“Completely.”
He took a long swig from the whiskey bottle and leaned against the table again. This time his eyes looked as if they were on fire. “What if I wanted you in my way.”
“What?” she whispered.
“What if I wanted you to be a wife to me?”
“I—I…”
“I believe I could get either an annulment or a divorce on the grounds that you were denying me conjugal rights.”
The fire was hot behind her, but she knew that she flushed a crimson that was hotter than the blaze. He started to smile. He was trying to unnerve her. A strange trembling did seize her. Not because she was afraid. But because of something that was compelling about him. The way he moved, perhaps. The subtle scent of him, the hot gaze of his green eyes.Don’t give an inch!she thought. For he would not. She lifted her chin. Then she allowed her eyes to sweep over him in cold assessment. She shrugged.
“If you want a wife, you’ve got one,” she said evenly.
He was silent for a moment, watching her. He drew the whiskey bottle to his lips once again, his eyes never leaving hers.He lowered the bottle, placing it on the table, his hands on his hips.
“Lady,” he said very quietly, “you really are one gold-digging little whore!”
The words seemed to lash out at her with greater violence than any of the actions he had taken against her. No matter how the force of them hit her, she willed herself to remain perfectly still, returning his stare. She weighed her reply carefully, speaking in an equally soft tone, “And you are a selfish, self-righteous, judgmental ass with all the manners of a sniveling piglet. You’ve no right?—”
“You’re giving me every right in the world, aren’t you, Lady Douglas?”
She narrowed her eyes on the whiskey bottle. “You’re drunk and insulting.”
“I’m trying very hard to get drunk, and I’m calling a spade a spade. Besides, I would think ‘drunk and insulting’ an improvement over what you considered my previous potential for being murderous and scalp-taking.”
Skylar knew she tread upon very thin ice. His temper was explosive—and he was convinced she had hastened his father’s death.
She wondered if anything she could ever say would change his conviction.
There had to be a way to fight him. A place to strike.
“If I’m not mistaken,” she murmured, meeting his eyes once again, “hasn’t whiskey led to the downfall of a number of Indian tribes?”
He stared at her, smiled slowly, and came forward.
“Yes, it has. But I’m not a tribe. Just one Indian. Who also happens to be the son of a misguided English lord who discovered himself in love with a landscape and a people. Who also happens not to want a wife! Ah, but it seems that I have one,right? Drink with me then, my dear. Let’s celebrate making each other’s acquaintance!”
Suddenly he was in motion again, coming around the table. Skylar quickly circled away from him. The table wasn’t big enough. She wasn’t fast enough. His fingers caught her wrist, and he drew her around to crash against his body.
“Baltimore, eh? Tell me, Lady Douglas, do you come from a family deeply Southern at heart? Have I come upon a belle who wouldn’t dream of swilling whiskey straight? I don’t believe so. I think you’re tough as nails. Have a swallow.”
She closed her eyes briefly. She could be done with this. She could agree to his annulment, give him no more reason to taunt her.
She took the bottle from him. Took a sip. She wasn’t used to straight liquor. She coughed and wheezed but quickly gained control of herself and slammed the bottle back into his chest. “We’ve celebrated,” she said coolly.
“Have we?” He set the bottle on the table. His hands were suddenly upon her cheek and throat, his long fingers splayed along her chin, lifting it. His breath just fanned her lips, then his mouth touched down upon hers, forcing a full, open-mouthed kiss, his tongue plunging deeply into her, liquid fire, decadent in the extreme. His fingers slipped beneath the robe, touching her collarbone and throat. She was drawn inexorably nearer. His hand slipping down to cup her breast, his palm moving over her nipple. She was startled by the lightning rip of sensation that tore into her from the touch. Such shocking warmth, so mercurial, so sweeping, touching where he touched, touching where he did not.
She brought her hands between them to protest, to push away. But his lips had moved just a breath away from hers.
His fingers then threaded through her hair, and his whisper was soft and taunting against her ear.
“What if I wanted a wife, eh, Lady Douglas? Then I’d have a wife, so you say.”
She went still, her heart pounding, hating him, hating herself. She wanted so badly to pull away.
Because she was so appalled by the feelings that engulfed her. At the simmering warmth that filled her. At the way she felt when he touched her, brushed her nipple, forced his tongue into her mouth, stroking with a strange insinuation that seemed to leap inside her as well as without…oh, God, she needed to be free from him!
