Page 16 of Inheriting an Irish Groom
No, smirked. The kind of smirk that launched a thousand murder fantasies.
“We’re engaged,” he said. “Have been since birth.”
“Oh no, sir. We arenotengaged. That’s barbaric. Outdated. Straight out of an episode of Poldark, and not even the good season. If you know what television series I’m referring to.”
“I do,” he said. “It was excellent. Especially seeing something from the British side of the American Revolutionary War.”
At least the man had good taste.
Bríd sipped her tea. “The betrothal was one of many reasons why your mother left. Even before you were born, they were discussing the merging of the families.”
“Well, that explains a few things,” Aisling muttered.
“So, I guess we won’t be setting the date for our nuptials any time soon?” he said with a laugh.
“We’ll set the date when hell freezes over. I only marry for love, and even that’s been hard to find,” she said, remembering how she just knew that her life with Michael had been on a path to success, only to be derailed by his infidelity.
“Take your time,” he said. “We can wait until after lambing season.”
She stared at him, aghast. “You’re insane if you think I’d marry you over a few acres and a family feud.”
He stepped closer, arms crossed. “You care nothing about ending a war and creating lasting peace. Or bringing our estates together so that it’s one big piece of property. Like a typical woman, all you care about is hearts and flowers.”
Marriage was a lifetime commitment. And he’d just made it sound like he was after her grandmother’s estate.
“And what’s wrong with that? Ideservehearts and flowers. I deserve a man who doesn’t treat marriage like a land merger. I deserve someone who—at the very least—doesn’t act like I’m the villain in his soap opera.”
“Villain? That’s a perfect description for you. You want romance. I want peace between the estates. We all have dreams.”
Like she cared whether there was peace between the estates, she didn’t plan on being here long enough to bring about a reconciliation between the families. After all, she was the only member left in her family.
“I don’t care if we’re the Irish Montagues and Capulets,” she snapped. “I am not marrying the Blarney Stone in boots.”
His eyes twinkled with a dangerous gleam. “The feud continues, then. Who is going to fire the first shot?”
It was hard to believe she was standing here speaking to a stranger she was betrothed to about a feud.
“Oh, goodie. Let’s throw rotten vegetables at each other while we’re at it.”
“Oh no, our feud is much more than rotten vegetables. It’s more about your livestock trespassing.”
“I don’t have livestock.”
The man acted like it was two hundred years ago, not the twenty-first century.
“Yes, you do, and you can start by keeping your goat out of my garden.”
Her mouth dropped open as she remembered the pesky animal that she’d awoken to in the house. “Goat? That goat is mine?”
“The one with the bell,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “The thing likes to wander over and taste my roses. And tulips. And I’m pretty sure it tried to hump the wheelbarrow.”
Aisling burst out laughing. “Are you seriously blaming me for the personal choices of a free-range goat?”
“It’s clearly yours. She’s claimed your porch.”
She glanced outside, and the blasted goat was standing on the porch, desecrating the wooden slats. She’d soon find himself in a pen if the property had one.
“That hardly makes me responsible for his dining preferences. Maybe the rest of your flowers taste nasty.”
