Tristan considered. Inwardly humphed. She’d covered all the necessary details; he could rest easy on that score. She was there, safe; she’d even arranged her safe return. He settled against the desk, crossed his arms. Let his gaze, fixed on her face, grow even more intent. “So why are you here?”
She met his gaze directly, steadily, perfectly calm. “I’ve come to apologize.”
He raised his brows; she went on, “I should have remembered about those first attacks, and told you of them, but what with all that’s happened more recently, they’d drifted to the back of my mind.” She studied his eyes, considering rather than searching; he realized she was assembling her words as she went—this was no rehearsed speech.
“Nevertheless, at the time the attacks occurred, we hadn’t met, and t
here was no other who considered me important in that vein, such that I would feel obliged to inform them. Warn them.”
She lifted her chin, still held his eyes. “I accept and concede that the situation has now changed, that I’m important to you, and that you therefore need to know….” She hesitated, frowned at him, then reluctantly amended, “Perhaps even have a right to know, of anything that constitutes a threat to me.”
Again she paused, as if reviewing her words, then straightened and nodded, her eyes refocusing on his. “So I apologize unequivocally for not telling you of those incidents, for not recognizing that I should.”
He blinked, slowly; he hadn’t expected an apology in such thorough and crystal-clear terms. His nerves started tingling; a nervous eagerness gripped him. He recognized his typical reaction to being on the brink of success. To having victory—complete and absolute—within his grasp.
Of being only one step away from seizing it.
“You agree that I have a right to know of any threat to you?”
She met his gaze, nodded decisively. “Yes.”
He considered for only a heartbeat, then asked, “Do I take it you agree to marry me?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
A tight knot of tension he’d carried for so long he’d become unaware of it unraveled and fell from him. The relief was immense. He drew in a huge breath, felt as if it was the first truly free breath he’d had in weeks.
But he wasn’t finished with her—hadn’t finished extracting promises from her—yet.
Straightening from the desk, he trapped her gaze. “You agree to be my wife, to act in all ways as my wife, and obey me in all things?”
This time she hesitated, frowned. “That’s three questions. Yes, yes, and in all things reasonable.”
He raised one brow. “‘In all things reasonable.’ It seems we need some definitions.” He closed the distance between them, halted directly before her. Looked into her eyes. “Do you agree that wherever you go, whatever you do, should any activity involve the smallest degree of danger to you, then you will inform me of it first, before you undertake it?”
Her lips compressed; her eyes were locked on his. “If possible, yes.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re quibbling.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
“It’s unreasonable for a man to want to know his wife is safe at all times?”
“No. But it’s unreasonable to wrap her in some protective cocoon to achieve that.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
He growled the words sotto voce, but Leonora heard them. He shifted intimidatingly closer; her temper started to rise. She determinedly reined it in. She hadn’t come to war with him. He was far too used to conflict; she was determined to have none of it between them. She held his hard gaze, as definite as he. “I’m perfectly willing to do everything possible—everything within reason—to accommodate your protective tendencies.”
She invested the words with every ounce of her determination, her commitment. He heard it ring; she saw understanding—and acceptance—flow behind his eyes.
They sharpened until his gaze was crystalline hazel, intent on her. “If that’s the best offer you’re prepared to make…?”
“It is.”
“Then I accept.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Now…I want to know to what lengths you’re prepared to go to accommodate my other tendencies.”
It was as if he’d lowered a shield, abruptly dropped a barrier between them. A wave of sexual heat washed over her; she suddenly remembered he was a wounded wolf—a wild wounded wolf—and she’d yet to appease him. At least on that level. Logically, rationally—in words—she’d made amends, and he’d accepted. But that wasn’t the only plane on which they interacted.