Violet gripped the edge of the table. His mouth brushed her temple, then lower, just beside her ear, and suddenly, the memory of the tavern flooded back.
“Connor.”
“Ye want to ken what I see? I see what is mine to protect.”
The words should have steadied her. Instead, they opened the very part of her she had been holding shut since the market.
“This complicates our agreement,” she said.
His mouth stopped near her cheek. In the mirror, his eyes lifted to hers. “Yesterday, ye begged for me. Now ye push me away so hard I may think ye are challenging me.”
“Last night was a mistake.” His eyes narrowed. Violet had to force herself to hold them. “I want us to be true to our word.”
“Do ye now?”
“Because that was the agreement.”
“Nay.” His hand left her shoulder. “Why do ye nae want to be mine?”
“Iamyers. I am Lady Moore.”
“Ye ken what I mean.”
Her throat tightened. She turned away from the mirror because the woman there looked too close to breaking.
“I am scared,” she mumbled.
Connor tensed. He lost that dangerous ease she had come to be wary of. “Of me?”
“Nay. Never of ye.”
The truth came in pieces because the whole truth required more breath than she had. She told him about the years and years of sickness. Years of Hannah holding cups to her mouth and the teas she had to drink. She told him about days when merely getting out of bed had been a victory and nights when she had heard her sister crying outside the door and pretended to sleep.
“I nearly died,” she admitted. “I learned what it does to people who love ye. That is why I didnae want marriage. Or children.”
Connor did not interrupt. For once, she was grateful for that.
“I didnae want children because a child would love me. And if I died, I would leave that child with grief I chose for them.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand before the tear could fall. “Ye deserve children, Connor. Children of yer own. But I cannae give them to ye. That is why I think we need to annul the marriage.”
“Nay.”
“Connor.”
“Nay.”
“I shouldnae stay here and risk John catching whatever this is. Or ye.”
“Ye will go nowhere.” He cupped her face in his hands, firm enough to stop retreat and gentle enough to make tears harder to hold back. “We will speak to the healer tomorrow.”
“And if she says I should go?”
“She willnae.”
“Ye daenae ken that.”
“I ken ye are staying tonight.”
He kissed her cheek, then the side of her neck, each touch restrained enough to hurt. Then he stepped away, opened the door, and left before she could answer.
