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She licked dry lips. “Then you must understand why I say no to your proposal.”

“I understand.” He went on before she could claim victory. “That doesnae mean I agree.”

Startled Marina met his eyes and recoiled from the adamant purpose shining there. “You must see it’s impossible.”

“You once said an affair between us was impossible.”

She shot him a look of dislike. “I’m beginning to think I was right.”

“You dinna mean that.”

God help her, she didn’t. These last weeks had given her a joy beyond anything she’d ever imagined. But they were a bubble, ready to burst to nothing when she returned to reality. Reality was her life as a painter. Reality was going home to Florence.

She made a helpless gesture. Now her panic subsided, pure misery remained. It wasn’t an improvement. “My patrons are in Italy. My life is in Italy.”

He looked unimpressed. “You can paint here. You can make a life here.”

“With painting as a hobby.”

“With patrons seeking you out. Never doubt that I’m in awe of your exceptional talent. It would be a sin for you to stop painting. Anyway, Scotland has rich men enough to rival Florence. If you’re seeking people to buy your work, I can introduce you to my friends.”

“As a favor to you,” she said savagely. “I have no reputation here.”

“Don’t belittle yourself.” A muscle worked in his lean cheek. “I never have.”

No, he hadn’t. She’d challenged his ideas about what a woman should be, but he’d always treated her as a worthy adversary, even in the early days when they’d disagreed more often than not.

Marina decided to attack this lunatic idea from another angle. She wasn’t getting anywhere from her current position. “Per pietà, you wouldn’t want to be married to me. I’m not at all a proper Scots wife for the great Laird of Achnasheen. When I’m caught up in my painting, I disappear into another world. If my work isn’t going well, I’m evil tempered and morose. You’ll start to resent that I’m not paying you proper attention.”

“For God’s sake, woman, how shallow do you think I am?” Fergus straightened away from his boulder so he stood tall facing her, his expression uncompromising. “Do you believe me so spineless that I’ll turn tail at the first sign of trouble? If you do, you don’t know me at all. Do you imagine these dire warnings about how difficult you can be are any great revelation? Credit me with some perception. When something’s worth the effort, I’ll go to the ends of the earth to achieve it.”

Oh, per l’amor di dio, when he said such things…

“I’ll be a dreadful mother.” She fought once more to banish that poignant vision of the sons and daughters they’d never have. “You’ll have to rear the children.”

A growl of disgust escaped him. “Marina, there’s a bloody castle full of people to keep an eye on the bairns. If you’re worried that I want ye to be a nursemaid for the rest of your life, you’re a fool. Anyway in my experience, all that bairns really need as long as they’re fed and housed, is love. Are you saying you wouldnae love the children we have?”

She bristled under his impatient tone. “Of course I’d love them.”

Satisfaction filled his expression. “In that case, you’ll make a good mother.”

Marina lurched to her feet. She started to feel at a distinct disadvantage sitting on her tussock while he towered over her. “You’re trying to make everything sound easy.”

“No, I’m trying to make everything seem possible, if we have the will to make it so.”

She swallowed to shift the lump damming her throat. “What about Papa? He and I have traveled together since I started work as an artist.”

“He can live with us. He can go back to Florence, and visit us when he feels like it. We can visit him.” Fergus spread his hands as if her objections were mere nonsense. She felt like clouting him. She felt like throwing her arms around him and begging him to let her stay. “Don’t ye want to marry me, Marina?”

“It wasn’t what we planned.” Diavolo, what a pathetic answer.

“Plans can change.” His stark attention peeled away her skin to reveal the cowardly, needy creature lurking within. “Do you want me?”

In dumb misery, she surveyed him, taking in the intense, austere face, the powerful body, the sheer everything of him. “Yes, I do,” she mumbled, knowing there was no point lying.

“As a lover, but not as a husband.” The bitterness in his voice made her wince.

“I’ve never thought of taking a husband.”


Tags: Anna Campbell The Lairds Most Likely Historical