He turned slowly. She’d settled into the bath with her back to him, the water covering her to her shoulders. Her wet braid hung over the edge of the tub, dripping onto the floorboards.
“What you said earlier,” she began, her voice quieter now, “about Eloise not being my daughter?—”
“I was wrong.” The words came out harsher than intended. He moved closer, unable to help himself. “I was angry. But that doesnae make it right.”
“Why were you angry?” She tilted her head slightly, though she didn’t look at him. “Because I asked you to stop? Because I wouldn’t simply accept your commands?”
“Because ye make me feel things I’ve nae business feelin’.” The admission escaped before he could stop it.
That made her turn, water sloshing as she shifted to look at him over her shoulder. Her green eyes were wide, surprised. “What?”
He should stop talking. Should turn away and let the moment pass. Instead, he found himself moving closer, crouching beside the tub, so they were at eye level.
“Ye think I wanted this?” His voice was rough, raw. “Ye think I wanted to care about what happens to ye? To lose sleep worryin’ if ye’re warm enough, if ye’re happy here, if that child of yers is settlin’ in?”
“Declan—”
“I’m nae finished.” He gripped the edge of the tub, his knuckles white. “Ye came here with yer stubborn pride and yer fierce love for that wee lass, and ye keep upending things. It’s difficult to think straight when ye’re near me. I cannae focus on anythin’ but the way ye move, the way ye smell, and the sound of yer voice.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
“And now,” he continued, “seeing how much I hurt ye with me cruel words, realizing how much it hurt me to see ye affected by them—” He broke off, shaking his head.
The silence that followed was broken only by the crackle of the fire and the steady drumming of rain against the window.
“You should bathe,” she whispered finally, her voice unsteady. “The water’s still warm.”
“Francesca—”
“Please.” She looked away, but not before he caught the tears in her eyes.
He rose slowly, moving to the other side of the room, turning his back as she rose from the bath. He heard the soft splash of water and the rustle of the linen robe.
“Your turn,” she said quietly.
He stripped off his wet clothes with mindless efficiency, too aware of her presence even with her back turned. The water was still pleasantly warm as he sank into it, and for a moment, he let himself simply exist in the heat, trying to organize his scattered thoughts.
“Lass, I understand?—”
“Do you?” She turned to face him now, and the vulnerability in her expression made his chest tighten. “Because sometimes I wonder if anyone truly understands. My parents certainly don’t. London society doesn’t. And you—” Her voice caught. “You as much as implied I had made a mistake by taking her in to live with me.”
“That wasnae what I meant?—”
“What did you mean?” Her voice rose slightly. “Because it sounded like you think I made a mistake. Like loving her, protecting her, claiming her as my own was somehow wrong.”
“It wasnae wrong.” He stood abruptly, water cascading off him as he reached for the drying cloth. “But it was a risk. Ye risked remaining’ unmarried so ye could take care of yer sister’s lass.” He broke off, wrapping the cloth around his waist with more force than necessary.
“Is it so wrong to care about another human? She is all I have to remember my sister by.”
He crossed the room in three strides, stopping just short of touching her. They were both barely clothed, both still damp, and the air between them crackled with something volatile.
“Nay. Ye arenae wrong at all,” he said roughly. “Did ye nae hear me before, wife? It’s yer passion, and certainty about her that makes me want to—” He stopped himself, jaw clenching.
“Want to what?” Her voice was barely a whisper now, her eyes searching his face.
“Make ye mine,” he finished, the words torn from somewhere deep inside him. “Properly mine. Nae just in name or by law but in every way that matters, so ye can show me some of that obsessive passion.”
Her breath caught, and he saw the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat.
