A low grunt left his lips as his hand missed its mark. She turned sharply and laid the blanket on the floor with a stubborn flick, then dropped onto the hardwood with a defiant thump. The pillow hit the floor beside her.
She did not look back at the bed. She would not. Her face was already far too warm.
“What in the blazes are you doing?” he demanded, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “You truly cannot be serious about this.”
“I am sleepin’ on the floor, since ye willnae offer to do so yerself,” she snapped, burying her face in the pillow. “Because I am nae sharing a bed with ye. And ye are too big!”
“That is the only blanket we have.”
“Then perhaps ye shouldnae have chosen to sleep half-naked. Put on some proper clothes!”
With a frustrated growl, the Duke sprang from the bed. He reached down and grabbed her arm, firmly but gently pulling her up to her feet and forcing her to face him.
“Stop acting like a fool and go to bed, Lady Inverhall. You need sleep. It is a basic human need, even you cannot refute that, much as I think you survive on arguments more than oxygen.”
“I willnae share a bed with a man who treats me like property,” she hissed, her green eyes blazing. “Ye are no gentleman, much as ye like to parade yer fancy titles around.”
They stood inches apart, facing each other head-on. The air in the tiny room was impossibly thick with their defiance. Elspeth watched as his gaze dropped to her lips, lingering for a moment, before he pulled back, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he rubbed his beard.
She yanked her arm out of his grip, looking at him as if she were ready to attack.
“I will not touch you,” he bit out, his voice rough.
“I dinnae believe ye,” she whispered, unconsciously more afraid of what would happen if he did not.
“Do you truly think that low of me, My Lady?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“Ye havenae given me much indication to think otherwise. Ye marched into me home, claimed me room, dragged me to a ridiculous event, and now ye’ve forced me to follow ye to London! So excuse me if I have a sense of self-preservation.”
The Duke clenched his jaw. “I am sorry you are unhappy with the circumstances, My Lady, but this is how the world works. The house you so vehemently call yours was your husband’s, and my uncle’s after him. God knows why my uncle did not claim it from you, but it was never your property.”
She jutted her chin. “Aye, it was never mine by law. But I kept the roof from cavin’ in and fed half the village when no one else would.”
The Duke’s nostrils flared, but he held his ground. “And I do not belittle that, Lady Inverhall. But sentiment does not rewrite deeds. I am the rightful heir. And while I did not ask for this responsibility, I will not shirk it.”
She frowned. “It doesnae feel like a responsibility. It feels like a punishment.”
“That is not my doing,” he said flatly. “You are angry with the world, and I happen to be the man standing in front of you. Convenient, perhaps, but misdirected.”
“I daenae want to be in London,” she said more softly.
“And yet here we are.”
His voice was like iron—cold, unbending. She glared up at him, willing him to say something cruel, something unforgivable, so she might hate him properly.
But he only looked at her, his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable. A long silence stretched out between them.
Elspeth felt the profound exhaustion of the journey finally settle deep into her bones as she took a step back from him. Her shoulders slumped, and her knees grew weak. With a defeated sigh, she grabbed the blanket and climbed into the bed, still in her day dress.
“Are you not going to change into sleeping clothes?” the Duke asked. “Are you that stubborn? Are you aware that you smell?”
She did not answer. Instead, she merely rolled onto her side, turning her back to him. She pulled the blanket up to her chin, savoring the simple comfort of clean bedding.
Within minutes, the rhythmic sound of their breathing filled the small room as they both succumbed to sleep.
She dreamed of rolling hills, tall trees, and a valiant duke riding a dark horse until?—
Do I have a fever?
