Read Online Scandal's Bride by Stephanie Laurens - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephanie Laurens
Ads: Link
offers. It's a sacrifice
I have made for my people."
She was rather pleased with that tack; men like the Cynsters understood
sacrifice and honor.
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
I have made for my people."
She was rather pleased with that tack; men like the Cynsters understood
sacrifice and honor.
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
Similar Books
