“Together,” he said.
“As a family.”
“For one hour.”
“At least.”
His gaze held hers. “And what am I for the rest of the day?”
Violet frowned. “What do ye mean?”
“Do ye expect me to be a husband for one hour and a stranger for the rest?”
The words struck her so hard that she almost stepped back.
She had planned it better in her head. It had sounded practical there. A child required routine, affection, consistency, and both adults present enough that he would never wonder where he belonged.
That did not mean Violet had asked Connor to sit near her, speak with her, hold John beside her, and make some small daily portrait of family life she had no intention of wanting.
Except that was exactly what she had done.
“The arrangement is for John,” she said.
“Is John the only one who needs a family?”
“Daenae twist me words.”
“I am only listening to them,” Connor responded, his voice too quiet.
For some reason, that was worse than teasing.
Teasing gave her something to fight. This made her feel as if every sentence she had planned so carefully was being lifted and examined in the light.
She moved toward the fireplace, then stopped because pacing would admit unrest.“If we are to raise John, ye cannae be reckless.”
Connor’s eyebrows drew together. “Reckless.”
“Aye. Drawing yer sword while Henry was holding him was reckless.”
“I drew me swordbecauseHenry was holding him.”
“He could have dropped him.”
“He could have run.”
“Ye cannae solve everything with a blade.”
“Nay,” Connor said, his voice colder now. “Only the things words fail to stop.”
The room immediately lost its warmth. Violet had heard anger from him before. This was not that. It moved behind his eyes and turned his face harder and colder, as if she had touched a closed door and heard something heavy shift behind it.
She drew a slow breath. “Connor?—”
“Ye must understand, Violet, that too many words ruined me family,” he said. His voice remained controlled, which made the words harsher. “Hesitation doesnae keep bairns alive, as ye have learned in the past few days ye have been here.”
Her anger faltered, and the music beyond the door suddenly sounded further away. In the hall, someone laughed loudly enough for the sound to carry through the wood. It had no place in the study now.
Violet looked at him, truly looked at him, and saw the strain beneath the steel. The hard line of his jaw and the stillness behind his eyes. He was still the same impossible man. Now she could see the scar beneath the armor, and hating him became less convenient.
