There was something so very sensual about the Earl of Sinclair. His every move, every stare, word, and touch seemed alive with carnal intent.
“I am hardly alone in the reason,” she reminded him pointedly. “If you had not held me captive and blackmailed me into marrying you, I would not be here now.”
He inclined his head, watching her with that fathomless midnight gaze. “If you had not told the world I am a murderer and decimated my ability to secure a bride before I lost everything, I would not have had to marry you. No matter how you try to deflect, the paths all lead back to you, darling.”
The way he called her darling was so cutting. Part of her knew she ought to fear him. He was a dangerous man. At least, she had spent the last year believing he was. Certainly, his actions thus far—abducting her, threatening her, forcing her into this unwanted union—suggested she had not been wrong.
And yet, he had never been cruel. He had never done her violence. Even when she had attacked him with the porcelain that night in the countryside, he had retaliated by kissing her. What a contradiction he was.
She did not like it. Nor did she like the way she responded to him. Especially when she remained so uncertain as to whether or not she could trust him.
“You are as guilty as I am,” she insisted for the sake of her pride, and because she refused to shoulder all the blame for this marriage of inconvenience in which they now found themselves hopelessly mired. “I have yet to complete my preparations for this evening, my lord. Will you not leave so I may call for my lady’s maid and finish in peace?”
“No.”
She could scarcely believe him. “No?”
He was close enough that she could smell the sweet scent of port on his breath. At this proximity, he stole all the breath from her lungs. “Just as I said. No.”
She forced herself to inhale. To speak.
“Do you intend to play lady’s maid for me?” she demanded, the idea causing her equal amounts of outrage and titillation.
The consummation of their union loomed. She had never been entirely nude in the presence of a man before. Surely her fear of what was to come was the reason why her heart beat so madly now. Why her mouth had gone dry.
“I intend for you to tell me why you were crying when I entered,” he said easily. “And then yes, I intend to assist you myself.”
She had not anticipated such a response. So personal, so intimate, both of those answers.
“It is none of your affair,” she snapped. “And I do not require your assistance. My lady’s maid is more than capable of aiding me.”
“Everything about you is my affair,” he told her calmly, his stare never wavering. “You are my wife.”
She could not look away from him, no matter how much she wanted to. He commanded all her attention. “You married me for my dowry. Why should you care?”
“Tell me.”
His demand shook her. As did his presence. There was something about the Earl of Sinclair that was so different from every man she had ever known before him. Something strangely magnetic. Alluring. Her reaction to him outraged her. She needed to put some distance between them. She needed him to return to his chamber and leave her alone until she was ready to face him. He had caught her at her most vulnerable, and she did not like it. Callie would have to chase him the only way she knew how.
“I was thinking of Simon,” she told him defiantly. “There. Are you satisfied? I was thinking of the wedding day I should have had. Of the husband I would have loved.”
The earl’s jaw tensed, but he did not go or fly into a rage as she had hoped he would. Instead, he remained where he was. “Love and marriage have nothing to do with each other, princess. Trust me. I have more than adequate experience in the matter. You shall be better off despising me from the start than had you married your beau. He would have only disappointed you or betrayed you, had he lived.”
What a desolate view of marriage he had. “He loved me, and I loved him.”
Sinclair’s lip curled. “Love is a poison.”
“Like the poison your wife swallowed to escape you?” she snapped.
The instant the question fled her lips, she regretted it. She was not a cruel woman; at least, she had not