With one last scathing look, Mor closed the door behind her with a definitive slam that seemed to ring out like an alarm bell.
Caitrina was alone with her husband.
The air that had moments ago seemed chilled suddenly felt warm and sultry. The room that had seemed spacious and sparse now seemed small and crowded—with no place to run.
Perhaps sensing her unease, Jamie strode over to the table beside the fire and poured two glasses of claret from the bottle that had been left for them. He offered her one. She shook her head.
“Take it,” he insisted, pressing it into her hand. “It will ease your nerves.”
“I’m not nervous,” she protested instinctively, but she took the glass anyway. She was annoyed that he’d so easily detected her weakness.
“Then that makes one of us,” he said, gazing into the fire as he tossed back the contents of his glass.
The admission took her aback. He always seemed so controlled and unaffected; the idea that he might not be as impervious as she thought was oddly comforting. She eyed him cautiously. “Truly?”
He shrugged.
“But why?” she persisted. “What have you to be nervous about? Surely you’ve done this before.”
He let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Once or twice,” he said soberly, but she could hear the lingering amusement in his voice.
The idea of his previous experience left her feeling distinctly irritated. A horrible thought sank inside her like a rock: Did he have a leman? If he did, it wouldn’t be for long. Still, it didn’t explain why he would be nervous about this.
She wrinkled her brow. “Then I don’t understand.”
He didn’t appear inclined to explain. Instead, he removed his doublet and laid it over the back of the chair before taking a seat by the fire. She could see the powerfully muscled contours of his chest beneath the fine linen of his shirt, and it sent a shimmer of awareness low in her belly.
Nonetheless, Caitrina breathed a sigh of relief as he appeared to be in no rush to press himself upon her. Obviously, he’d decided to give her time to adjust to his presence. She took a seat opposite him, the gentle warmth from the smoldering fire bringing her a strange sense of peace. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as she’d expected it to be sitting alone with him in her bedchamber. In fact, it felt disturbingly natural.
“Won’t you tell me what you meant?” she asked.
His gaze met hers. “You are innocent, and I have no wish to cause you pain.” His eyes darkened with intensity. “I want to bring you pleasure.”
The sensual undertone in his voice sent a tingle running through her. “And my pleasure matters to you?”
His eyes turned hard. “Is it so difficult to believe that I might have care for your happiness?”
Though she knew she’d unintentionally angered him, she answered truthfully. “Yes, it is, when you’ve forced me into this marriage.”
He tensed visibly; every muscle in his body went taut. “You had a choice.”
“Did I?” she asked softly.
He held her gaze, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his eyes that made her wonder if she’d erred in questioning his motives. An intensity that made her suspect he wanted this marriage—and her—far more than she’d realized.
He didn’t say anything right away but shifted his gaze back to the fire. Finally, after a few minutes, he turned back to her. “Perhaps I was wrong to think that you would ever accept this. I’d hoped that tonight might mark the start of a new beginning. I’ve never forced myself upon a woman, and I’ll not start now.” His voice was harsh and rough. “If you do not want this marriage, then leave.”
Her heart stopped. He was giving her a way out, which was what she’d wanted . . . wasn’t it? The seconds ticked by. Still, she couldn’t force herself to walk away.
He waited, his eyes never once leaving her face. She stood from the chair, and the raw disappointment in his eyes cut her to the quick.
He thought she was leaving. But Caitrina didn’t know what to do. She should walk to the door and leave him behind her, this man who had brought so much pain. But instead, she found herself walking until she stood right before him, knowing that she was about to make the most important decision of her life.
A decision formed on what she knew of him, not what she’d been told. He might have manipulated her into marrying him, but she’d begun to realize that his intentions had always been honorable. Indeed, there was a streak of honor in Jamie Campbell that defied his reviled name. Was it possible he did care for her and was trying to make amends?
A force had drawn them together, and she no longer had the strength—or will—to resist.
She took a deep breath. “I gave you my word. I’ll not go back on it now.”
