The calm of his presence alone was practically intolerable. He stood barefoot on the rug, shirtless before the fire, drinking whisky while she fought for her life. The worst part was that he didn’t even seem to care about any of this.
“I could still take the bairn and go,” she said.
“Nay.”
“Ye didnae let me finish.”
“I ken what ye are going to say, and the answer is still nay.”
Violet folded her arms. “Then let me do something else. I can stay as his governess instead.”
He took another sip of his whisky. “He is a newborn.”
“Then I’ll be his nursemaid.”
“Moira is his nursemaid.”
“Tutor, then, when he is older.”
“And when I marry?”
The room seemed to tighten around the question.
Violet stared at him as he set his glass down. “When another woman becomes Lady Moore, will ye stand aside and watch her raise him?”
Her fingers curled against her sleeves. “Ye daenae have to marry another woman.”
He shrugged and moved closer to her. “I am a laird. I will need a wife.”
“Rather convenient to bring this up now, is it nae?”
His gaze stayed on hers. “Ye tell me.”
The answer slipped too close to something she did not want to examine.
She looked away first and hated herself for it. Jane’s son slept somewhere above them. She shivered, remembering when he had curled his tiny hand into her gown, as if her vow meant something to him already.
If another woman became Lady Moore, she would have the authority Violet lacked. A wife would stand beside the cradle. A governess would stand outside the family and ask permission, and permission… well, she had never been good at asking for it.
There really was only one way through this.
“Fine,” she acquiesced.
Connor’s eyebrows lifted. “Fine?”
“Fine. I will marry ye.”
“Wise.”
She narrowed her eyes, watching the most smug expression gather on his face.
Daenae stare at his chest. Daenae. Stare. At. His. Chest.
“So I take it that is settled?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Her eyebrow rose in turn. “Daenae look pleased. I am doing it forhim.”
He took another sip of his drink. “I assumed.”
