He interrupted her impatiently. “Being a Tradesman’s daughter is your convenient excuse not to put yourself out for anyone.”
The accusation was outrageous. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” His eyes were silvery sharp as they met hers. “Look at yourself, Miss Harrell. You have the looks to set the Town on fire and your father’s fortune to make you a worthy prize, but you whine that you were snubbed and are therefore unhappy. Poor little rich girl,” he said without sympathy. “She doesn’t like her stepmama—like a hundred other women don’t—and has no friends. All right now, let’s be honest. The only people who snubbed you were those who were jealous. But you use their small-mindedness to keep a wall between yourself and the rest of the world. You didn’t even choose your own husband—”
“Wait a minute!” Lyssa leaped to her own defense. “Is this the same man who was lecturing me on the advantages of arranged marriages?”
“I did,” he admitted, “but that was before you started turning up your nose at everything—”
“I have not turned up my nose—”
“You can’t even say my Christian name!”
“I can too!”
“But you don’t.”
He was right.
And the reason she didn’t was, as he’d said, to keep a wall between them. But not for the reasons he suggested. No, she needed the wall because he was too vital, too overpowering…too masculine for her comfort.
Nor was he done. “You expect me to jump at your every whim while you tap your little blistered foot with impatience. Meanwhile, you have yet to listen to sound advice and reason.”
That accusation was doing it a bit too brown. She’d been following him around like a lap dog. “When have I not listened?”
He began ticking off the instances on his fingers. “You wouldn’t go to London—”
“There were killers blocking the road. Killers who followedyou, I might add.”
He ignored her jibe. “I told you to stay in your room in the inn last night.”
“We’ve already discussed this,” she countered, since here was a legitimate case when she should have listened to him.
“And you introduced us as brother and sister.” He poked his index finger in the air at her. “You got exactly what you asked for from Anderson. I’ve been trying to protect you from his kind and worse, and I’m tired of fighting with you—”
“We’re not fighting. We’re merely expressing our opinions.”
“Well, I’mtiredof your opinions. And I’m tired of being treated as if I were less than a man. Whether you’ll excuse me or not, Miss Harrell, I need a bit of distance from you. I plan on going to the wake this evening and enjoying myself with good, honest people who don’t have the money to buy everything they wish. You can stay here and pout, or you can walk to Appin. At this point, I’m heartily tired of your whole foolish adventure.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked out the door.
Lyssa stood stunned.
No one had ever talked to her that way before. In fact, Mr. Campion had notyettreated her in the way in which she was accustomed. This nonsense about his being tired of her—?
If anything,shewas tired ofhim! He was grumpy, incorrigible, bullish—and she would tell him. She hurried to the door. “Mr. Campion!”
He didn’t stop.
She took three steps out the door. “Mr. Campion!”
He kept walking.
“Ian!”
He stopped.
Slowly, he turned. “Yes, Lyssa?”
