There was a tiredness to his voice that twisted deep into her heart. “Malcolm, I—” She what? She loved him but would not have his children? She adored him, but could not stand the home of his birth?

His gaze met hers, searching, seeking. “Yes, love. What is it?”

“Malcolm, you know I care for you. That I—” Could she say it? Could she tell him that she loved him dearly, desperately? And if she did, would she lose something because of it?

She looked at Malcolm, at the way he regarded her so seriously. At the curl of his hair over his ears. At the dimple in his chin that she’d kissed so many times. Fiona took a deep breath and said, “Malcolm, I love you. But I do not wish to have children until I know for certain that you will not love me the less. I have to have your promise that it will not be that way.”

He stiffened, as if she’d delivered a blow of some sort. “Fiona, I love you. I think I always will.”

I think. She needed more than that. More than he seemed capable of giving. “I want us to be the way we used to be, before we came here and everything became so horrid.” She bit her lip, fighting the tears. “I do not wish to live here, in this castle, watching our marriage fade away.”

A flicker of pain crossed his face. “Fiona, we can’t go back. No one can. We can only go forward.”

He was right. Her heart pained, she collected herself as best she could, lifting her chin. “Of course. Forward. We will let our marriage rest on our wager then.” She met his gaze evenly. “You may think you have won, but you have not. Not yet, anyway.”

Malcolm sighed, disappointment evident. “Your sister is looking for you. She’s in the sitting room.”

“I’ll go to her at once.”

“I thought you would.” Malcolm’s sharp gaze rested on Fiona’s face. “Murien mentioned something about a ball.”

Fiona heard the note of accusation. “Yes, I have decided to give a small ball. We never use the ballroom, and I thought we might do so while we have both St. John and Murien here.”

Malcolm’s expression hardened. “I know what you are about, Fiona. I will not let you embarrass Kat.”

“Then she needn’t attend. It will be her decision.”

“I see. You will invite her in such a way that she cannot refuse.”

Fiona nodded, suddenly feeling miserable. She didn’t wish to use Kat in such a way, but Fiona had no choice.

Malcolm looked at her a moment more, then moved past her to the window. “Murien is waiting for you.”

That was it. He’d dismissed her as if she were nothing more than a bothersome chambermaid.

“I—I’ll go at once.”