Things shewishedshe hadn’t noticed.
The heat of his body in the cold air, the firmness of his hands. The quiet, controlled ease with which he managed her, as though lifting flustered women down from fences at midnight was part of his ordinary skill set.
It was practicallyintolerable.
More intolerable still was the fact that her own body registered him.
He set her on the ground with maddening steadiness, and only then did he let go.
“Ye should be more careful,” he said. “Ye could have hurt yerself.”
Ava stared at him.
That was it. No demand to know whether she meant to disgrace him. No fury at finding his chosen bride attempting escape. Only concern, as if the chief problem with the evening lay in the risk of her breaking an ankle.
For some reason, that unsettled her even more than his anger would have.
She drew herself up, though the closeness of his body still lingered annoyingly on her skin. “Are ye sure ye daenae want another bride?”
The question came out before she could make it sound cooler and less hopeful.
One of his eyebrows lifted. “Ah, of course,” he said. “I should take the one who almost fainted at the mere sight of me.”
The absurdity of it broke through the tension before she could stop it. A startled giggle escaped her. It was small and mortifying and real.
“Well,” she drawled, “maybe naethatone.”
For the space of one breath, the night changed.
The loch remained black behind them. The air still bit at her cheeks. Yet something in the space between them loosened just enough to feel dangerous.
At that moment, they were no longer the Laird and his unwilling bride. They were a man and a woman in the dark, speaking with ease neither of them had expected in the first place.
Then, almost like they were both made aware of that fact at the same time, the tenderness vanished.
His mouth set again. “Ye’re mistaken, me Lady.”
Ava narrowed her eyes. “About what?”
He looked toward the loch for a moment, then back at her, and when he spoke, his voice held the same blunt calm with which he had first chosen her.
“I daenae want a wife who fears me.”
Her breath eased a fraction.
“But neither do I want one who cares for me.”
The words landed so cleanly that she almost missed their force at first. Then they struck her all at once.
“What?”
“I thought ye understood that much already.” His tone remained just as level. “I chose ye because ye didnae seem eager. Ye didnae look as though ye wished for softness from me. That suited me.”
Ava could only stare at him as the night grew colder.
“This is to be a marriage of convenience,” he continued. “Apracticalone. Ye need nae fear that I expect foolish devotions or tender nonsense. After producing an heir, we may live mostly separate lives.”
Ava felt the words strike her very core.
