The flash of anger hit him swift and hard. Had she and that popinjay…? The mere thought filled him with rage and a feeling of incomprehensible possessiveness. Why the lass’s innocence was important to him, he didn’t know. Simply that it was.
“What do you mean?” He held his voice even, though his knuckles turned white as he gripped his goblet.
She shrugged. “I do not believe passion is confined to the marriage bed. In fact, from what I can tell, the marriage bed rarely holds much passion at all.”
He didn’t like the cynicism of her answer—even if he happened to agree with it. Lack of passion in the marriage bed was one of the many reasons he’d delayed taking a wife. That and the fact that he’d been too busy defending his land from attack and his people from starvation.
“Yet the marriage bed is the only respectable place for a woman of your position to find it.”
She bristled. “I do not need to be lectured on respectability by you. A man who abducts women is hardly in a position to be casting stones.”
He didn’t miss that she hadn’t answered him. He leaned closer and looked her straight in the eye. “And are you respectable, Flora?”
Her eyes sparked with anger. “How dare you! It’s none of your damn business.”
God, she provoked him. This woman possessed an uncanny ability to rile his anger. He wanted to grab her arm and shake the truth out of her, but instead he took another drink of his ale and allowed his blood to cool. Itwashis business, although she didn’t know it yet.
But she would.
She pushed back from her chair and started to stand up. “If you have run out of reasons—”
“Protection.” He took her wrist, holding her in her seat. His fingers wrapped around bare skin. Incredibly soft, bare skin. Though tall for a woman and well curved, she had slim, delicate bones. Suggesting a fragility otherwise obscured by the outward strength of her character. “An unmarried woman, especially one with wealth and lands, is vulnerable without a husband to protect her.”
“I don’t need—” She stopped, realizing that her very presence in his keep was proof to the contrary. She lifted her chin. “My mother protected me.”
“But your mother is gone.” He stated it simply, as a fact, but she flinched as if he’d struck her.
She turned to him with such a look of despair in her eyes, it cut him to the quick. “I’m well aware of that,” she said softly.
He felt a strong urge to comfort her but held it back. Feeling sorry for her would only complicate matters. He couldn’t allow compassion to interfere. But he didn’t miss the flash of loneliness.
“And yet for all your protesting to the contrary, you’ve implicitly acknowledged that there is some benefit to marriage.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you forget your betrothed already?”
Her cheeks fired. “Of course not.”
But it was clear she had. “So was it protection or love, Flora?” he asked quietly. The answer was somehow important. He wouldn’t consider the other possibility—passion.
She looked away. “Lord Murray was my choice.”
She’d said as much before. He was beginning to understand what might have caused her to elope. “Rory would not force you to wed.” Which was the very reason he was in this predicament. He needed her agreement.
A wry smile turned her lips. “You know him so well?”
“Well enough. He’s spoken of you.”
It surprised her. “He has?”
She tried to hide her eagerness by shifting her gaze to her plate, but not before Lachlan had glimpsed the yearning. Did she think her family had forgotten her?
“Of course. You are his sister.” He saw the disappointment in her face, and before he could stop himself he added, “He cares about you.”
Her eyes brightened, and he felt a sharp tug in his chest. This urge to please her was dangerous, and one that he would need to keep a tight rein on.
“Even so,” she countered, “my cousin might.”
