Page 8 of A Match Made in Heather

Turning to face her, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the sideboard. “Prinny was so impressed that he made me an earl. But only a life peerage,” he clarified. “No matter how many Frenchmen I killed, I’m still a Scot at heart, and he doesn’t want my tainted progeny soiling the Lords for generations to come.”

In that unguarded moment, she saw the old Garrick, and her heart leapt into her throat. Was she wrong about him? Did part of the man she’d loved still linger somewhere inside him?

But the mask of disdain and arrogance he’d worn since he stepped into the office returned, and the brutal realization pierced her of how changed he was. And how foolish she was to look for the past in him.

“It’s a lovely little earldom,” he continued, a mocking undertone to his voice. “About fifteen thousand acres in the south of England, several dairies and sheep barns, a manor house . . . Not a single field of heather.” He paused. “But then I’m not very fond of heather these days.”

If he meant to strike at her heart, he’d need to try harder than that. She smiled stiffly. “How lovely for you.”

“But there’s one thing it’s missing.”

“Which is?”

He leaned forward, leveling his eyes with hers. “A Scottish castle.”

Whatever traces of admiration had started to blossom inside her at learning that he’d carved out a brilliant life for himself vanished like smoke. “Well, you’re not getting mine.”

He smiled slowly, a ghost of the charming grin she remembered, but one which lacked all warmth. “I think I already have.”

“This situation is ridiculous, and you know it.” Uncle Malcolm was mad as a hatter to even think of it. “We cannot share the property, and we certainly cannot live together for the next month.”

“I can.” He shrugged, and she gaped at his audacity. “Your aunt will be in residence as chaperone, and you’re affianced. Besides, the house is large enough that we’ll most likely never see each other. There’s more than enough rooms to settle the two of us comfortably.” He paused. “And Murray.”

The way he’d bit out Ewan’s name made her defensive, not of Ewan but her situation. She was twenty-eight, and Ewan might just prove to be her last chance at a husband and children. Although she’d once had warm dreams of marriage, the thought of it held no romance for her now. She’d spent far more years than she wanted to admit thinking of Garrick and hardening her heart against love, and the downfall of her family had taken the rest. “Ewan is needed in Edinburgh. He’s a very important man and cannot linger for a month in the highlands.”

“A pity.” He leisurely crossed his ankles in a gesture of such confidence that she blew out an irritated breath. “Perhaps you should give up now and go with him.”

She lifted a brow. The Rowlands had never backed down from a fight, and she wasn’t going to start now. “I will be staying in Kincardine. You cannot chase me away that easily.”

“Good,” he replied in a masculine purr.

That single word twined down her spine, trailing goose bumps in its wake. At twenty-one, he’d been so full of raw masculinity that he’d made her ache with longing. Now as a fully grown man, he’d become so self-assured in that masculinity that his proximity was nearly overwhelming. Andverydangerous. There was no mistake in his timbre, no quarter in the way he stared predatorily at her . . .

If she stumbled, he would devour her.

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice emerged soft and confused. “You’re not part of the highlands now. There’s nothing here for you.”Including me.“So why won’t you go back to England where you belong? Your heart isn’t in Scotland anymore.”

The glint in his eyes grew hard. “I’m determined to keep Highburn.”

“Why?” she nearly pleaded in her inability to fathom the creature he’d become. “What could it possibly mean to you?”

His features turned stone-cold. “Revenge.”

Arabel stared at him, disbelieving. The reason why he had come all this way, why he was being so cruel to her after so long—revenge? Could he really be that hateful?

“You won’t get it,” she promised. “I won’t let you.”

He said nothing for a long while, not moving a muscle except to rake his gaze deliberately over her. She forced herself to stand still beneath his scrutiny. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his reappearance had rattled her.

“It’s been a long time, Arabel,” he acknowledged in a seductive voice that fell through her like a warm summer rain and stirred the long-dead ache inside her, proving exactly how dangerous he was. “All kinds of things have changed since I left Scotland.” His gaze lingered at her hips and breasts before rising to meet hers. “I’m no longer the lad you knew. Now I’m a man who always gets what he wants.”

“Not this time,” she whispered, a prickly warmth springing up beneath her skin from a suspicion that he meant more than Highburn. “Not with me.”

With an easy push away from the sideboard, he straightened to his full height and slowly stalked the short distance between them, until he stood so close to her that she felt the heat of his body seeping into hers. So close that she caught the familiar scent of him that sent her blood humming. Her body’s memory of his pulsed through her, and her belly tightened with a primal craving for him to come even closer.

As she held her breath, he lowered his head and brushed his lips hotly against her ear. “Oh, I think I could have that, too, if I wanted.”

“Never,” she breathed out weakly, which only earned her a low chuckle.