I am driven by hatred? I wish it were that indeed.”
His eyes met hers and a flare of need took him as he read a confusion of messages there. Resentment, but yearning too. Was it possible she cherished desire for him as he did for her? Or was he a fool? His gaze fell to the shiver at her lips, and his mouth came down. But the image of Forteviot’s mocking eyes intruded, and he jerked up again.
He took in an unsteady breath, and his hold tightened a little. “Rosina, I ask you again, what is that man to you?”
She pulled back, brushing off his hands. “Nothing! He is nothing to me.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
He heard her breath catch and her voice was quivering. “You can m-make me afraid b-by these means, Anton, but you w-will not loosen my t-tongue.”
He flung away. His conduct was disgraceful. How she aroused him! He had wanted to remain cool in her presence. Impossible. Dangerous in every way to be near her.
“Your pardon.” He moved back to the empty fireplace and thus out of range of touching her again. He tried a soft approach, but knew the frustration was in his voice. “Rosina, there is no point in concealment. You know as well as I that you gave yourself away the moment you heard his name. Even if you had not, he has said enough to incriminate you.”
She took a hasty step towards him, her voice husky. “What did he say to you? What did he tell you?”
“Nothing beyond what you heard. The moment you were out of the room, he changed the subject.” He heard her give a little sigh. The conviction grew that Forteviot could incriminate his wife in a deed he dreaded. He tried again. “Must you persist in denial, Rosina? You are acquainted with this man.”
Rosina’s head came up. “What of it? So also are you, sir.”
A jolt seemed to kick at his chest. “Then you admit it!”
She threw her hands up to her face, her chest hollowing out. She had not intended to admit anything. Dared she say that she had meant her acquaintance with him had begun today? To what purpose? He would never believe it. She sighed, capitulating.
“Yes, I have met him before.”
Raith did not move from where he stood. His tone was dull now, a deadness within it. “What was he to you?”
Impatience seethed out of Rosina. “What do you imagine, Raith? You have seen how I regarded him. Can you then suppose me to have been in love with him?”
“Not in love. But I’d stake my oath he was the man towards whom you exhibited such fear. He was — in despite of your wishes, perhaps — your lover.”
He had said it at last. Had she not known this was what he believed? But to hear it from him was more wounding than Rosina could ever have imagined. Her heart bled. She had as well have endured her guardian’s lust, and allowed herself to be sold into Forteviot’s possession. What had it availed her to escape? She had snatched at some other life, and been found wanting. In the process, she’d had a glimpse of tenderness, of what love might be, and lost it.
She picked up her candle, and regarded him, her heart bleak. “There is no more to say, my lord. I am going to my bed.” Then she turned to her door, and quietly left him.
