The Highlander's Christmas Countess (The Lairds Most Likely 8)
Page 32
Bewildered, she read the few lines on the sheet of paper and felt sick as she did so. “I’d almost feel better if you did take control of my property.”
“What the devil?”
Kit swallowed to shift the massive lump of dismay and guilt in her throat. And longing. When she was with Quentin, longing was always paramount.
She raised a bleak gaze to him. “At least if you kept my fortune, I’d feel you got something out of this marriage.”
With those words, all the spun sugar illusion of her wedding day dissolved to nothing.
Yet Quentin frowned as if he didn’t understand. “I get something out of this marriage. I get you.”
She made a despairing gesture, and her voice was toneless as she fought not to cry. “Stop being kind, Quentin. We both know you were cornered into this wedding. You’d never have done it, if you hadn’t had to.”
She braced to hear him protest about what she said. Right now, she didn’t think she could bear more of his kindness.
But instead of giving her another comforting lie, he bent his head and stared into the flames. When he spoke, his tone was somber as she’d never heard it before. “I know you didn’t want to marry me.”
It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say, so surprise made her respond with more candor than perhaps was wise. “Don’t be a blockhead, Quentin. Of course I wanted to marry you. You’re wonderful.”
His head jerked up, and he went white with shock. Which seemed an odd reaction. “Wonderful?”
She released a grim little laugh. “I’ve been mooning around after you since the day I first saw you. It was most unbecoming behavior in a stableboy.”
He spread his hands in confusion, for once lost for words. “I…”
She signaled him to silence. “But I hate that you were trapped into taking me as your wife. You deserve better.”
He shook his head, and that chiseled jaw set with stubbornness. “No, I don’t.”
She battled tears. Crying right now would be the last straw. “I told you not to be kind.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. And don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you by making scenes or letting my fondness for you become an issue. Once we’ve seen Neil off, we can separate. You can go on with your life as if I don’t exist.”
A muscle jerked in his cheek, and he looked annoyed. Which was odd, because she thought he’d be grateful that she made it so easy for him to ignore his obligations to his bride. “Except you’re my wife.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t change that. I would if I could.”
Skeptical eyebrows rose. “Would you indeed?”
Quentin had stopped looking quite so devastated, she noticed, although she supposed her unwelcome confession meant he now felt sorry for her. This evening slid into a complete debacle.
“For your sake.”
“How very…self-sacrificing.”
He still sounded annoyed. She supposed the revelation that his unwanted wife harbored a penchant for him must come as a nasty surprise.
Not really understanding what he wanted from her, she made a helpless gesture. “I wish I could set you free.”
“Aye?”
Actually he was right to doubt her. Kit wasn’t sure she was quite so noble, although she wished she was. It was absurd to hope, but hope she did. Perhaps Quentin might learn to want her in time. Perhaps he might come to care.
“I’m sorry I blighted your life,” she said in a low miserable voice.
Without moving from the mantel, he studied her the way he’d studied her before he announced that he knew she was a girl. She shifted uncomfortably on the chair. When he stared at her like this, she felt like he saw right to her heart. And she was humiliatingly aware that her heart carried an image of his face.