Those green eyes still held uncertainty, but there was something else—there was a quiet dignity that made his pulse race. Her lips were full and soft-looking, and he found himself wondering what they would feel like beneath his own.
Heavens.
The unwelcome stirring in his loins was immediate and powerful, a reminder that he was still very much a man despite his determination to remain detached. He shifted slightly, grateful for the shadows cast by the firelight that concealed his body’s treacherous reaction.
This was exactly the kind of distraction he could not afford. The woman was beautiful, undeniably so, but beauty was a weapon as surely as any blade, and he had learned long ago not to let his guard down around such things.
He forced himself to look away, to focus on the flames dancing in the hearth rather than the way her golden hair seemed to shimmer with each breath she took.
“Sit.” He gestured curtly to the chair across from his desk without looking at her directly.
She remained standing. “My Laird, I wanted to thank you for allowing Eloise and me to at least clean up and rest.”
He turned to face her again and nodded, his voice cutting through her polite gratitude like a blade. “We need to discuss the terms of our arrangement.”
His eyes were drawn to the swell of her breasts once again, but this time his reaction was expected. He forced himself to meet her gaze instead.
“I should have sent ye back,” he said without preamble, not bothering with pleasantries. “Sent ye both back to whatever mess Earl Holton created with his lies and omissions.”
Her face went pale, but she held his gaze. “I see.”
“Do ye?” He took a step closer to her. “Because yer father failed to mention certain… complications about this arrangement.”
“Surely, he did, but?—”
“Ye brought someone else’s child into this marriage agreement.”
“She is not?—”
“But I need an heir,” he continued, cutting off her protest. “The MacGhee bloodline cannae end with me, nae when so many depend on our strength and leadership.”
“So you’re keeping us.” Her voice was carefully neutral, but he heard a whisper of relief in her voice.
“Aye. Because desperate women make practical wives. They dinnae expect tender words or gentle touches. They take what protection is offered and ask for nothin’ more.”
“You’re quite right,” she whispered. “I expect nothing but shelter for myself and Eloise.”
He followed her with his eyes as she finally took the offered seat.
“I’ll protect ye and the bairn, lassie. Ye’ll have a safe home here, I always protect what’s mine. But there are some rules that expect ye to follow as me wife.”
He watched her bite her lip, and the movement was enough to send blood straight to his loins again. Why the hell was he acting like a lad that has yet to bed a woman? Thankfully, her voice brought him out of his thoughts.
“Rules, My Laird?”
“Aye. Rule Number One: I expect ye to be carrying an heir within two months of our marriage.”
4
He had stated his first rule without preamble, watching her face for any sign of shock or protest.
She blinked several times but nodded politely.
“The ceremony will take place within the week.” He noted the way her hands clenched together and the slight tremor in her fingers, but she remained silent. “After ye are with child, I will nae be expectin’ much more from ye. Ye will share me name and me protection but nothin’ more.”
When she responded, her voice was deliberately calm. “I understand.”
“Do ye?” He moved closer, looming over her seated form. “This is nae some grand romance, Francesca. This is a business arrangement, pure and simple. I need connections to Englishsociety and legitimate heirs. Ye need refuge from yer family’s disgrace. That is all.”
