What a Scot Wants by Amalie Howard & Angie Morgan

Author:Amalie Howard & Angie Morgan
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Highland
Published: 2019-07-31T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

A shot of fire released from the burner, the contraption set in the center of the wicker basket. The loud noise ate up Imogen’s reply, but Ronan could still read her lips perfectly.

“You think we should what?”

He’d expected—and counted on—nothing short of absolute shock, and Imogen delivered.

It was a gamble. A serious one. But the answer to his problems had struck with all the subtlety of a war horn the night they’d returned from Lady Reid’s disastrous gathering. If he could make Imogen believe that he had changed his mind, if he convinced her that he wanted this marriage and no longer wished to end the betrothal, it would give her little choice but to retreat. Or submit. Ronan didn’t believe she would accept him, though.

But there had been something more than just rational thought behind her withdrawal from his lap the other evening in the carriage and from the kiss that had set both of them on fire. No, what Ronan had seen on Imogen’s expression had been well-masked fear. He knew the look, mostly from his time training men at Maclaren. Often, the ones who were the most frightened were also the ones who maintained cool and distant exteriors. As if nothing could touch them.

Imogen had retreated from their intimate, nearly out-of-control coupling in his carriage with an easy shrug of her shoulders because of something deeper than prudent, judicious reasoning.

She was afraid—of what, he couldn’t determine. Maybe it was the increasingly undeniable passion she felt for him. Maybe she was afraid of intimacy itself. She had, after all, spent her adult life alone, refusing suitors left and right. Surely not all of them had been awful. Or it could be a fear of men in general. Silas Calder and Imogen’s reaction to the man came to mind.

After learning what he had from Riverley about Calder being a fortune hunter and the Paxton girl he’d dallied with, Ronan had developed a suspicion. One that he couldn’t confirm without asking Imogen about it. Now was not the time, however. He had a plan for this afternoon, and bringing up Calder wasn’t part of it.

The balloon had started to lower toward the rolling field below, but the burst of hot air had sent it higher into the atmosphere. Imogen stumbled a little toward the high lip of the basket. Ronan caught her elbow.

“Marry me, Imogen. For real, with no more games.”

The words were surprisingly easy to get out. He’d considered what he’d say scores of times over the last day, but he’d wondered if his mouth would seal over and refuse to open when it came time. Hell, he’d been going after his goal to make Imogen cry off all wrong, and the tryst in the carriage had proven it. If he kept pushing, kept trying to get closer, he was willing to wager that she would keep retreating.

The lips he’d ravished in the carriage—and at the opera and at Haven—gaped. He wanted to take her fuller bottom lip and tuck it between his teeth.

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