She must have felt at a disadvantage lying down, for she sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Then no other women either.”
“Agreed. Rule two: When one of us wishes to end it, we will simply advise the other.”
She rolled her eyes. “Will it be sufficient just to tell the other person, or must this be done in writing?”
He smiled. “Either method will do.”
“Any other terms?” she asked, sitting straighter and sounding very prim.
“Just one more.” He held her eyes as he ran his finger slowly down the length of her arm. “I know there are herbs you can take to prevent conceiving a child.”
“ ’Tis no guarantee,” she snapped, then turned her head to glare at the tapestry on the wall—a particularly gruesome one of a bleeding saint with a chestful of arrows that was unlikely to help her mood. In a low voice, she muttered, “Just like a man, thinking a drink of herbs could be foolproof.”
“All the same,” he said, keeping his tone easy. “Will you do it?”
He did not want her to feel trapped into marrying him. Nor did he want to always wonder if a child was the only reason she did so. There would be time for children later.
“I don’t want you thinking I did it on purpose, should something happen.” She lifted her chin. “Still, you need not fret. If I did conceive, there are other herbs I could take that have a more certain effect.”
Her words sent a flash of anger through him that almost made him forget the game he was playing. Somehow, he managed to keep his features smooth and not shout at her.
“Or,” she said, “I could simply return to France without ever telling you.”
You could try, but I’d catch you before you ever made it to the damned ship.He gave her a broad smile that he suspected looked more wolf-like than complacent.
“Perhaps I will save us both a lot of trouble,Sir James, and end this.” She got down from the bed, scooped up his clothes from the floor, and tossed them at him. “I shall let you know what I decide.”
He ran his gaze over her slowly, wishing she was in the mood for another tumble. With an inward sigh, he watched her march across the room stark naked to grab his cloak from the back of the door. Her eyes were snapping as she turned and wrapped it tightly around herself.
Linnet was most definitely not in the mood for another tumble. Still, he had cause to be well pleased. Her fury was a very good sign.
He hid his smile as he dressed. Then he picked up the towel they had used earlier and began to wipe the mud from her shoes. Good Lord, where had she been today? They smelled of river marshes.
He did the best he could with them, then dropped to his knees beside her. “Here, give me your foot.”
She snatched the slippers from his hand and headed for the door. “Let us go.”
“Linnet,” he said, catching her arm, “what happened to you earlier, before…”
“Nothing happened tonight.” She turned and looked him in the eye to be sure he caught her meaning. “Nothing that mattered.”
As she stormed out the door ahead of him, he heard her say, “You bastard,” under her breath.
Jamie walked down the hall with her, cocksure of himself. He had Linnet right where he wanted her. Or soon would have. Ha! She would not hold out a day before she crawled into his bed again.
He would take his time, pretend he had no expectations for the future. His mistake before had been to pressure her and tell her exactly what he wanted. This time, he would worm his way into her heart until she could not imagine life without him.
It was like laying siege. It took patience. And steady bombardment helped, he thought with a smile. But eventually, the walls would be breached, and the gate opened.
By Saint Wilgefort’s beard, she was going to be his. Linnet would never even know how it happened. But when this was all over, Jamie intended to be her loverandher husband.
Chapter Thirteen
Linnet sat on the window seat in her solar, knees pulled up and chin resting on her arms, thinking dreamily of the last three days and nights. She let out a deep sigh, feeling more content than she could remember.
When Jamie arrived at her door the morning after their fight, she meant to slam the door in his face. But somehow… she could not.
The sight of him would turn a nun’s heart to mush. With eyes the color of deep-blue velvet, in striking contrast with his dark hair, and the strong lines and planes of his face, Sir James Rayburn was the sort of handsome that caused even staid matrons to turn their heads as they passed him on the street.