She raised her chin. “He didn’t allow it. He never found out about Durham’s suit at all.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cam stared at her, sure he’d hadn’t heard her right. “Your father never knew about Durham’s offer,” he repeated, his voice flat.
Impossible. The late Lord Carlisle had cared for nothing more than his own consequence. He’d have made it his business to know about his daughter’s prospects, and he would never have permitted her to toss away the chance to become a marchioness.
A cold, bitter anger seized him. She was lying. She was her father’s daughter, after all. He’d been a liar, too.
She flinched at his obvious skepticism, but said nothing. Her dark eyes narrowed, moved over his face. Whatever she saw there made her stiffen in the saddle.
Damn her.She looked at him as if . . . as if he’d disappointed her.
Cam clenched his fists until his fingers threatened to snap into pieces. She had no right to look at him like that, to make him feel as if he’d wounded her somehow. He didn’t owe Eleanor Sutherland anything. Quite the opposite.
His voice sliced through the silence between them. “Do you expect me to believe that?”
She didn’t answer for a moment, then she shook her head. “I don’t expect anything of you.”
Another lie. “Ah, but I expect something from you, my lady. The truth. Shall we begin again? How is it you did not become the Marchioness of Durham?”
She wheeled her horse around, as if prepared to flee. “I told you already. I can’t help it if you don’t like my answer.”
He didn’t like it because it was a lie. “Such an accomplished actress, and yet this is an unconvincing performance. You’ll have to do better, because I don’t believe you.”
Her face hardened. “Pity, but whether you take or leave my answer hasn’t anything to do with me. Do as you wish.”
Cam squeezed the reins until the worn leather between his fingers creaked a protest. “I choose to leave it, and it has everything to do with—”
Before he could spit out the rest of his furious reply, he’d choked on the dust kicked up by her horse. He leapt after her in a second flurry of pounding hooves, devouring the space between them. She hadn’t gotten far before he caught up to her, grabbed her horse’s reins and forced her to an abrupt halt.
She kept her seat with ease, but she turned on him in a breathless rage nonetheless. “Have you lost your wits? What do you think you’re doing? You nearly unseated me!”
He tossed the reins back to her, but seized her wrist so she couldn’t bolt again. “We’re not done talking.”
She tried to tug her arm free. “I am.”
He held her fast. Her wrist felt small, the bones fragile between his fingers, but fragility was an illusion when it came to Eleanor Sutherland. “Is this how you honor your promises? We have a truce.”
She jerked her chin up. “I’ve honored the truce. You asked your question, and I answered it. We’re done.”
He urged his horse closer so he could study her face. “I’m not.”
“What’s the point in proceeding? I’ll only lie to you again, won’t I?”
He eased his grip on her wrist. “Then tell me the truth, Eleanor.”
“Lie. Truth. What’s the difference? People believe what they wish to believe. It’s easier for you to believe me a liar, just as it’s easier and more entertaining for thetonto call me Lady Frost behind my back. You don’t want the truth any more than they do.”
Cam hesitated. If he didn’t find out her story now, he’d never get another chance, truce or not. He could at least hear her out. She’d done as much for him. “You must admit it’s difficult to believe your father would allow you to refuse Durham, Eleanor.”
“I told you. He never found out about it.”
“How could he not?” His earlier anger surfaced again, but he made an effort to keep his voice calm. “Durham would have had to ask for your hand—”
“He did ask for my hand.” She tugged at her wrist, and this time he let her go. “He asked Alec.”
“Why,” Cam asked, disbelief ringing in every word, “would he ask your brother for your hand, instead of your father? The earl?”
