Page 64 of What a Scot Wants
His lips peeled back from his teeth in a grimace. “One day, I will look forward to taming that unruly mouth of yours.”
“Will there be more dolls?” she asked brightly. “Perhaps we could have a tea party. I do love a good tea party with a healthy side of male posturing. Honestly, it makes me hot and bothered.”
“You will show me respect.” His eyes narrowed. “And dress like a lady befitting my future wife.”
“Respect is earned, Mr. Calder,” she said, feeling a sense of power replacing the rage curdling inside of her. “And as far as my clothing, you won’t have anything to worry about, because I’m now engaged to a duke who happens to like the way I dress.”
“You’re mine, Imogen.”
Determination and fury twined along her veins as she danced with the monster who’d made her life a mockery and a living hell. Somehow, she would make him pay for the innocence he’d stolen from her that night at the Golden Antler. For the future he’d stolen from Belinda and her child. For all of the women he’d lied to and cheated. She would not cower. She wouldnotbend.
Imogen smiled. “I’ll never be yours.”
Chapter Seventeen
Christ, Ronan was getting sick and tired of all this bloody socializing. He swatted at a butterfly as it fluttered in front of his face, the early summer heat pressing down over the guests in the Dinsmores’ garden behind their London home. North and Lana were hosting an afternoon soiree, and as much as Ronan liked the couple, he wished he’d turned the invitation down. Every day there was some ball or dinner or performance or exhibition to attend, where he was required to stand and drink and eat and dance, to make polite small talk.
But even though he was certain she was also weary of making appearances, Imogen had insisted they attend. She didn’t say as much, but he could see the fatigue in the brief moments she let her mask slip, exposing a drawn, almost bone-tired expression. Something was off with her. Ronan could see it now, even as she stood speaking with a group of women near a rose arbor. Despite the sunshine and fresh air, a bit of Imogen’s natural radiance was dulled. It’d been diminished somewhat…ever since her parents’ ball a week ago.
But everything was a game, wasn’t it? And they were both entrenched in it, both out to win, no matter the cost.
He glanced over to the fountain, where Lady Reid was coyly laughing with Lord Firth, and felt none of the burning jealousy he’d felt when he’d seen Imogen in Firth’s arms. His gaze traveled back to Imogen, and he frowned.
She stood with a cluster of other ladies, including his sister-in-law, Aisla, who had arrived with Niall on a short, impromptu trip. He thought again of how Imogen’s inner fight had diminished as of late. Her wide smiles seemed forced, and her laughter rang too loudly.
From his side vision, he saw Grace strolling in his direction. Ronan scowled before reluctantly stepping forward from the hedge to meet the lady. Every part of him felt the urge to turn away. What in hell was he doing?
Using Grace to make Imogen jealous made him feel uncomfortable. Raised by a strong mother and having grown up with equally strong sisters, he’d never been such a man to dally with one woman while promised to another. It galled him. He wished to heaven that Imogen would just end it. But no, she was as strong-willed and stubborn as he. Perhaps even more so.
As Grace entwined her arm in his, Imogen glanced at him and, with a little smirk, raised her champagne flute in a clearly challenging toast, as if sensing his doubts and daring him to continue. She then turned back to her conversation with a few other ladies.
Clearly, his strategy wasn’t working. The truth of it sank like a lead ballast into Ronan’s gut. He extricated himself from Grace’s hold, not having heard the last few things she’d said to him. He opened his mouth to make an excuse but shut it as his fiery-eyed sister-in-law approached.
“Might I have a moment of your time, Your Grace?” Aisla had come up beside them, her request nothing less than an order. She speared the woman at his side with an icy look. “It’s an emergency.”
Grace sputtered as Aisla then took Ronan’s arm and forcibly walked him away from her.
“That wasnae necessary,” he said. “I was just about to—”
“Make an even bigger fool of yourself? Good God, Ronan, do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
He peered down at his sister-in-law still dragging him down a bricked path, straight toward an arbor leading into another hedged row. “I ken what I’m doing, and if ye’d have let me finish my conversation with Lady Reid—”
“So you can bring more ridicule down over Imogen’s head? Over Maclaren and our family’s name?”
Ridicule?The accusation caught him unawares, and he found himself shaking his head. “That’s no’ what I’m doing.”
She gave him a hard look. “Isn’t it?”
“Nae.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t your intent.” Aisla lowered her voice. “However, it’s exactly what you’ve achieved. People are talking, and this game of yours needs to stop.”
“Niall told ye.”
She shook her head, still looking exasperated. “He didn’t have to. Perhaps if you’d chosen someone other than Lady Reid to flirt with, you would have successfully chased off Lady Imogen, but you chose poorly. Grace is a snake, Ronan, who’s only after your title and fortune.”
“How is that any worse than only marrying to fulfill a bloody codicil?”
