Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

His black brows rose, silently he considered her. Then, "Who will inherit your manor, your position, if you do not marry and beget heirs?"

Inwardly, Catriona cursed, outwardly, she merely raised her brows back. "In time, I will, of course, marry for heirs, but I need not do so for many years yet."

"Ah-so you don't have a complete and absolute aversion to marriage?"

Head high, her eyes locked on his, Catriona drew a deep breath and held it. "No," she eventually admitted, and started to pace. "But there are various caveats, conditions, and considerations involved."

"Such as?"

"Such as my devotions to The Lady. And my duties as a healer. You may not realize it, but…"

Propped against the mantelpiece, Richard listened to her excuses-all revolved about the duties she saw as devolving to her through her ownership of the manor. She paced incessantly back and forth; he almost ordered her to sit, so he could sit, too, and not tower over her, forcing her to glance up every time she wanted to check his deliberately uninformative countenance, then he realized who her pacing reminded him of. Honoria, Devil's duchess, also paced, in just the same way skirts swishing in time with her temper. Catriona's skirts were presently swinging with agitated tension; Richard inwardly sighed and leaned more heavily on the mantelpiece.

"So you see," she concluded, swinging to face him, "at present, a husband is simply out of the question."

"No, I don't see." He trapped her gaze. "All you've given me is a litany of your duties, which in no way that I can see preclude a husband."

She had never in her adult life had to explain herself to anyone, that was clearly written in the astonished, slightly hoity expression that infused her green eyes. Then they flared. "I don't have time for a husband!" Quick as a flash, she added: "For the arguments, like this one."

"Why should you argue?"

"Why, indeed-but all men argue, and a husband certainly would. He would want me to do things his way, not my way-not The Lady's way."

"Ah-so your real concern is that a husband would interfere with your duties."

"That he'd seek to interfere in how I perform my duties." She paused

in her pacing and eyed him narrowly. "Gentlemen such as you have a habit of expecting to have your own way in all things. I could not possibly marry such a man."

"Because you want to have your own way in all things?"

Her eyes flashed. "Because I need to be free to perform my duties-free of any husbandly interference."

Calmly, he considered her. "What if a husband didn't interfere?"

She snorted derisively and resumed her pacing.

Richard's lips twitched. "It is possible, you know."

"That you would let your wife go her own way?" At the far end of her route, she turned and raked him with a dismissively contemptuous glance. "Not even in the vale do pigs fly."

It was no effort not to smile; Richard felt her raking gaze pass over every inch of his body-he had to clamp an immediate hold over his instinctive reaction. Ravishing her wouldn't serve his purpose-he had yet to decide just what his purpose was. Learning more of her would, however, greatly assist in clarifying that point.

"If we married, a man such as I," his tone parodied her distinction, "might, given your position, agree to"-he gestured easily-"accommodate you and your duties." She shot him a skeptical glance, he trapped her gaze. "There's no reason some sort of agreement couldn't be reached."

She considered him, a frown slowly forming in her eyes, then she humphed and turned away.

Richard studied her back, the sweeping line of her spine from her nape to the ripe hemispheres of her bottom. The view was one designed to distract him, attract him-the stiffness of her stance, the sheer challenge of her reluctance only deepened the magnetic tug.

"You're not seriously considering marrying me."

She made the statement, clear and absolute, to the darkness beyond the window.

Richard lowered his arm and leaned back against the mantlepiece. "Aren't I?"

She continued to gaze into the gloaming. "You only claimed the week's grace because we all took it for granted that you would refuse." She paused, then added. "You don't like being taken for granted."

Richard felt his brows rise. "Actually, it was because you took me for granted. The others don't count."