His eyes crinkled into a smile. “Fifteen percent is a poor yield given the risk the investment posed. Perhaps I should sell Clayton House and pay the capital early to preserve the investor’s reputation. They must be the laughingstock of London.”
“No!” she said. “You can’t do that. Not when you went to such lengths to restore it.”
“I’m prepared to reconsider if the investor agrees to my terms.”
“Your terms?”
“A trifle, really.” He smiled and looked round the garden, seemingly fascinated by the surrounding trees. The silence stretched, filling the air until she could no longer bear it.
“Might I know your terms?” she asked.
“If you wish,” he said. “Though I’m perplexed as to your level of interest. My terms are that I wish to know the name of my investor, so I might thank them personally. I cannot continue to accept the generosity of a stranger.”
Mischief shone in his eyes.
He was teasing her!
“Perhaps your investor has a good reason for anonymity,” she said.
“Anonymity can lead to disaster.”
She cast her gaze down in shame at the memory of what her anonymity had done to him. He caught her chin with his hand and gently tipped her face up until their eyes met.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to distress you. But if you’d favor me with an answer. Was it you?”
She nodded.
He closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. When he opened them again, the pupils were dilated until they were almost black.
“Why did ye do it, lass?”
“I had to make reparation after what I’d done.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. The fault lies with the blackguard who incited the riot. And with me, for thinking you could have done such a thing.”
“I should have been honest with you from the start,” she said. “I’d hated the Molineuxs for so long, and I wanted to hate you so badly. But, infuriating man that you are, you made it impossible for me to do anything but love you.”
“You loved me?”
“I tried not to. I wanted to make a difference to the world, but I lost sight of the impact my actions had on others. My own selfish desire to have my words read by the world led to your ruination.”
“No!” he said. “My ruination was inevitable. I’d overburdened my business with debt, on the strength of too optimistic an outlook, and I lost sight of the need to set aside enough to weather the storm. That the storm came was nobody’s fault. We cannot prevent bad weather. We can only prepare ourselves to survive the consequences.”
He held her hand against his heart. “It wasn’t I who suffered ruination and disgrace.”
She lowered her gaze to her swollen belly. Did he, like the rest of society, see her as nothing more than a sullied woman, despite the part he’d played?
She snatched her hand away, and this time, he released his grip.
“I didn’t lend you the money, seeking gratitude,” she said coldly. “A fifteen percent return will pay handsomely for my keep. After all, my needs are small.”
He made no attempt to take her hand. Instead, he knelt before her.
“What are you doing down there?” she asked. “You’ll get your knees wet.”
“Infuriating woman!” he laughed. “Aren’t suitors supposed to kneel before their intended before they bare their souls? Didn’t that Tipton fellow do the same?”
She gritted her teeth at the mention of Sir Thomas. The pain and humiliation of their last interview still lingered—his angry words on discovering her dowry was not his for the taking, the insults for laying with another man, and finally the accusations of entrapment and dishonesty.
The man at her feet covered both her hands with his.
“Forgive me!” he cried. “I should not have mentioned that scoundrel’s name. He’s a cad, to take advantage, then abandon you! I’ll hunt him down and shoot him if you wish.”
“What good would that serve?”
“It would make me feel a damned sight better.”
She shook her head. “You did nothing wrong.”
“And neither did you,” he said. He gestured to her belly. “Let me share your burden. Say you’ll be mine, and we can start anew. This time with no secrets, but sharing each other’s lives, thoughts, and deeds. A marriage of equals.”
Equals? Why, then, did he refer to her child as a burden?
“What will happen to my child?” she asked. “It would be born too soon after any marriage to be considered respectable.”
“What does that matter?” he asked. “In the eyes of the law, it will be mine.”
“Would you accept another man’s child?”
“Oh, lass, don’t you realize how much I love ye?” He lifted her hands and kissed her knuckles, one by one. “All that I have would be yours, and all that you have would be mine. Your child is a part of you and, for that, I will love him as my own. If you’re in any doubt, I shall drive you to my lawyers to draw up a document declaring him my heir. I shall teach him to run my distillery and to weather the burden of being a duke.”
“And if it’s a girl?”
“Then she shall rule over the distillery better than any man. And I’ll take great delight in fending off prospective suitors with my pistol, like any doting father.”
“And if I told you that I have lain with none but you?”
His forehead creased into a frown, and he cocked his head to one side. Then understanding flickered in his expression, followed by unbridled joy.
“Ye’re a saucy wench to deceive me so,” he said. “Did you mean to test the strength of my love?”
He pulled her into his arms, then placed his head on her shoulder and sighed.
“I’ve missed ye,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her neck.
“I have yet to answer your question,” she said.
“Witch!” he teased. “If you weren’t in a delicate condition, I’d take you over my knee and spank ye raw.”
“If I recall,” she said, “you made that same promise the day we met, and you have yet to honor it.”
He gave a low growl which vibrated against her body. “Then, my feisty wee terrier,” he said, “I’ll take great pleasure in proving my honor when the time is right—when I take ye against the hard rock of Beinn Mo Chridhe and claim you as my Highland queen.”
A wicked pulse of need coursed through her. He lifted his head and swiftly captured her mouth. At her gasp of surprise, he slipped his tongue in—teasing, probing, seducing.
The child gave a sharp kick, and she let out a cry.
“Did I hurt ye?”
“No.” She took his hand and placed it on her belly. The child kicked again, and a smile of joy illuminated his face, his eyes sparkling with pride.
“Oh, lass,” he said, “will you not end my torment? It gives me such pleasure to see you round with my child. Make me the happiest of men, I beg ye.”
“Would you grant me freedom, Fraser, if I asked it?”
“Freedom from what?” he asked. “From me?”
“Freedom to live my life as I chose,” she said. “To help the world, to write…”