Rage sliced through him at the thought of Mary with any man. That bloody chin rose again as Zach’s eyes roamed her face.
He knew it well, so why then did it feel like this was the first time he’d ever seen her? First time he’d noticed the sweet curve of her chin and softness of her cheek?
“You would never do that.” Mary might annoy him to the point of committing murder, but she was loyal and honest. She’d never dally with a married man.
“Why shouldn’t I? You do things like that.”
“How do you know that? You have no idea who I dally with? Furthermore, a young lady should not even mention such things!” He felt his cheeks grow hot because there had been that one evening… never mind.
“You think you know me, but you don’t.” She spat the words at him.
“Caldwell is not the man for you,” Zach growled, feeling irrationally angry.
“What?”
“Caldwell. He wants a wealthy wife. He is not the man for you.”
Her mouth opened and then closed again as if she’d lost the ability to speak.
“Avoid him going forward and say no if he asks for your hand.”
“I beg your pardon?” She shook her head. “Who I wed or don’t is of no concern to you!”
“Who were you talking to tonight, Mary?” He asked the question again, changing the subject to keep her off guard.
“N-no one.”
It was the stutter that had his eyes narrowing. He wasn’t sure why he believed she was lying, but he did. Mary was up to something. Perhaps because he’d known her for years and spent more time observing her than he realized, he knew he was right. Plus, his time with Alexius had honed his intuition to a point where he often followed his gut.
“Who were you talking to, and what were you discussing?” He crowded her, trying to intimidate her with his size.
Not much intimidated Mary, she leaned toward him, and suddenly her face was inches from his. He inhaled the hint of citrus and honeysuckle that she’d always worn.
“What are you up to, Miss Mary Blake?”
“I am not up to anything, unlike you,” she said coolly.
“What am I up to?” His eyes went to her lips. The top was full and had a sweet curve to it. The color of a rose his family home had in its gardens. Blush, if Zach remembered correctly. The gardener had once told him that.
He leaned in closer, so close he could feel the air rushing in and out of her mouth.
“Let me go, Zach.”
“Tell me who you were talking to, and I will.”
They were inches apart now. Eyes locked on each other, and he had never been aware of a woman more. Her breath and scent and the edge of her hideous dress where it sat above her breasts.
“It’s none of your business who I speak to.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For which one of your many wrongdoings?”
“For making you cry.”
“You didn’t.” She dropped her eyes briefly which told him he had indeed hurt her.
“Yes, I did, and I never meant that. Would never hurt you that way.”
