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A little knowing smile drew her ripe lips. “I do. But that’s not the point here.”
To hear she missed him did not help one bit. It originated in him the canon-ball-like impulse to go to her and give them both what they desired, what strummed so loudly in the room.
Loud was the attraction simmering between husband and wife. Loud echoed countless layers of feelings unconfessed and otherwise. Love, yes, and his shame, her loss at what to make of his distance, the yearning, the sacrifice he must make, the sorrow in her eyes.
“I’ve been busy.” He braced his feet, fists on his hips, and treated her with his
scrutiny.
“Too busy to even have dinner with your wife?” Why did she have to ask these treacherous questions?
He would never be too busy for his wife. Every hour he spent in eager wait for the moment he might see her again. Even if only from a distance. Even if only when she trotted Debranua through the estate, or his servants informed him of her whereabouts, her activities during a day he forced himself to spend far from her.
Nearly eight feet separated them, but the tension thrummed as if they stood nose to nose. He wished they did because then he’d devour that saucy mouth of hers.
“The paperwork won’t allow for it.” Lame excuse, both understood it.
If possible, her spine straightened even more. “Quit the evasive techniques, Fingal.”
No one could accuse his wife of being daft. He should not treat her as such. Whether she wanted out or not, whether he could take it or not, he owed her at least a hint of his musings. Fingal tried to stay as rational as he might, except reason had nothing to do with this. His heart drowned in his love for the wife he took without permission. And he was striving to keep his head above water.
“You told your father you married me to spare your sister.” She asked for answers; she would get them.
Her dark eyes studied him for lengthy seconds. “This was one of the reasons, yes.”
His turn to study her, intrigued. “What other reasons could you have?”
Was it because of his horses? Or perhaps because her father intended an alliance with his clan. Catriona never denied her appreciation for her country; she would do anything, including marriage to a scoundrel like him, to achieve it. Would she not? Reasons abounded, and hers appeared infinite.
“A marriage decision is not based on a single aspect.” She came a few steps closer.
“Quit the evasive techniques, Catriona,” he threw back.
“The wifely duties aspect did not seem too bad.” More steps forward.
If she intended for him to pounce on her, she was doing an outstanding job of it. To remain in the same room, with her beauty and her determination, her sharpness and the scent he now inhaled as she approached, tested his limits. They were playing with dangerous fire. Their fire. He was. And his head became progressively less engaged here. A bonfire started to take him by assault as if he had been tied to a stake in a sort of medieval court. Torture, pure and simple.
“The other 'aspect' might be the fact I did not offer you a choice,” he ventured. The effort to keep his mind clear became more difficult by the minute.
By now, she had come close enough to his desk. She braced her hands on it and flayed him with a glare. “Do you think I wouldn’t have found a way to stay in London, if that was what I wanted?”
For a miss who had succeeded to travel to Scotland, train a horse, get him in tenterhooks and return to London, she would have accomplished anything to which she set her mind. “You can be a tad single-minded given the chance, yes.” To say the least. A trait that made him love her the more.
Her stare pierced him further. “And do you by any chance believe I would have said 'yes' at our wedding if I had no will to marry you?”
Fingal displayed a quizzical scowl. “What are you saying?” That dim, faint beam of something that should not be, but resembled hope, shone timid in a hidden and dark part of him. One he did not dare acknowledge to avoid a disappointment.
Her brows pleated as though she deemed him dense. “I’m saying I love you, you pig-headed giant!”
Then he did pounce. “Catriona!” The rakish smile he drew felt rusty with the tension of the last week. His bunched arms banded her as their mouths latched hungry. They kissed until they must come up for air.
Reluctantly, they separated. “I meant to return your freedom,” he rasped on her lips.
This woman loved him. Hell and damnation! He did not even fathom if he deserved this love, her. But she looked at him with so much unreserved emotion, he had no choice but believe his luck. His perfect match, perfect even when they disagreed. Especially when they disagreed, since the make-up process proved to be so delicious.
“And who are you to choose for me?” Her mouth dragged down his thick neck, nibbling on the smooth skin.
“Because I love you, too, you impossible lass!” he said heartily. “I’ll keep you here forever, in that case,” he commanded.
