“This is unnecessary,” she muttered.
“Oh well, unnecessary until someone breaks them.”
“Are we dancing or discussing the rules?”
“I am capable of both.”
“How fortunate for yer poor clan.”
Connor let the faint rhythm from the hall guide the first step. Violet followed, stiff at first, then with more grace than she seemed willing to reveal. She watched his shoulder, not his face, as if the lesson from the training yard had followed her into the study.
They moved slowly, since there was no audience to satisfy. The hem of her skirt brushed his boot, and her fingers tightened when his thumb brushed once against the back of her hand. She could even tell that he felt the slight catch in her breath when he turned her away from the desk and back toward the fire.
“Ye seemed eager to interrupt me before I accepted another dance offer,” Connor noted.
Violet’s gaze flicked back to his face. “I was protecting the dignity of our marriage.”
“Is that all?”
“Is that nae enough reason?”
“Aye,” he said. “It is a very dignified reason.”
Violet looked away first, and that told him more than another denial would have.
Connor did not press. At least not yet. The room was doing enough damage without his help.
The same study had once held whisky, bare skin, and her hands landing against his chest. Now it held wedding vows, muffled music, and a dance.
Violet’s hand remained in his. Her waist fit beneath his palm with a precision that made his fingers itch for more. He could tell she was angrier because of it.
“Did ye intend to accept?” she asked.
The question came too quickly to be casual.
Connor looked at her. “Does it matter?”
“It matters if ye mean to make a fool of me before half the clan on the day we are wed.”
“Ye should believe me, I have little interest in making ye look foolish.”
“That isnae an answer.”
“It is the answer ye asked for.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ye are doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“That annoying thing.”
“Oh well, what else is a husband there for?”
Connor turned her slowly, keeping the movement measured. His hand on her waist remained proper, but the turn narrowed the space between them for one moment, and the side of her skirt brushed his leg. Both of them noticed.
Violet’s eyes dropped to his mouth before returning to his face with impressive speed. Her cheeks colored, and he knew she understood exactly what he had not yet told her: that he would have refused the widow. That she had crossed the hall to prevent something that would not have happened.
He let her keep the ignorance a little longer because it gave her nowhere to hide.
