Page 76 of Wedded to the Scottish Duke

He had not quite expected the fierce look in her eyes.

“Well, sweetheart?” he goaded her.

“Do not call me that!” she hissed, stepping toward him.

“Why not? Ye seemed to like it in that?—”

“Hush!”

She waved a hand at the closed door, clearly fearing that one of her family members was eavesdropping. She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him to his feet, presumably to drag him away from the door, but he was too large for her to pull around.

When he remained in his chair, she nearly ended up falling in his lap.

“We’re not married yet, lass,” he whispered when her face came near his own.

Those cheeks flushed the best shade of pink he had yet seen. Had he been certain that no one had been listening in, he would have kissed her then, just to see her reaction.

“This way.” She pointed at the far end of the room and marched off.

He stood up slowly and followed her, not exactly keen to follow her orders.

When they were a good distance from the main door, she seemed to judge it safe to talk.

“I have not agreed to this marriage.”

“Well, lass, we live in a strange world. Apparently, the agreement of the groom and the father is enough for most people.”

“Not for me!” She slapped his arm in reprimand. He looked at where her hand had hit him, rather wishing she would do it again for some reason. “I cannot do this.”

“Why not? Ye and I have already proved we’re compatible in certain ways, have we not?” He let his eyes roam over her, watching as she blushed harder but tried to deny such a thought as she stood straight.

“Because you have made it clear before now that you would think of me as a bride no more than you would a spider at the bottom of your garden.” She gestured to her chest. “I am not the wife you wanted.”

He couldn’t deny that, so he stayed silent.

She may have been the woman that the beast inside him had wanted, but his mind was different. Out of a wish to protect her, he had never imagined marrying a woman so full of spirit.

“See?” She waved her hand at him. “You cannot even deny it.”

“To deny it would be foolish. Aye, ye and I had this very discussion. Yet, things change. I can marry ye. I can do what’s right.”

“Out of pity.” She snorted, shaking her head. “I will not be married out of pity.”

“Why not?”

“Do you hear yourself?” she hissed, clearly reluctant to raise her voice too much in case anyone did hear them. “Why would you even accept marrying someone out of pity? That’s not a reason for marriage.”

“It’s not pity, lass.”

“Then what is it?”

“Doing what’s right.” He leaned closer to her, wanting to capture her full attention and make her understand him. “I may be a brute.”

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “I never would have called you that—not today, at least,” she whispered.

“I know what I am,” he continued. “But I also do what’s right. This”—he gestured between them—“is right. I will marry ye, lass. I was the one who compromised ye in the first place. So, are ye going to say yes, sweetheart?”

“Who’s to say you were the first man to compromise me?” She jutted her chin.

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