He knew what she wanted: for him to say it back. All women did. He was used to this kind of disappointment, but he wasn’t used to wanting to do anything to make it go away.
Even say it back.
The thought shocked him nearly senseless. Cold sweat dampened his brow. Of course, he didn’t love her. The passion, the fierce possessiveness and protectiveness, the strange connection, the irrational fear that came over him when he thought of losing her, were because he cared about her.
But love? That kind of “one man, one woman for eternity” romantic love had never occurred to him. He’d thought himself immune, incapable of that kind of emotion. He liked the chase, the flirting, the dance too much.
Didn’t he?
He might not be able to tell her he loved her, but he knew he could give her something even better. His offer of marriage would wipe that desolate look off her face. He was definitely going to see some tears, tears of joy.
He never got the opportunity.
“There is something I must tell you,” Ellie said, her voice strangely distant—regal almost. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
He paused mid-stroke, and then put down the oars. “About what?”
She held her back stiffly, her gaze never faltering from his. “My identity.”
He frowned but let her continue. He suspected she’d been hiding something.
“I’m not a nursemaid in the Earl of Ulster’s household.”
“You’re not?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m Lady Elyne de Burgh.”
Chapter Twenty
Erik stilled, and then laughed. He couldn’t have heard her right. “For a moment it sounded like you said de Burgh.”
Ellie tilted her chin, and her gaze leveled on his. “I did.”
De Burgh. He didn’t want to believe it was as bad as the flare of alarm surging through his blood was telling him. “You are related to the Earl of Ulster?” he asked uneasily, hoping it was a tenuous connection.
She eyed him unwaveringly. “He is my father.”
Erik felt as if he’d just been poleaxed. He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. Perhaps he was. He’d never really known her at all. His eyes narrowed, the muscles in his neck and arms flexing. “You lied to me.”
She did not shrink from the accusation in his gaze. “I did.”
He’d expected her to deny it, to prevaricate and attempt to explain her actions, not to give a simple admission of guilt. But she never acted the way she was supposed to.
He felt strange. Ill. Queasy and aching. The way he felt after taking a blade to the gut. “Why?”
“In the Mermaid’s Cave one of the Irishmen mentioned my father’s name. It was obvious the name de Burgh would only make it worse.”
He didn’t think it could have gotten much worse. “And once we left the cave?”
“You mean after I realized you weren’t going to ravish and then kill me?”
The imperious arch of her brow infuriated him even more than the sarcasm—warranted or not. It was exactly the type of haughty, noble gesture he would expect from the daughter of an earl. The type of gesture he’d convinced himself was because of her position.
He clenched his fists, trying to tamp down the strange emotions firing inside him. “You said you were a nursemaid.”
“It seemed closest to the truth. Since my mother died, I’ve been taking care of my younger brothers and sisters. It was a bit of irony to amuse myself. But as to why I did not tell you after, it was because I thought you were apirate.” He heard the note of censure in her voice. She was not the only one who’d kept a secret. He’d wanted it that way. He’d wanted to keep a distance between them. But never could he have imagined this. “And I couldn’t be sure you would not force me to marry you.”
A real pirate would have done just that. But he was too damn angry to listen to rational explanations.
