Of her defiance.
Without any pause for thought, he reached for the nearest, flicked the clips to spring it open and tipped the contents into a heap on the floor.
‘I will do whatever is necessary to uphold my reputation,’ he said, staring intently into her startled eyes. He clenched his hands into fists and held them tightly by his sides to prevent them doing the same to the other suitcase. He had made his point. ‘You are a Baranski and will remain a Baranski for as long as I deem necessary.’
Rosa backed away from him like a wary cat, tugging at her ponytail, loathing written all over her pretty face. ‘I’ll be a Carty again before you can blink,’ she said, her chest rising up and down with rapid motion. ‘I’ll change my name back by deed poll if necessary. And if you think upending my possessions is going to make me stay, then you are delusional.’
He would never have guessed his starchy wife was capable of anger. Irritation, yes. Mild annoyance on a bad day, maybe. But full-blown anger? No.
She had not even raised her voice but he could feel it—those tiny ripples of fury kept under the tightest of reins.
What would it be like to unleash that passion? A passion he had blithely ignored over the eleven months of their marriage, not even aware of its existence.
It had been there all along. And another man had been the recipient of it.
The knowledge lingered in his senses like a pungent smell.
And it made him react in ways he had never believed himself capable of.
‘I have a proposition for you,’ he said, breaking the taut silence.
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
‘I do not want a divorce or an annulment. I like our marriage—it suits me very well.’ And he was damned if he was going to let it end on her terms. If they were going to divorce it would be on his terms and his terms only.
‘It doesn’t suit me.’
Clamping down on the fresh flash of rage that followed this little declaration, he forced his voice to remain calm. ‘I realise that. However, as you have done so much research you must be aware that we cannot divorce until we have been married for a year—which in our case is a whole month away.’
‘That doesn’t mean we can’t start the ball rolling,’ she said, displaying the stubbornness he had always admired in her when she had worked for him, working regular twelve hour days in an effort to ensure everything was in perfect order.
It was the same stubbornness she had displayed when she’d refused his every overture to work with him permanently.
With a flash of insight he realised the more he tried to force her to comply the more she would dig her heels in. Her obstinancy was liable to take the form of an immovable object.
Why had he never noticed how sexy such stubbornness could be?
He squashed the thought away.
‘Give me a month—until the date of our first anniversary—to change your mind,’ he said, in the most reasonable voice he could muster. ‘Come to Butterfly Island with me as planned—you’re a first-class PA and linguist, and there is no one capable of doing the job as well as you. Do that and I will grant you a divorce. Refuse, and I will fight you every inch of the way.’
‘I won’t change my mind.’
‘That remains to be seen. But unless you give me the next month to try you will find yourself with one almighty fight on your hands.’ Deliberately he stepped towards her, over the puddle of clothes, encroaching on her personal space—a move he had never made in all the time he had known her. ‘I will contest it every step of the way. If I wanted, I could play dirty and drag it on for years. And guess what? I never lose.’
A small tick pounded under her left eye, so tiny it was barely perceptible. He had only seen that particular affliction once before. Smelling victory, he pressed on a little further, leaning close enough to smell her clean, feminine scent. He swallowed the moisture that formed in his mouth.
‘One month, Rosa. I don’t think that’s a very long time to wait for a lifetime of freedom.’
She gazed back at him, the tiny tick still pounding, before she visibly hardened. ‘I want it in writing.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ His lips curled. He had never been so insulted. ‘I am giving you my word.’
‘You gave me your word eleven months ago.’
‘And you gave me yours. I am not the one planning to break my vows.’
For an age they simply stared at each other, neither bending. The tension between them had become so thick a steak knife would have had trouble cutting through it. Yet through the seeping tension he could not help but admire her. There were not many people brave enough to face him off.
Rosa caved in first. Extending her hand, she said, ‘We will shake on it. One month, Nicolai. And if at the end you refuse to give me my divorce then I will show you just how dirty I can play.’