Page 25 of Master of Games
He dropped her belongings, his gaze casting about the room. It was not decorated as a child’s room. It was done in sophisticated shades of cream and white, a massive room with a four-post bed that would suit the queen.
“This is your room?”
“It was my mother’s,” she whispered.
And suddenly, he understood. He was in the master’s suite. “Where does your father sleep now?”
“The guest suite at the end of the hall. When he’s here, which isn’t very often, he never steps into these rooms.” She refilled her glass.
He didn’t tell her she ought to slow down. Tabbie was a grown woman, and he’d drowned many, many sorrows in a bottle.
“You stay and face the memories alone.” He wasn’t asking a question. She was too strong for her own good sometimes.
She shook her head, her shoulders drooping. “I feel close to her here.”
He ached for her. He mourned the loss of love that was never his. But Tabbie? She’d loved and lost and he could feel the connection and the grief. “I’m sorry I pushed too hard.”
She turned to him then. “I’m sorry I ran away. I just…”
“It’s all right. You’re afraid.”
She scowled. “I am not afraid. I am educated. There is a difference.”
That sick feeling filled his stomach. “Educated?”
“It all seems fine. And then when you’re most vulnerable, even the people who say they love you will step on your weakness.”
His hand clenched into a fist. “I would never?—”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
He pulled himself up straighter. “I don’t have much to recommend me personally, so I can hardly blame you for not trusting me. But I will tell you this…I will only help you.”
She shook her head again. “No.”
He let out a sigh. “Do you think you’ll accept my offer of marriage?”
“No,” she winced. “It’s not you, Ironheart. I seriously doubt I will ever be that intimate with another person. Ever.”
He was back to being called Ironheart. “If that is true, then you’ve already rejected me, and you might as well show me some of your scars and get over your fears.”
She turned back to the fire. “My former best friend made fun of them at my first ball in front of a large crowd of men and women. They all laughed. You can still reject me.”
Anger coursed through him that she’d had to endure that kind of treatment. “I am very adept with a pistol. And fortunately it was not my shooting arm that was hit. Who should I kill?”
She spun back to him, her face etched in surprise until a laugh burst from her lips.
He rose his brows. “I wasn’t jesting.”
“Have you killed a man before?”
“Yes.”
She’d been about to bring the wine to her lips, but she dropped the glass down again. “Really?”
“Yes.” He’d killed two men three days ago. Not that she needed those details.
“And you would avenge my honor?”
