Page 29 of What a Scot Wants
He leaned back in his seat, noting her pointed address. No, his little firebrand hadn’t given up. She was biding her time, reconsidering her strategy now that he’d forced her to come to London. “Do ye have any plans while we are in Town?”
Imogen’s eyes flashed with temper. “Why wouldIhave any plans? I didn’t want to come, if you recall, and you forced me to accompany you without any notice or advance preparation.”
“I didnae force ye,” he said. “I gave ye the option to refuse.”
She scowled. “Crying off the betrothal was hardly a viable option,Ronan.”
Even with its combative notes, the sound of his name on her tongue made his pulse quicken. He wondered how it would sound in the butter-rich tone she’d used in Haven’s office when she’d been taken unawares by his visit. Or how it would sound in bed while being ridden to completion. He went instantly hard.
“Why no’?” he asked thickly.
“Whynot?” she echoed with a hard glare. “I had a life before you, you know. A fulfilling, happy life without any overbearing dukes giving me ultimatums. Without forced engagements that threaten to destroy everything I hold dear. Tell me something, Duke, why would you even agree to a betrothal if you have such unreachable standards in the first place?”
The punch of lust drained away as foreboding settled in his blood. “Unreachable standards?”
“Lady Reid.”
It took a few full seconds for the name to sink in, for it to hit like a lethal blow to the chest. Followed by the fact that she, of all people, knew of it.Bloody hell, Sorcha and Aisla.He intended to have a word with his sister and sister-in-law when he returned to Maclaren, but for now, it took almost everything within him to hold back the tide of memory and keep the cold rage he’d buried from erupting.
“She was your first love, wasn’t she?” Imogen pressed.
“Dunnae speak of it,” he growled, his fingers nearly snapping the stem of the wineglass as he slammed it down and rose to tower over her.
“Why? Isn’t she the reason no one else can measure up? The one who jilted you? And ever since, no woman has ever been good enough for poor, heartsore, fractious Ronan Maclaren.”
“I’m warning ye, Imogen.”
Her face paled, but she did not back down. “Grace Donaldson broke your heart.”
He flinched. “Enough.”
“We all have ghosts in our past, Your Grace, ones that haunt us and torment us, but they belong in the past. As does your idea of the perfect woman or the perfect wife or whatever it is you think you’re looking for. Trust me,Iwill never be it.”
“Ye ken nothing,” he said. “I am no’ looking for anyone.”
“Then why don’t you cry off?” she hissed. “If you don’t want this engagement, either.”
Ronan scowled, reaching for his glass and finding it empty. He resisted the blinding urge to throw it against the wall. “Because nothing would ever make me give up what I’ve poured my life into at Maclaren. The distillery and the people it employs are my responsibility. It’s who I am. A bratty spinster of a wife with a smart mouth is a small price to pay in order to maintain my clan’s trust. Why dunnaeyecry off?”
“Because, like Maclaren is for you, Haven is whoIam.” As small as she was, she held his gaze, head tilted back, defiance burning in her eyes. “And nothing would make me abandon it. Not even an old washed-up Highlander with boulders for brains.”
The last three words were punctuated with jabs at his chest. He hadn’t even realized that she had risen and was now standing inches away from him, nostrils flaring, chest heaving, and battle flaring in her eyes.
God, but she was a fierce little thing. Ronan had the stray thought that she had never cowered from anything in her life. Even brimming with his own anger, he felt desire renew in his stomach. He wanted to kiss her. Ravish her.Possessher.
He wanted to use her lush body until he forgot everything else.
Hell, he had to move before he did something unforgivable.
Ronan drew in a strangled breath and stepped back. “Dinner is over.”
He stalked from the dining room into the gardens without another word and headed down to the mews. Perhaps a ride would calm the fire in his blood. But as soon as he arrived at the stables, he changed his mind. Zeus would be tired, recovering from the journey. It wouldn’t be fair to take his frustrations out on the horse. Instead, Ronan stalked back and forth, muttering under his breath, until a low chuckle halted him in his tracks.
“Bad night, guv?”
He squinted into the gloom and moved toward the voice. A grimy face came into view, followed by a thin body sitting on the low fence that bordered the mews. A pair of odd-colored, almost-yellow eyes peered back at him.
“What do ye want, lad?” Ronan asked, realizing the boy wasn’t one of his regular stable hands, though his burr proclaimed him as Scottish.
