Page 7 of This Laird of Mine

“You no longer need to pretend with me, Claire. If that is your real name.” Jules gazed into her face, searching for the duplicity he was sure to find in her large, golden eyes.

She held his gaze. Met it boldly. “My name is Claire. And I am your wife.”

“Yet how can that be? I never stood before the minister. Have you, Claire?” The sound of her name lingered on his tongue longer than it should have. He had pulled that name from the air when he had created his false wife, not from anyone he had ever known or cared to attach himself to.

“Ours was a wedding by proxy, or have you forgotten what you requested of your solicitor?”

Jules frowned. “Of what do you speak?”

She returned his frown. “Our marriage arrangements.”

Jules stared down at her. She was as good a player as he had ever seen upon the stage, he would give her that. “We,” he paused, allowing the word to hang between them, “never had anything between us until this day.”

She did not acquiesce to his rebuttal. Instead, she straightened. Her spine stiffened. She might be a head shorter than he, but she stood her ground, met his gaze, then raised her brow in a coolly superior way. “I refuse to be offended by your lack of memory.” She leaned forward and sniffed him. “I smell no spirits about you, but your family does have a reputation . . .” She turned away.

He had no intention of being so easily dismissed. He reached for her hand and held her captive. “What is your name?”

“Claire MacIntyre, Lady Kildare.”

He frowned. “Before that.”

She lifted her chin. “Claire Elliot of Edinburgh. I was the only child of the notable Scottish philosopher, historian, economist, and essayist known for his philosophical empiricism. My mother was a commoner. They both died when I was fourteen.” She frowned at him. “Really, Lord Kildare, I would have thought you’d have checked on my background before asking me to be your bride.”

“No more games. Tell me the truth. Why are you here?”

Her gaze moved to where his fingers held her, then moved to his face. A faint flush touched her pale cheeks, and her eyes blazed, her anger obvious.

He took a slow step toward her, looming over her as his own temper stirred. “Answer me.” His nerves flicked at the soft scent of lavender, and he leaned back slightly.

She did not retreat from him, did not react in any way to his blatant intimidation other than to take a quick breath. “If you recall,” she said, her voice steely, “you sent your solicitor to me with your offer of marriage.”

Jules frowned. “My solicitor?”

“A Mr. James Grayson. If I recall correctly, he is located near Parliament Hall.”

“Grayson had no such orders.” Jules narrowed his gaze. He knew his solicitor well enough to know that he would never betray his client in such a way.

Damn, the woman was good at her deceptions. She had done her research well to discover his solicitor’s name and his place of business. He studied her eyes; at such close proximity and in the dimly lit room they gleamed like burnished gold, shadowed and mysterious. Her eyes gave him no insight into her thoughts.

“Your solicitor stood as your proxy at St. Giles’ Cathedral in Edinburgh. He then sent me directions to your friends so that they might escort me here, to you.”

Her breathing had quickened, but she seemed otherwise at ease with her lies. The air between them all but crackled. “That cannot be.”

“Oh but it is,” she said, her voice smooth.

“Let us pretend for a moment that what you say is true.” His own voice deepened. “Why would you accept the proposal from a total stranger, marry by proxy, then come to some unknown location to meet your new groom? What kind of woman does such a thing?”

“The kind of woman who has no other choice.” Her face paled and her expression closed.

Jules remained silent. He was not sure what he had expected her to say, but it was not that. “Why did you have no other option but to marry me?”

His anger ebbed and sympathy took its place for a moment before he forced it away. He clenched his hands at his sides as memory surged. There had been another time in his life when he had simply accepted a woman at her word. He had been filled with hope and possibility at the idea of finally having a mother in his life. But that illusion had taken him down a long, dark path. A path that ultimately led to his being accused of murder.

“Life for a woman is very different than it is for a man.” Claire’s eyes narrowed as she noted his change in demeanor, but she did not back down. Instead, her voice lowered, her tone as provocative as it was challenging. “With no family to support me, or wealth to my name, my options were few. When Mr. Grayson approached me with your offer—” She looked away. “Let us just say it was the lesser evil to marry you.”

The barb stung. “Are you certain about that?”

Her gaze returned to his. In her eyes he saw a momentary shadow.