Page 39 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“I-I, no. Avoidyou?” she scoffed. “No.”
“Nay?”
Suddenly, Helena’s stays felt too tight. Why did he care? Why did he seem so upset?
“Why does it matter?”
As Helena looked at him, he seemed tense, with shadows under his eye and a restlessness under his skin. A restlessness that echoed in her body and made her want to snap at him, or bite him. Or throw back her head and scream.
What happened during the time we were apart?
Damien seemed thrown by the question, and his eye darted away. She wondered what he was thinking, and a part of her wanted to shove back her chair, crawl into his lap, and embrace him. Lay her head on his shoulder and beg him to tell her what was wrong.
Yet, another part wanted to flee for even thinking such a thing. She was Lady Highbrow, too smart for her own good and an uppity wench of the ton. She did not do such things. And men did not expect her to.
Damien might.
Ah. Perhaps Damien sensed that she’d withdrawn and did not like it. Perhaps he knew that she was not going to allow anything of what transpired in the study to happen again. At least not for a year.
All the muscles in her body seemed to drag down, and Helena thought she’d like nothing more than to go back to sleep. She’d never been so exhausted in all her life. It was hard to keep from slumping in her chair, especially with Damien sprawled next to her.
He said nothing as she picked at her food, but he watched her like a hawk, a relentless predator waiting for the mouse to make the wrong move.
Or… perhaps she had made a wrong move. Perhaps this was his way of riling her until she broke off their agreement.
Deep down, Helena knew that she was not being logical, that she was more tired and overwrought than she’d been in years, so panic seized her.
And she summoned Lady Highbrow to crush it down.
Giving Damien a cold look thathurther heart, she said in a remote voice, “I’m not sure what you think I’ve done, but I think I understand. You have?—?”
She could not finish her question—you have changed your mind?Had he seen a glimpse of what it would be like to have her as a wife and concluded that she’d make a poor Lady MacCabe?
Her heart sank, and she choked back tears.
“Aye,” he said finally, and she jerked upright, heart pounding. “I’ve gone a bit mad. Feel like I’m losin’ me mind.” He took in her wide eyes and furrowed his brow. “That’s what ye were goin’ to ask, was it nae?Ye have finally lost yer mind, My Laird?”
Helena started. “No.” Her voice sounded strained now, and Damien frowned, leaning forward, so she turned her face away. “That was the furthest thought…”
“What were ye goin’ to ask then, Lena?”
“N-Nothing,” she got out, sharp and final. “But I do… I do think we are a bit at odds this morning, My Laird.” She swallowed. “And I’m not sure why.”
A snort came from next to her, and she steeled herself, looking up.
He gave her a sardonic smile. “Callin’ me that and ye wonder why. Well, I shall tell ye why I’m at odds. Ye were late and tryin’ to avoid me?—”
“I wasn’t,” Helena blurted out.
“And ye are lyin’ poorly about it, too, which is just feckin’ insulting, lass,” Damien continued. “Also, because I could find nay feckin’ relief after ye left me.” He dragged a hand over his face. “And then ye had the nerve to haunt me dreams.”
What?
Helena felt her temper surge under her skin, and her fists clenched. “I was not late because ofyou, Damien. My God, your ego. Did you think perhaps that I am tired and felt ill-prepared—” He gave her a strange look, and she swallowed the rest ofher words. Instead, she fired at him, “And you silly, superstitious man. You cannot be serious as to claim frustration with me because of adream.” She snorted. “How Scottish.”
Damien went still except for his nostrils, which flared, and Helena knew she’d gone too far.
“Aye, verra Scottish.” he bit out. “But ye are wrong. It was more than one dream. It was all me goddamn dreams.”
