He thought she’d be happy, but for some reason she looked like he’d just kicked her. “So I am the consolation? The way to improve your image? By marrying me, people will thinkyouwanted out of it so it won’t look as if the great Sir Thomas Randolph has been thrown over for a blacksmith’s son, is that it?”
Randolph was completely taken aback. What was she talking about? She wasn’t a consolation. Hedidwant to marry her. Now he would be able to. “Of course not. That isn’t it at all.”
“Then why do you want to marry me?”
Randolph felt those hackles rising again. Bloody hell, why did she always have to push him into making some kind of declaration he didn’t want to make. He told her he had no intention of falling in love. Couldn’t she just be happy and leave it at that? Although she didn’t look happy at all right now; she looked as if he’d stepped on her puppy. He tugged at his surcoat again, feeling that uncomfortable pressure in his chest that cut off his breath. “You know why. I want you.”
“And fidelity? Is that a vow you intend to keep or will that interfere with your reputation? The perfect knight who everyone loves, but who loves no one.”
Randolph didn’t like the way this conversation was going at all. The anger that had disappeared on the realization that he could marry her was back full force. She was being unreasonable—unrealistic—trying to pin him down. The fact that he hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since she arrived didn’t mean he was a horse to be led around by the bit. He wasn’t like those poor sod friends of his that had allowed themselves to be trapped with one woman forever. He was sure he would shudder at the thought later.
But he sure as hell wasn’t going to make any promises he couldn’t keep, so instead he said nothing. Maybe that was answer enough.
“I didn’t think so.” She pulled her wrist away from his hold. “I thank you for the offer, my lord—assuming that was a proposal—but I’m afraid I must decline.”
Randolph swore, realizing his second proposal had been even worse than the first. He told himself she didn’t mean it. She was upset and had every right to be. But how she managed to turn him into someone who was about as gallant and charming as Ewen Lamont—the tracker of the Highland Guard was well known for his blunt manner and lack of social niceties—he didn’t know. Somehow he seemed to always say the wrong thing with her; he didn’t have the words to adequately convey what he felt.
“Damn it, I’m sorry,” he said, raking his fingers back through his still-damp hair. “I bungled that pretty egregiously, didn’t I? But you caught me off guard.”
“Aye,” she said. “I suppose I did. But I think that might have been a good thing. I see things clearly now.”
He frowned, not liking the sound of that. “What do you mean?”
She straightened her spine and pushed up her chin. He might have thought her indifferent had he not seen it quivering. “I mean we would not suit.”
He didn’t like how she was trying to move away from him so he brought her closer. Aye, that felt better; now he could relax. “I think we would suit quite well.”
“You mean in bed?”
Christ, the things she said. Of course he meant in bed, but there were other things as well. “That is more than most husbands and wives can say, but we also share similar interests. I did promise to write you a chanson, didn’t I?” The reference to the wart and moles didn’t get the barest twitch of a smile. “And you did say that you wanted to come see the drawings I have of the changes I’d like to make to some of my castles,” he added teasingly.
But clearly she wasn’t in the mood to laugh or remember his warning about men and drawings—or of the interests they shared.
“That isn’t enough for me.”
It was simply stated, which somehow made it worse. He hated when she was like this. Too self-possessed. Too confident. Too bloody sure of herself. Why it was almost as if she didn’t need him! As if she could walk away and never look back. The thought made his heart pound fast again. “Damn it, Izzie. What more do you want from me?”
He wasn’t the only one getting angry. Her icy demeanor cracked a little to reveal some of the hurt and anger simmering underneath. “I want someone who doesn’t care what people think and hasn’t confused image with substance. Who isn’t afraid to make a mistake and doesn’t think that greatness means perfection. Someone whose first thought on hearing that he is no longer bound by a betrothal he doesn’t want is relief and happiness that he can marryme. I want someone who wants my love more than he wants the love of everyone around him. I want someone who will be loyal to me both in and out of the bedchamber because nothing else would ever occur to him. I want someone who would choose me first even if I don’t glitter like a diamond or look like a princess from a faerie tale. I have no wish to live in faerie tale, my lord. I want something real—someone real.”
Randolph had no idea what she was talking about—she was so beautiful she made his chest hurt every time he looked at her. And as for the other accusations… “Are you sure it isn’t you living in the faerie tale? I’m surprised that anyone would meet those requirements.”
“You did—or I thought you did—for a while.”
There it was, that certainty again. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. She had that obstinate, dig-in-her-heels look on her face that told him he was losing control of the situation.
He probably should have let her go and given her time to think. She would come around on her own. No matter what she said now, he knew she wanted to marry him. She cared about him, and once she realized she could not force him to make declarations or promises, she would change her mind. Perhaps she would even apologize to him for all those unflattering things she’d said about him.
Aye, he definitely liked the thought of that!
But something about her expression stopped him from letting her go. She looked so final—soresolved—that he didn’t do the prudent thing. He did the veryimprudent thing and reached for her. He would make her see the truth right now.
CHAPTER TEN
Izzie didn’t think Randolph believed her. But when he pulled her into his arms, she wondered if maybe part of him did. If maybe he understood that she was going to walk away, and he’d decided to do whatever it took to stop her.
She should have pushed him away. She would have, were she not desperate to do whatever it took as well. Was “wanting” enough? Was she asking for too much? Would making love make up for not being loved? Could she marry him knowing this would be all he would ever give her?
When his mouth covered hers, she knew she was going to find out. There was something different about his kiss this time. It was still incredible. His lips were still warm and soft and knew exactly how to move against hers to make her knees weak and her insides turn to mush, she could still taste the faint hint of cinnamon, and the body that was pressed against hers was still warm and solid with steely hard muscle, but the edge of control that she hadn’t even realized had been there was gone. There was nothing holding him back; the reins had snapped, and the full force of his passion for her had been unleashed.
