“So you built your household with people you could trust,” she said.
“Yes,” Duncan replied simply. “Trust is scarce in my world.”
The quiet that followed was not unpleasant, and Charity hesitated because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
But she needed to. If she was truly going to be his wife, then she could not remain ignorant.
“Why didn’t you look for a wife?” Charity asked softly. “Was it because you didn’t want one?”
“Sleep,” he said.
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I’m not answering it,” Duncan replied.
Charity felt a flare of frustration.
“You demand honesty from me, and yet you refuse it yourself. That is not a fair thing.”
Duncan was silent, and the mattress shifted again when he stood up.
Charity’s body reacted immediately, the instinctive tension returning. She turned her head, and even in the dim light, she could make out his shape moving toward her side of the bed. He stopped near her, close enough that Charity’s heart kicked hard in her chest.
Charity’s fingers moved without permission, as she clutched the small cross necklace at her throat, pressing it into her palm as if it could steady her.
“Look at me,” he said.
In the dimness, his face looked harsher, the scars more pronounced.
“What Englishwoman would agree to be my wife,” Duncan said quietly, “when I’m nowhere close to their standards?”
The words startled her, and she didn’t know what to say.
I disagree.
Because he might be intimidating, but he was also infuriatingly handsome, in that hard, dangerous way that made her pulse betray her. But it would be unwise to say that.
Charity swallowed and forced her voice steady, “Standards are often foolish,” she said as a neutral response.
Duncan’s gaze stayed on her for a beat, as if assessing whether she meant it. Then, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently back against the pillow. Charity’s pulse hammered anyway.
Duncan pulled the covers up over her, tucking them around her shoulders as if he were barricading her from the world.
“Sleep,” he said again.
“I….”
“Sleep,” Duncan repeated, “You’ll need strength tomorrow, if you’re going to face your uncle.”
It was effectively his way of ending the conversation.
Charity swallowed, fingers loosening around her cross.
“And you,” she asked quietly, “will you sleep?”
“Aye,” he said.
He moved towards the sofa and opted to sleep there.
