“Everything is thrown into doubt when secrets stand between them.”

They were talking in circles, and with every circuit, he could feel her slipping away. “I’m not the only one with secrets here. Should not you have told me of your letters? To inform your future husband of an activity that could have—and still may—impact how society views us?”

Her mouth pressed into a mutinous line, her eyes narrowed to slits. “That isn’t the same at all.”

“Isn’t it? I argue that it is. After the wedding, my family’s debts will be settled for good. A short-term issue, at most. If you are revealed as the author of those scandalous letters, our standing could be impacted for years—perhaps even tainting our children.”

“Tainting?” she exclaimed, backing up another step and bumping into the table, rattling the untouched tea service. “If that is what you think of what I do—”

He didn’t let her finish. He stepped forward, grabbing her hand and tugging her hard against him. Her eyes went huge, wide with shock as her breasts rose and fell against his chest with each ragged breath. “I think you are brilliant. I think you are bold, and brave, and incredibly clever. But we both know society wouldn’t look at us the same way.”

She didn’t speak, just watched him with her fierce sapphire gaze. He held her tight against him, forcing her to feel his agitation, to witness it in his rapid breath and pounding heart. To see it in his intense gaze. After almost half a minute, she licked her lips, raising her chin in defiance. “I don’t know about society, but I know all about never being able to look at someone the same way again.”

“Damn it, Beatrice,” he breathed, frustration building within him, like hot steam begging for release. “Doona let your stubbornness ruin what could be.”

“How could I ruin what was never really there?”

That was it; he couldn’t take another word. With a growl of frustration, he let go of his iron control, swooping down to claim her lips in a kiss that was searing and raw, brutally honest in its passion.

She resisted, holding herself as stiff and unyielding as a marble statue. He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t force her to see reason. But he could coax her. Gentling his kiss to the barest of touches, he released his hold on her waist and slipped his hands up to cup her jaw. He poured every ounce of the love he felt for her into the moment, worshipping her as the goddess she was.

He pressed hot kisses on her cheek, sliding his thumbs along the sensitive skin of her temple. This time he wasn’t holding her to him with his arms; he was holding her to him with a sensual assault, designed to remind her of exactly what they shared, of exactly what their life together would be like.

Desire flooded his veins, drowning out every distraction except her. Her scent of lilacs, her taste of reluctance, the sound of her uneven breathing, the searing heat of her skin wherever his lips touched. In that moment, his entire world was wrapped up in the woman before him, beginning and ending with every beat of her heart.

“You must believe that my desire for you is exactly that,” he breathed, his words a caress upon the curve of her cheek as he continued his sensual assault. “Please give me a chance to prove it to you.”

* * *

Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut against the need to lean into him, to accept his words and give in to her body’s traitorous need to be touched by him. Persuaded by him.

She was nearly shaking with the desire to give in, to believe his quiet words, to trust the sincerity in his voice. His lips moved across her skin, leaving tiny kisses that seemed to have a direct connection to her heart, melting her anger a little more with every one.

What if his words were true? What if he truly did feel as strongly for her as she always dreamed her husband would? A small, breathy sound escaped her lips, without her permission, when his mouth reached her earlobe. She fought not to indulge the shiver that begged to be released.

“Please, Beatrice,” he whispered, and there was no stopping the shiver then.

Garnering every shred of willpower she possessed in the world, she pulled away from him, trying to regain some semblance of sanity. “How? How can I ever trust you now? How could you possibly prove your intentions were not what they seemed?”

The pain she saw in his stony gaze threatened to undercut her determination. Knowing he was hurting didn’t make her own humiliation and pain any better. Only worse.

Much, much worse.

“I doona know,” he said, shaking his head. “But I swear to you I will think of something. Just give me some time.”

“No. I don’t want to give you time. Prove it to me right here, now. I want this settled.” The thought of walking out of this house without a solution was enough to take her breath away.

