The Lord's Inconvenient Vow

‘Under the circumstances I believe it does concern me.’

He straightened further and she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. Sometimes she wished he was shorter.

‘If you are concerned about his presence at Sinclair House, I assure you...’

‘Don’t be an ass, Edge. I am only too happy for him to be here, but I won’t have you talking to me as if I were a stranger. I am your wife.’

‘Yes. I am aware of that.’

‘What on earth does that mean?’

‘Never mind. I must change now and leave for Greybourne.’

‘Edge, won’t you tell me what is wrong? Is there something wrong with your brother?’

‘Nothing but his own particular brand of imbecility. Once he is settled at Greybourne I will return to oversee the house at Richmond. It will probably be ready for us in a couple of weeks.’

‘Edge. Please talk to me.’

He took a step forward and she realised she wasn’t the only one who was angry. ‘About what, Sam? You wanted a tame spouse so you could go ahead with your nice little dream of a family to replace what you really wanted. Very well. I’m here, aren’t I? But, by God, Sam. Don’t push me—I am in no mood at the moment to be told how wanting I am in that role. I am telling you as clearly as I am capable without breaking something that you, too, must honour your side of this devil’s bargain! Right now I intend to see that Rafe is well and back at Greybourne. After that you can play cat’s paw with me to your heart’s content as you try to fill the hole left by the man you could not have.’

‘Edge, that’s not true...you don’t understand...’ Sam reached for him, but he shook off her hand.

‘I don’t wish to understand. Any of it. I’m sick and tired of understanding.’

He strode past her, leaving the air thick and clanging with his anger.

Tame spouse... He could not believe that was how she thought of him. He was about as tame as a desert lion. No, it was his anger at being trapped. And she had trapped him. He’d been vulnerable, worried, alone, and she’d sunk her talons into him and not let go.

What would he do if she told him he was the man who’d left this hole in her? Right now he would probably fling that away as well. It would be one more shackle around his neck...

‘Ho, there! Sam.’ The voice, deep and rusty, barely reached her. ‘Sam Sinclair. In here. I’d come introduce myself, but this leg of mine...’

Sam moved through the parlour a little blindly and stopped in the bedroom doorway. Rafe did look like Edge, even with his ragged hair and the scars twisting the skin along the side of his jaw and throat into milky rivulets. Under his swarthy colour he was pale and his pupils were dilated, making it hard to determine the colour of his eyes.

‘I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while. I’m Rafe.’

‘Yes. Hello, Rafe. I am Sam.’

His brows rose at her flat voice.

‘Yes, well. I was just dozing when I heard my brother’s bark. I can’t remember the last time he let slip his dogs of war.’

Sam tried and failed to make sense of what he was saying. Her mind was locked on the image of Edge’s face. His fury and disgust.

‘Not a fan of the bard, are you? Never mind. What did you do to make him so angry?’

‘Forced him to marry me.’

‘No one forces Edge. Well, I did once. Dragged his carcase to Cumbria, but he was unconscious at the time. Stubborn lug. Don’t look like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like your heart’s breaking.’

She touched her forehead, her cheek. Her eyes were dry as dust. How could they show this crashing storm inside her?

‘Come inside. You need some whisky, girl.’

* * *

Edge stood by the bed. Sam lay with her back to him, curled into a ball around a pillow. Inky was also curled into a ball, back to back with Sam, but the feline was awake and glaring at him as if she knew he’d been a fool.

Worse—cruel, childish, jealous. Sam had been honest with him from the start. It was not her fault he was finding it so hard to live with her terms.

The familiar burst of pain struck in his chest. Every few hours it happened, like water slowly filling a vessel and then spilling over on to flames, setting everything hissing. It was absurd and he hated it. He was becoming something he despised—resentful, maudlin...desperate.

He wanted to take her to the house they’d found and start over—wipe everything away and tell her the truth.

That he needed her.

And worse—he needed her to love him.

A thousand questions snapped at him like rats in the dark, only chased off when they were together in her bed and even then they burrowed under his skin, wondering if when she closed her eyes that man was there, a memory, a wish, a need...invisible but between them.