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not commit the courtesy of rising.
    “Come in,” he said loud enough to penetrate the door and half rose from the chair he occupied.
    He immediately knew his betrothed was no meek maiden. The lass entered alone, her back rigid, a frown of disapproval on her face.
    “Lady Bethia,” he acknowledged.
    He saw her gaze study him. Blue eyes. Dark like the Atlantic seas. And, at the moment, as angry as when a storm swept them.
    He returned her weighing look. Obviously Trilby had taken great care with her hair which, along with her eyes, appeared to be her best feature. ‘Twas the color of mahogany, dark and rich with just a sheen of red. A single braid, laced with flowers, fell nearly to her waist.
    The face was too thin and angular to be considered pretty. Her chin was well defined and now it jutted out a mile in stubborn rebelliousness. His bride’s mouth was wide, though her lips were pressed tightly together in a thin line. Her nose, sprinkled with a smattering of freckles, was the one regular feature.
    It was difficult to imagine what a smile would do to the totality of that face. But still, ‘twas an interesting face, illuminated by strength and intelligence. If she was frightened at the prospect of an unknown bridegroom, she didn’t show it. He was immediately intrigued and that, he knew, was disastrous.
    “I hope you find your new home satisfactory,” he said after a long, stilted silence.
    “No,” she challenged him. “It is a pigsty.”
    She was quite right about that, and he could barely hold back a smile at her audacity. Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow in his most supercilious manner.
    “Nor are the manners any better,” she continued. “I observed how interested you were in my arrival.” Her gaze rested on him with open contempt, and he knew she found him as unappealing as he’d hoped. Well, wasn’t that what he wanted?
    “Dare I hope that you were that eager to see me?”
    Fury sparked in her eyes, making them really quite lovely. “Hardly,” she said. “However, I did expect a modicum of courtesy.”
    He shrugged. “I had other business.”
    “Other business?”
    “Aye,” he said, waving a handkerchief under his nose as if he smelled something disagreeable. “I have many interests.”
    He saw distaste deepen in her dark blue eyes.
    “You do not want this marriage?” he said.
    “No.” The reply was so quick and harsh, he nearly flinched. Why did he have such a reaction? Bloody hell, he didn’t want it, either.
    He stood and walked around her, ogling her, making his possession obvious to her. “Then why did you consent?”
    “Why did you?” she snapped back. “Could you not get a wife any other way?”
    “My title and wealth insures a wife,” he said, “and one of my own choosing. However, you come with a princely dowry.”
    He saw the enmity in her eyes. A shiver ran down his back. He’d thought he could finesse this marriage, give his bride dresses and comfort and forget about her, as he’d seen so many men do. But now he wondered whether anything would placate her.
    “I answered your question,” he said. “It is your turn now. Why did you agree?”
    “My little brother would die if I did not.”
    He forced his eyes to remain blank. “A lot of people have died,” he said emotionlessly.
    “Including my other brothers,” she said. “I will not lose Dougal.”
    “And so you consent to this marriage?”
    “Out of necessity, aye,” she said. “That should give you no pleasure.”
    He hesitated. He saw not only the anger in her eyes, but the anguish. Despite her harsh words, he saw her fear. If nothing else, he could do something about that.
    “I am not enamored by you either,” he said cruelly. “But I am interested in the lands you will bring to me. I have no desire to share a bed with you; I have other interests. So, madam, I will make a bargain with you. We will wed, because neither of us has a choice, but I will not interfere with you and you will not