“Are ye strong enough for this life?” he asked without preamble. “Because if ye’re not, I can send ye anywhere ye wish to go. We are not yet wed. Ye still have choices.”
The words hit her like a slap. “You want to be rid of me,” she said, sitting up on the bed to face him directly. “One moment of weakness, and you’re ready to ship me off like damaged goods.”
“That is nae what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.” Anger was rising in her chest, burning away the fear and shame. “I don’t fit your Highland mold, do I? I’m not as strong as the women here, not as hardy. One insult from a drunken fool, and you question whether I belong.”
“I question whether ye understand what ye’ve committed to,” he shot back with controlled tones, his own temper flaring. “This is nae some gentle English countryside. These people will test ye, again and again. If ye cannae handle one man’s crude words, how do ye expect to cope?”
“You know I have nowhere to go,” she interrupted, rising from the bed to face him properly. “You know my father sent me herebecause he wanted me gone. So don’t pretend you’re offering me real choices when we both know I have none.”
He was quiet for a moment, studying her flushed face. “Is it so bad bein’ here?”
The question, asked more gently than his previous demands, made her pause. Was it? Despite the fear, the uncertainty, the constant feeling of being judged, had there not been moments of genuine warmth? What about Betsy’s kindness? Eloise’s consistent laughter since they’d been here? Even Declan’s unexpected gentleness with the child?
“No,” she admitted quietly. “It’s not bad. It’s just… It’s so hard being strong all the time.”
Something shifted in his expression at her words. He took a step closer, and she found herself drawn toward him despite their argument.
“Francesca…”
“But don’t you dare underestimate me.” Her voice gained strength as she looked up at him. “I won’t make a decision about leaving when Eloise’s safety is on the line. Everything I do, every choice I make, is for her.”
“And what about what ye want?” he asked, moving closer still until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “What about what ye need?”
The question hung between them. Francesca found herself trapped between the bed and his imposing frame, her heart hammering against her ribs as she looked up into those storm-grey eyes.
“What?” he pressed, his voice rough with something that sounded dangerously like desire. “Tell me, lass.”
The space between them seemed to crackle with tension. She could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, could feel the heat radiating from his powerful frame. His presence was overwhelming, filling her senses until she could think of nothing but him.
How had she never noticed how devastatingly handsome he was? The sharp line of his jaw was shadowed with stubble that made her fingers itch to touch it. His dark hair had fallen across his forehead, giving him a less controlled look that made her pulse race.
And that scar beneath his left eye, the same one that had seemed so intimidating when they first met, now appeared almost beautiful to her, a mark of strength and survival that she longed to trace with her fingertips.
Francesca swallowed the magnetic pull before speaking. “I need to know that I’m not just a burden you’ve been saddled with,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I need to know that someone sees me as more than a political alliance or a vessel for heirs.”
Surprise flickered across his features, then a gradual recognition followed so fast, Francesca almost missed it.
“Francesca…”
“I need to matter,” she continued, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Not as Earl Holton’s daughter or as Eloise’s guardian, not even as your arranged wife. But as myself. As a woman.”
He stepped closer, so close now that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. His grey eyes were dark with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“Ye think ye daennae matter?” he asked, his Highland burr thicker now, roughened by emotion. “Ye think I daennae see ye?”
Before she could answer, his hands came up to frame her face, his calloused palms warm against her skin. The touch sent fire racing through her veins, and she felt herself leaning into his embrace despite every rational thought screaming at her to step away.
“I see ye,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “God help me, I see ye everywhere I look.”
And then his mouth was on hers.
The kiss was everything she had imagined and nothing she could have prepared for. It was intense and demanding yet tender in a way that made her knees weak. His lips moved against hers with a hunger that spoke of restraint finally breaking, of walls crumbling under the weight of desire too strong to deny.
She melted into him, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as she kissed him back with equal fervor. This was what she had been craving without knowing it. This connection, this proof that she was more than just a convenient arrangement to him.
“What ye do to me, lass.”
