“I suppose not. Too plebian, I would imagine.”
The way he arched a single, black brow hinted at reproach. “You are not only quick-tempered, but quick to judge.”
“As are you,” she needled sweetly. She took a deep breath. “The fireplace is quite extraordinary.”
And it was. It was enormous, its expanse in keeping with the proportions of the room.
“Limestone?” She walked toward it.
“Indeed.”
“The family coat of arms?” Reaching out, she touched the carving on one side, the armored helm of a soldier. There was a matching one on the other side.
He nodded. “Argent on a—”
“Fess gule.” With her fingertips Maura traced the broad, horizontal band across the width of the shield. “Three mullet of the field.” Within the band, she touched each of the five-pointed stars. “The argent, the shield of white, signifies purity and sincerity, I believe, the red for military might. Am I right, your grace?”
Both his brows shot high. “You are. But why do I suspect you already knew that? I am quite relieved to know I’ve married a woman whose education has not been neglected. Indeed, my brother Aidan, who served Her Majesty for a number of years in India, will be delighted to discover I’ve wed a woman who is able to correctly identify the symbols—and with the proper terminology.”
It wasn’t meant as a compliment. It was simply his turn to needle her.
Maura ignored the jibe, still taking in the room with its timbered roof and whitewashed stone walls. But numerous comforts had clearly been added over the years. She glanced down at the handmade carpet beneath her feet.
“Aubusson?” she inquired.
“Persian. Sixteenth century.”
Richly colored tapestries hung on the walls. Whether they were French or Dutch, she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t about to ask Alec, with his superior airs, that was for certain. One depicted a hunting scene—why, who would have thought?
A medieval lute caught her eye. She paused before an ornate, gilded pier table with a marble inlaid top. The worth of this piece alone, she speculated, would have fed and kept in comfort everyone on McDonough lands for at least several years. A spark simmered within her. She couldn’t help the thought that ran rampant through her mind. How much had been pilfered by the Black Scotsman on his raids? Prizes claimed from other vessels and taken for his own?
A group of furniture was clustered around the fireplace. Two divans with plump flowered cushions. Several roomy, claw-footed wing chairs with matching footstools. She seated herself in one, but her back was ramrod straight.
“You are right, your grace. It’s all quite impressive.” Her first impression had been wrong. She wanted to hate it, to declare Alec’s home as forbidding as its master. But she couldn’t. Despite the rich furnishings, with the fire burning in the hearth, the rustic feel gave it a charm that was warmly inviting. “And though I’ve yet to see all of it, I doubt my opinion will change.”
“Alec. You must call me Alec. After all, we are husband and wife now.” He moved to a table under the window where a silver tray filled with shimmering crystal decanters and glasses had been placed. “Wine?” he inquired. He half filled a delicately etched goblet.
Maura couldn’t seem to take her eyes from his hands. His fingers were long. Graceful yet strong, bronzed from the sun. So intensely masculine she felt her mouth grow dry. “I think not,” she said finally.
“Lost your taste for it, eh?”
Their eyes locked. He was toying with her, the cad! Damn him for reminding her!
He started to drink. Stopped, then slowly lowered the glass. He stared at her in taut silence until Maura wanted to scream. Then, in a voice almost deadly quiet, he said, “Do you think I don’t know what you did?”
Maura blanched. Composure was impossible. Her breath hung suspended in her throat, but her mind was racing. Was it the fact that she’d drugged him? Or the fact that their marriage—
He approached, so that they stood at opposite ends of the sofa. “Why so coy, your grace?”
Maura ran her tongue over her lips.
“You’re not smiling, my lady. I should imagine you would be gloating. You’ve managed to marry yourself to a duke.”
Oh, but he was arrogant! If he wanted to be provoked, she would oblige! “A wealthy duke?” she dared.
“Yes.” It was a statement of fact—he did not brag. “You’ve gained a great deal from this marriage. But that was the point, wasn’t it? And as you’ll find out anyway, yes, I’m titled in England, too.”
She should have realized sooner. Why, he thought she’d married him for money! How laughable!
