Free The Devil Wears Tartan by Karen Ranney

the past where it is, Davina. I have no desire to unearth it.”
    “Are we to have separate bedrooms, then? I had assumed we would sleep together.”
    He turned away from her and walked to the edge of the courtyard. He stared toward Ambrose for so long, Davina wondered if he’d dismissed her from his mind. Or was he just signaling his wish for her to be gone?
    She gripped her skirts with both hands, and decided that the very best thing to do would be to simply leave him, before she embarrassed herself further.
    He turned, just as she made the decision to leave. She released the grip on her skirts, smoothing her fingers over the covered wire of her hoops. A bad habit, and one for which her aunt had often chastised her. Davina, hoops are to give your skirts a pleasing aspect. But gripping the frame with your fingers only calls attention to a woman’s underpinnings.
    Surely, however, Marshall knew she had underpinnings? She knew exactly what he looked like naked.
    “My mother and father did not share a room,” he said now. He spoke in a normal voice, and yet she could hear him quite well despite the distance between them. Was the sound amplified because of the stone courtyard?
    “I believe they were happy with the arrangement.”
    “Did they like each other?” she asked.
    For a moment she didn’t think he was going to answer her.
    “I do not believe so,” he said finally.
    “My parents adored each other,” she said. “My motherdied when I was very young, but my father kept her miniature in his pocket until he, too, died. He only slept on the left side of the bed, as if her ghost would occupy the right side. And he never used the second pillow.”
    If she were saying the wrong thing, then she would simply have to say it. He would no doubt criticize her for it, or look down his handsome nose at her and make her wish she were a thousand miles and a thousand years away.
    “We do not know each other,” he said.
    “We are not likely to, if we occupy different rooms.”
    “Did my solicitor not explain to you the terms of this marriage?”
    Perhaps she really should leave now, before this conversation got any worse. Not that it could. How many women were so blatantly obvious and hungry for love and affection? How many women actually questioned why their husbands chose not to sleep with them? She’d never before been a bride, and she wasn’t entirely certain how one should act. But she had a sinking feeling that it was not proper to confront a husband the way she was doing now.
    It would not be the first time she’d ventured a strange comment or opinion. Her aunt was forever going on about how she should be more circumspect.
    “I only met your solicitor once,” she said. “He spoke mainly to my aunt. Are there special rules I need to know?”
    “I will come to you when I feel it’s right.”
    “When is that?” she asked. “When the moon is full? Or your mood dictates?” She looked around the courtyard. “Or would a long-dead Egyptian send you the information in some way?”
    She thought she saw a smile on his face, but it was gone so quickly she wasn’t entirely sure.
    When he didn’t answer her, she was tempted to stomp her foot on the stone beneath her shoes. Or perhaps indulge in a tantrum. How was a rejected bride supposed to act?
    “Do you always say exactly what you think? Or what you’re feeling at that particular moment?” he asked.
    “When you address another person, do you always refrain from using her name? Or looking at her?”
    He looked directly at her, his brown eyes unflinching, his gaze so intent that she almost glanced away. But she was no coward. If she had been, she would not be standing here now.
    “I’m not afraid of you,” she said. She could tell that her comment surprised him. But when he smiled, she was equally startled. How utterly handsome he was.
    “Then you’re either a very stupid young woman,” he said amiably, “or a very brave one.”
    For a long moment she