“Why? We could have tried another publisher—”
“Who? There are few publishers of this sort of antiquarian research and certainly no others in Italy. I would have to return to London, and even then it could take years, given the snail’s pace of publication schedules.Thispublisher will have the article to print in just two months. We can begin to establish ourselves as a force to be reckoned with now.”
“But . . .” Chrissi trailed off.
“What’s done is done, Chris.” He pinned her with his dark eyes. “And truly, once we are married, it will be as if our efforts were joined. Becausewewill be joined!” He motioned between them.
Aghast, Chrissi could only stare at him.
Thiswas what he thought of her?
No matter all the pretty words they had exchanged—goals and aspirations she had thought they both shared—he felt justified in claiming her hard work as his own.
And how could she marry him, knowing this was his true nature? That he would never view her as an equal?
“When we write our next article,” he continued, “we can negotiate better how to proceed with—”
“Another article?! Why would I trust you enough to attempt this a second time?”
“Chris . . .”
“No! Do notChrisme, as if I am a child you need to reprimand. You knew how I would feel about this, and yet you acted anyway. You have shattered the trust between us, Alis!”
He blanched and then, just as quickly, scowled. “I think that might be a wee bit dramatic, lass. Ye must be more pragmatic about this. In order to establish a household, we need the money and recognitionnow, not in five years. Ye be a woman, Chris. A brilliant one, aye, but a woman nonetheless. A female attempting to publish in an academic world. It simply isn’t done. It should be enough to know that a publisher thought your ideas fine enough to pass as my own—the man you willtakeas your own!”
“So that is your true opinion, then? That I should simply be grateful that my work was esteemed so fine, amanmight have done it? Those are the lofty heights to which I should aspire?”
“Aye! That is the reality of the world in which we live. Ye are usually so level-headed. I thought ye would understand the practical nature of this.”
“Practical nature?! I have a dowry, Alis. You cannot convince me this isonlyabout money.”
Scowling, Alis turned to look out the window. “Let us discuss this once we have both had some time to think more rationally.”
Chrissi stared at his profile, her stomach a tangle of rope—twisted and pulling.
What was she to do? How could she marry him—despite the love still burning in her chest—when he assumed she would be happy to work in his shadow? When he cared more about finances than honesty?
The very thought was a beast’s claws sinking into her breast.
Because there was only one conclusion to be reached here—
Alistair didn’t know her. Not truly. He certainly didn’t understand her—not the yearnings that drove her heart, the desires that gave her life meaning and breath.
Nor, if his current attitude were to be believed, did hewishto understand her.
Oh dear.
She bit her trembling lip.
No!
Her heart angrily rejected the conclusion her brain had already determined.
And yet . . .
She couldn’t.
She simply couldnotmarry Alis. Not like this.
