He took another step back. “Not with me,” he said gruffly. “I’m the wrong man. I’m not for you. I hate virgins.” He threw the last in to embarrass her, shock her, but she held her ground, looking uncharacteristically fierce for such a shy lass.
“All my life people have told me how to choose, what to do, and I have allowed it. But now—”
He held up his hand. “Don’t say it, Gillian. You’ll regret it. Don’t even think it. What would your father say? Or your husband?”
She lifted her chin and folded her arms over her chest. “They aren’t here.”
“Oh yes, they are. They’re standing between us. If any man in that barn woke now and caught me with you, he’d kill me, and no one would say he did wrong. In fact, I think I’ll take myself off now, so I don’t risk it. No woman is worth dying for.” It hurt to lie to her. But she was young and innocent, and even if she didn’t know it, she was goingtosomething, not running away. He’d done nothing but run. He was getting good at it. His life was a secret shame, a past that prevented any kind of future.
He scowled at her, waited for her to flee in tears, insulted and hurt, but she stayed where she was and watched him silently.
She didn’t believe him.
He wanted to take her hand, drag her across the yard and into the meadow, find a patch of heather in the moonlight and lay her down. He damned her father, her husband, and the whole world. And honor, too. Especially honor.
But he couldn’t do it. It would ruin them both.
He damned himself most of all. He muttered a filthy curse as he turned on his heel and walked away, left her standing there.
There were eight days left in their journey—seven, perhaps, if they rode hard and fast, if he pushed the men and the garrons and Gillian.
And then he’d have to give her away to the lucky man who’d call her wife, and lover, and companion.
He stopped and leaned on the wall of the barn, invisible in the dark shadows. He should not have kissed her. Not now, and not at the masquerade ball. He was a fool. If kissing her was heaven, then giving her away would be akin to the torments of hell.
With another curse, he turned and drove his fist into the stone wall.
