Robert was visibly stunned by the sudden intrusion. “Ye daenae knock now?”
She shut the door behind her. “Ye’d only have ignored it.”
His mouth tightened. She was right. “What do ye want, Scarlett?” “To see me husband,” she snapped. “He’s been avoiding me.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy…” she shot back. “Do ye think ye can kiss me like that then vanish? Leave me to wonder what in God’s name it meant?”
The words hit him hard in the gut. He held her gaze, but she did not flinch.
Scarlett crossed the room, set her notebook on his desk, and untied it with steady hands. Blank pages fell open between them. “If ye’re content to bury yerself in papers, then I’ll sit with ye. But ye willnae shut me out.”
Robert blinked, caught off guard. “Sit… with me?”
“Aye,” she said. “I’ll draw. Ye’ll work. And maybe ye’ll remember I’m flesh and blood, nae a ghost ye can shove aside when it suits ye.”
He stared at her, at the flush in her cheeks, the determined tilt of her chin. He’d braced for tears, for pleading. Not this.
Her hand stayed steady with the charcoal though her voice gave away what her face did not. “I’ve lived too long being bartered, ordered, silenced. I willnae have me marriage the same. If ye’ve words for me, speak them. If nae, then I’ll make ye hear mine.”
Robert shifted, unsettled by the fire blazing from her eyes.
Christ, she doesnae cower. She charges.
“Scarlett…” His voice came rough, and then he cleared it. “I meant nay harm by distance.”
Her hand paused mid-stroke. She lifted her eyes, sharp as daggers. “Nay harm? Ye kissed me till me knees nearly buckled then left me to pace me chamber like a fool. That’s harm enough.”
Robert’s breath caught in his chest. He forced his arms to remain folded, to hide the tension surging through him. “It was a mistake.”
She slammed the charcoal down, the snap echoing in the chamber. “Mistake? Call it what ye like, but daenae pretend it doesnae matter. It mattered to me.”
The rawness in her voice gutted him more than any blade. He’d rather she shouted, struck him, anything but this.
He rose slowly, palms braced against the desk. “Scarlett…”
She stepped back, but her gaze never wavered. “Nay, listen. I willnae be the meek wife who waits for scraps. Ye want five nights of me? Then start by looking me in the eye and treating me as more than duty.”
Robert’s chest rose and fell, heavy. She was right, God help him, she was right. But admitting it felt like surrender.
At last he said, low, “Ye’ve more backbone than I reckoned.”
Scarlett smiled, but it held no warmth. “Then reckon again, Robert. I willnae vanish when it suits ye.”
For a heartbeat, neither moved. His eyes dropped, unbidden, to her mouth. Heat surged up, raw and dangerous. He clenched his fists to keep from reaching.
Scarlett noticed of course. She always did. She snapped the notebook shut, gathered her charcoal, and said with cool finality, “If ye’ll have me here, I’ll sit. If nae, I’ll leave. But I willnae be ignored.”
Robert’s throat worked. Words failed him. All he could manage was a short, gruff nod.
She sat across from him, opening her notebook once more, her hand already sketching. He lowered himself into his chair though the papers blurred before his eyes.
For the first time in days, he was not alone with his thoughts, and it unsettled him more than solitude ever had.
Scarlett let the charcoal drag softly across the parchment, shading the bend of a tree trunk. She tried to keep her hand steady, but her pulse thrummed too fast. She could feel him, his presence, on the other side of the desk. The faint scratch of his quill came and went, broken by long silences. She dared not lift her gaze, knowing she’d catch him staring.
His voice interrupted her, as if dragged from him against his will. “What is it ye usually draw?”
Her head lifted just a fraction, startled that he had spoken at all. “Faces, mostly. Loved ones. Edith, Aaron. Sometimes landscapes.” She let a small smile tug at her lips. “Things I want to carry with me, even when I’m nae close to them.”
