“But it was my fault. We’d passed another inn earlier. I didn’t like the look of the place and insisted we move on. What if he had died? Or been maimed for life?”
“He’s very much alive, no doubt enjoying an excellent whiskey at my expense.” He took her hands in his. They felt cold. His ought to have been cold, but every part of him heated whenever he was near Dillie. “He suffered nothing more than a broken leg.” Arching an eyebrow, he cast her a small smile. “And a lump on his forehead to match your own.”
She didn’t smile back, and instead began to nibble her lower lip. “Ian, is this how you always feel?”
He stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“That sick, churning feeling in your stomach. That terrible ache in your heart, because you were to blame for something dreadful. Is the rumor true? Did your brother die because of you?”
So that’s why she’d been carping on about Abner’s injury and blaming herself. That’s why she’d lured him into staying. Latch the door. He, like the idiot that he was, had fallen for it. She had been trying to draw him out, hoping he’d speak of James. Damn her. She had no right. He was mostly angry with himself for allowing her to shoot that cannonball straight through his heart. He’d let down his guard, and she’d blown a hole straight through him.
He rose and turned to storm out, but she hobbled to her feet and clutched his arm with both of her hands to hold him back. “Please, Ian.”
She winced, the mere effort of standing obviously painful to her, but she had that stubborn Dillie look on her face and he knew she’d follow him into the fiery pits of hell to find her answers. “I’m so sorry. I went about this all wrong. I didn’t know how to broach such a painful subject. I never realized until today just how horrible a burden you’ve carried all these years. We have to talk about it. I need to know the truth.”
“No, you don’t.” He’d been poked and prodded all his life, the family knives twisting into him with rapacious glee, tormenting him in the hope he’d break. He never had, even as a child. He never would. Not even the French had succeeded, torturing him for information on English invasion plans. He hadn’t spilled those vital secrets either. No, he wasn’t ever going to break.
She eased her grip, but the gentle look of determination in her eyes held him close. He loved that look, loved her gentleness. He couldn’t pull away even if he tried, even when angry with her as he was now. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Ian. You must believe me.”
He did.
“I’m trying to understand you. More precisely, I need to trust you if I’m to be your wife.”
“Who said my offer was still open?” But he smiled and arched one eyebrow so that she knew he was jesting. She probably knew it anyway. Dillie had a way of reaching his heart, soothing his heart, as no one else ever had.
“Take off your clothes,” she commanded, shifting out of the blanket he’d made sure to tuck securely about her, for he didn’t trust himself when all that stood between him and a naked Dillie was his last clean shirt. “You’re soaking wet and I’d hate for you to catch a chill.”
She handed him the blanket.
Firelight glowed behind her, illuminating her slender body through his spare shirt. Big shirt covering a little body. She looked good enough to devour.
The hem of the shirt reached only to her knees. She had spectacular legs, even that left leg with its swollen, purplish ankle. He wanted to see the rest of her, wanted to slip the shirt off her body and kiss his way down her skin.
She must have noticed his look, for she cast him a scowl that warned “we’re still talking” and nothing more was going to happen until he’d bared his soul.
“How can I truly trust you when you don’t trust me?” she asked as he continued to study her.
“What makes you think I don’t trust you?”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t trust anyone. You keep everyone out. Those walls around your heart are thicker than the walls of Jericho. But I have a proposition for you.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, knowing he ought to refuse but wouldn’t. “Go on.”
“I propose that we trade intimacies.” She hurried to explain as his eyebrow shot up in surprise. “You tell me a secret. In turn, since I haven’t any secrets whatsoever, having led an exceptionally dull life until you came along... well, the point is, I will do a favor for you in return.”
“A sexual favor?”
She blushed. “Yes, I suppose that’s the point of intimacy. But you had better reveal big, important secrets if you ever hope to see me naked.” She paused a moment and her blush deepened. “You do wish to see me naked, don’t you, Ian?”