“There,” he said. “That should satisfy your sense of justice.”
Gillian moved behind him to read it over his shoulder. It was quite a bit longer than the last and included some things he’d apparently forgotten to put in the first one. But the most significant difference was theterminology. Everything applied to both of them equally.
She looked down at him, pleased. He sat very still, and she realized she’d leaned against his back at some point in her reading. Her hand rested on his shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his body through his clothing and was surprised by it. She’d imagined him to be cold, like marble. He stared hard across the room, at the fireplace, deep in thought.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said softly.
His head turned a fraction toward her voice, black lashes lowering as he looked toward her, but not at her. Her heart’s tempo increased as she studied his profile, the faint shadow of black whiskers hugging his jaw. How would it feel? Scratchy? Smooth? Her fingers twitched against his shoulder. He did not move or speak, and a sense of awkwardness descended.
“Shall I sign it?” she asked, moving away from him so he could stand.
And he did, the moment she removed her hand from him, as if her touch had held him captive. She sat down and quickly signed beside his signature. She shook sand over the entire document, pouring the excess back into the bowl.
“You’re dismissed,” he said, his back to her.
The spark of warmth she’d begun to feel toward him sputtered out. But she didn’t leave. He was an earl. She must become accustomed to his brusque manner if they were to live together.
“When is the wedding?”
He turned, frowning his displeasure. “I know not.”
“Should we not set a date? My father wishes to see us wed before he . . . before he . . .” She couldn’t finish. Couldn’t force the words through her constricted throat. Couldn’t speak about her father dying, though it was a reality they’d all come to accept.
The look he gave her was very odd, enigmatic and thoughtful. “I know. That’s why I think we should draw this out indefinitely.”
Gillian blinked. “To what purpose?”
After a lengthy pause, he said, “To know one another better.”
If Gillian had believed him, such an answer would have pleased her. However, the way he said it made her believe he was formulating an excuse, rather than giving a legitimate reason.
She looked back down at the contract before her. There was something new he’d added in this version. If either of them came to find the other unsuitable before consummation, they could part ways with no consequences. Gillian had thought it odd, considering all the other penalties for even the suggestion of disloyalty, but now she saw it for what it was. He meant to drag this betrothal out as long as possible—past her father’s death. And when her father finally passed away, he would declare her unsuitable and be done with the whole affair.
She stood abruptly. “I know what you’re doing.”
A black brow arched. “Do you now?”
Her palms were sweaty and her heart raced, but she would say this. “You truly are as soulless as everyone says if you believe you’re somehow outwitting a dyingman. Do you think he’ll not know, just because he’s dead? If you don’t want to marry me, then just say so.”
“I don’t want to marry you.”
Gillian could think of no response; she just stood there, hands fisted at her sides, speechless by his admission and furious with herself for goading him into admitting it.
He walked slowly toward her, his black eyes taking in every nuance of her expression. “But I have every intention of following through.”
“Then why the lengthy betrothal? I’m not a child that needs to reach maturity. I’m two and twenty.”
“And eager to get on with it, aye?”
She ignored the suggestive sneer in his voice. “Aye—I am. For my father’s sake.”
“You’re too selfless,” he said, a sardonic tilt to his mouth. She inhaled sharply as his finger trailed along her jaw, the warmth nearly singeing her with surprise. “Sacrificing so much to make your father happy.”
With some effort, Gillian jerked her face away and stepped back. He dropped his hand, watching her with what appeared to be mild amusement, though she couldn’t be certain. It chafed that he was right. He knew she wanted to marry him—and how selfish her reasons were.
“You’re right, of course. I want this marriage more than you do.” When he turned away from her, practically smirking, she grabbed his arm. He stared down at her hand on his sleeve, clearly unused to being handled by anyone. “But it’s not about you. It’s about my family. I want to be here in Scotland rather than far away,across a sea.” Her declaration was met with cold silence. She pressed on, frustrated. “It’s clear from your contract you expect the worst from me, to be rid of me soon enough.” She shook her head gravely. “But I will not find you unsuitable, nor will I ever be unfaithful. I will be so bloody loyal you’llneverbe rid of me.”
There was a bored glaze to his eyes when he said, “Are you finished?” He glanced at his sleeve again where she gripped it, his brows raising patiently.
