His eyes darkened. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Aye.”
But he didn’t move toward her.
Scarlett’s chest rose and fell, her nerves evident on her face, and she could not help but ask, “Must we really do this?”
Robert’s eyes narrowed at her before saying, “It’s me duty.”
He then took a step then another until the heat of him pressed against her. Their chests brushed, her breath mingling with his. His hand lifted, hovering near her arm but never touching.
Scarlett’s lips parted, and her body ached for what he withheld. “Then claim it,” she whispered, but there was still a bit of tremble to her voice.
His mouth was so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. Scarlett didn't move. She couldn't.
"Sleep tonight, lass."
He didn't pull away. He stepped back. One slow, deliberate pace at a time, until he was out of her space. He stayed there for a heartbeat, watching her, making sure she felt the gap he’d just put between them. It wasn't a retreat, it was a demonstration.
Then he turned and walked out. The connecting door clicked shut, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
Scarlett stood alone in the center of the chamber. Her pulse thudded in her ears, heavy and fast.
She looked at the stone walls, the unfamiliar bed, and the closed door, her hands trembling slightly at her sides.
She had been braced for a fight or a touch, but the silence he left behind was harder to handle.
CHAPTER FOUR
Robert had not closed his eyes all night.
He sat alone in his study the next morning, the heavy chair pulled close to the hearth though the fire did little to warm him. His shoulders ached, not from the journey but from the strain of holding himself still when every nerve in his body had screamed to move, to act, and to claim.
It should have been simple, right? She was his wife, and it was his duty. And yet when he had stood in her chamber, within reach of her lips and her soft, breathless voice, he had done nothing.
Fool.
If she’d looked at him with hunger instead of nerves, he’d have taken her last night and been done with it. But she’d stood there breathing hard, bracing herself as if for a blow. It wasn't want on her face, it was endurance.
His mother had worn that same expression every day of the last year of her life, waiting for his father to come back to himself. He’d never forgotten the hollow look of a woman simply waiting for it to be over.
He’d walked out of the room before he could think too long about why it mattered that Scarlett looked the same. He didn't want a martyr in his bed, and he didn't want to be the man who made her one.
Robert dragged a hand across his mouth, scowling. He despised weakness in others but loathed it most in himself. The truth clawed at him; it had taken every ounce of control he possessed to step back. And even now, in the gray light of morning, Scarlett was still in his mind.
He muttered aloud to the empty chamber. “An heir, that is all. A body to give me a son, nay more. She’ll have nothing else from me.”
The door to the study swung open.
Leon walked in without knocking as he always did, a whetstone in one hand and his sword balanced carelessly in the other. He leaned the blade against the wall, brushing ash from his sleeves. “Ye look as though ye fought three battles in yer sleep, Rob. Tell me, is marriage such a trial?”
Robert’s glare snapped toward him. “I did nae summon ye.”
Leon smirked, dropping into the chair opposite the hearth. “Nay, but I could smell the brooding from the corridor. Thought I’d save the servants from it.”
“I’ve nay patience for yer humor this morning.”
“Humor? Saints, I came for answers.” Leon leaned forward, lowering his voice in mock seriousness. “How was the Laird’s first night with his new bride? Should I be congratulating ye or fetching a priest?”
Robert’s hand clenched tight on the arm of his chair. “Ye’ll hold yer tongue.”
