The Scot. Lyn Stone
“Are you that desperate to marry, then?”
Susanna could scarcely draw breath she was so angry. It absolutely stuck in her throat preventing speech.
He ignored her silent glare and continued, “I admit I could use a wife.”
“You could use the estate my father offered you to take me off his hands!” she snapped. “Can you possibly understand how insulting this is? And how dangerous for me even to consider?”
“Dangerous?” His eyebrows flew up.
“Yes, dangerous! Do you think I’m not aware that when a woman marries, everything she owns or inherits or earns then belongs to her husband to do with as he alone decides? Why, he can even do with her person what he will! Why should I beggar myself and accept what amounts to enslavement?”
“Ah, Mrs. Wollstonecraft speaks, I see.”
Susanna’s gaze flew to his. “You have read her views?”
“Nay, but I’ve heard of ’em. I had no hand in making the laws she spoke about,” he argued. “’Tis true enough, they are not fair, and I’m sorry for it, but—”
“How dare you pity me, you wretch!” she warned, her chest now rising and falling so rapidly, she thought she might faint. She fisted her hands in her gown to keep from flying at him in a rage.
“Well, I do, lass,” he admitted. “I’ve great sympathy for any woman saddled with the choice you’re facing.” He stopped for a moment to think, then seemed to come to some decision. “Runnin’ a place the size of Drevers is no small thing. If we marry, I’ll see to it your father puts the place in your name.”
Susanna scoffed. “A precious lot of good that would do. You know a wife cannot possess her own property.”
“But you will. I promise I’ll deed it back to you alone. I think it can be done. All I’m wantin’ is the stewardship and a fair wage for my trouble. I’ve people to feed and you’ll have the same responsibility if you agree to this.”
“Ha!” She threw up her hands. “What makes you think I would trust you? I do not even know you, sir!”
“Because I give you my word. Were I a slave to greed, I’d not be here, forfeiting this day’s pay. And I’d be demandin’ a reward, aye?”
Her skirts swished around her ankles as she began to pace. “You’re a madman! My father must be mad as well!”
The Scot laughed. “Neither of us as mad as you, judging by the fire in your eyes. Bonny eyes, too, despite the fury in ’em.”
She halted directly in front of him, hands on hips. “Why are you even considering marriage to me? Do you know what hell I could impose on your life, Garrow? Can you even imagine it?”
Gently, he answered, “I’ve had a fair warning. Tell me, do you gamble?”
She blinked. “Gamble?” After that last ill-fated game of cards with her father, she would never touch another deck of cards as long as she lived. Or perhaps the Scot was speaking of the risk she’d be taking to marry him. “Absolutely not! I leave nothing to chance,” she declared heatedly.
“Then we’ll suit,” he said with a succinct nod.
When she opened her mouth to speak, he grasped her shoulders and kissed her soundly. Shock held her still long enough to feel the heady warmth and taste the sweet, coffee flavor as his tongue touched hers. For some strange reason, she lacked the will to raise her fists and do him an injury. No one had ever kissed her in such a way. And he wasn’t stopping.
Quite stunned and cursing her overwhelmed senses, Susanna pulled back. He released her immediately.
Instead of the self-satisfied, lecherous grin she expected to see, he wore a look of what appeared to be humility. “Marry me, Susanna Childers. I promise on my honor I will do all I can to provide you the freedom you wish. That any lass with your braw spirit deserves.”
Freedom. So he had divined what she wanted most.
Suddenly, she understood why he was offering the thing she most desired. “It is you,” she whispered, eyes narrowed as she observed him keenly. “You are the one who is desperate!”
“Aye,” he admitted softly, his smile wry. “’Tis true enough I am that.” Then, on a practical note, he added, “You canna go back to London and your da won’t be leaving you here alone. Did you hear? He says you’ve the choice of me or your cousin in York with all those bairns for you to mind. There, I much doubt you’ll have any say in what you do. With me, there’ll be none to answer to, save myself.”
“York? No, I missed that part.” She backed up to a chair and sat down to mull it over. “Botheration!” He was right about Cousin Matilda. She was a martinet and her four children were absolute hellions. Susanna looked up at the Scot again. But how could she live in the Highlands with nothing but strangers around her? How could she live with a man who could steal her senses with a simple kiss?
She exhaled in despair. But she really misliked those children of Matilda’s and her cousin’s husband was a leering old fool who chased the maids around like a randy schoolboy. She hardly fancied his probable attentions.
The Highlander just stood there, his hands clasped behind him, patiently awaiting her decision. “We would have a marriage in name only, of course,” she informed him succinctly.
He slowly shook his head. “Nay, lass. I am not quite that desperate.”
She swallowed hard, imagining what would be required of her. Though not precisely sure of the exact details, she knew it would not be pleasant. She had heard whispers. “But you would give me time…time to adjust. Time to know you?” She hated the pleading note in her voice.
“All the time you need,” he promised, then qualified it, “within reason. I will be needin’ heirs sooner or later, and so will you. Who’ll take the earldom after your father if not your son? He told me you’re nearin’ twenty-five and I’m close on to thirty myself. Won’t do to wait years, but there’s no powerful rush to it.”
She rose from the chair, feeling at a disadvantage having to look up at him. Yet when she stood, she still had to do that. He was incredibly tall. And well made, she noticed, trying to assess him in rather the same way she would a horse to be purchased.
His features were pleasing, especially the dark-fringed green eyes and mobile mouth that seemed to smile quite readily. And kiss exquisitely, she recalled with reluctance. Someone had broken his nose, giving it a hawk like character. Yes, she had to admit that the Scot was handsome in a rough-cut sort of way.
His dark wavy hair could stand a trim. For certain, he needed someone to guide him in the purchase of clothing. That suit was atrocious, his tie crooked and his collar wrinkled.
He did not strike her as terribly intelligent. What man with any sense would risk marrying a woman whose father had listed her numerous shortcomings so willingly and seemed so eager to be rid of her? Well, at any rate, he appeared to be one male she could easily outwit. That was something in his favor, she supposed.
It was a well-known fact among women that children usually inherited intelligence from the mother and physical appearance from the father, so she needn’t fear she’d bear ugly imbeciles when the time came. If it ever did. She would stall for as long as possible, of course.
Aside from that consideration, Susanna knew it was highly unlikely she would find a better bargain down the road in York. There was nothing for it but to take her chances. And pray.
“Very well, I accept your offer of marriage,” she announced in her most businesslike voice. “However, there are conditions.”
“Aye, there will be those,” he agreed. “You go first with yours.”
So surprised that he would allow this, Susanna had to think quickly. “Uh…well, I would require the time we mentioned before. You know, before