“All right—what about the marriage settlement? Over and above the amount needed to release the estate, I have allowed for every last penny to be in your control.”

“Which seemed so phenomenally generous when my brother told me. But now I see it for what it is: You got what you wanted and made a token effort to divert any suspicions about your motives.”

“Token?” His brow rose halfway up his forehead. “I hardly call fifteen thousand pounds token.”

“It is if your eyes were set on the ten-thousand-pound prize.” She paced away from him, her ire burning a path from her throat to her belly. Everything about this situation was wrong—it left no room for anything but suspicion and heartbreak. There was truly only one way to be absolutely sure of his motives. “Very well—you want to know what you can do? Accept none of my dowry.”

The muscles worked at the corners of his jaw. “I can’t do that.” His words were flat. Final. “Without that money, we won’t even have a place to live after we are married. And by we, I doona just mean you and me. I mean my whole family, including Cora, Rhys, and Gran.”

“You see? Proving your intentions to me is impossible when the blasted money is so fundamental to the union.” It was hopeless. Nothing he could do would ever take away the hollowness that filled the place in her heart once overflowing with happiness. And love. No matter how misguided, she couldn’t deny how she had once felt about him.

“I’ll come up with something. By the time we marry, I’ll have proved myself to you.”

“If we marry.”

It was as if a steel plate slammed shut in his eyes. Hard, dull, impenetrable. “The announcement has already been made, the contracts signed.”

She crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest. “I don’t care. I’d rather live my life as an outcast than marry a fortune hunter.”

“I could sue. Your father would be forced to pay for restitution.”

“Then I guess you’ll get what you wanted, won’t you?” She hated the words, even as she said them. She hated the pain that flared in his eyes moments before his expression became hooded.

“How much time do I have?”

She lifted her shoulders, shaking her head at the hopelessness of his task. “I don’t know. A week? A month?” What did it matter? It was an impossible task.

His nod was sharp, just like his features. “One month. And, Beatrice?”

She met his iron gaze, unable to deny him that.

“Doona give up on me yet.”

Chapter Twenty-five

The sight of the austere stone house rising above the leafless trees and barren winter gardens was a relief for more reasons than simply the promise of the blessed warmth within, though after four days of traveling north in a cramped and half-frozen mail coach, he’d kill for a hot bath and a good scotch.

But that had nothing to do with the emotions seeing the house elicited within him.

He was home.

Colin pressed close to the glass, eager for the hack to reach the manor house at last. He needed his family’s counsel. His success in convincing Beatrice of his true intentions would impact them every bit as much as it did him. It was why, within half an hour of her departure from his aunt’s house, Colin was packed and on his way to see them.

Which meant none of them had any idea he was coming.

He didn’t relax until the wheels crunched over the gravel drive, heralding his arrival. He had barely opened the door when a commotion at the house had him looking up, just in time to see Cora rushing toward the carriage, her dark wool skirts swishing around her booted feet.

“Colin! Whatever are you doing here?” Apparently she was in too great a rush to have thought to grab a hat or proper coat. Her dark hair was coiled in a neat braid atop her head, leaving her neck bare to the frigid wind. “We’re all set to come to London at the end of the month for the wedding. We dinna think we’d see you before then.”

He dropped to the ground, holding his hat in one hand and accepting her eager hug with the other. “I canna say I expected it either. Come. Let’s get us out of the freezing wind before you catch your death.”

“Oh pish. You’ve been gone from Scotland too long if you think this is freezing.” Her brown eyes danced with excitement, making him smile for the first time in days. He had been right to come home. Together they could come up with a proper plan; he felt sure of it.

“I believe you are correct, Cora-belle.”

“Colin! You mustn’t call me that. I’m not a wee lass anymore.”

Rhys appeared in the door then, a wide grin on his face. “Doona be daft, Cora—you’ve only just given up your dolls. You’ve years yet to be a proper woman.”