Niall grinned. It occurred to him that he was sparring with her for the sheer pleasure of watching her bristle, of seeing that fire kindle in her expressive eyes. The spitting tigress was a fascinating contrast to her usual demeanor—and to all the other females he’d known, as well. It intrigued and aroused him. She aroused him. She managed to conjure in him the desire to best and subdue and possess her.
Realizing he was deliberately trying to provoke her, Sabrina took a deep breath, willing herself to calm. “In light of recent events, I have changed my mind. I’ve decided I have no desire to marry, ever.”
“Ever? Surely a lovely lass such as yourself doesn’t wish to be left on the shelf.”
“I am entirely resigned to spinsterhood.”
“You shouldn’t be. It would be a terrible waste.”
“It would be a worse waste to wed you. You’d make a wretched husband.”
“I agree. Why do you think I’ve avoided the parson’s noose so long?”
“Perhaps because no woman was fool enough to have you.”
His eyebrow shot up. The light dancing in his eyes mirrored the amusement playing on his lips. “I’ll have you know, mistress, I’m considered quite a matrimonial prize.”
“Then some other lady may claim you, with my blessing.”
“Your grandfather will be devastated.”
Sabrina hesitated, acknowledging that truth.
Niall shook his head ruefully. “Come now, wedding me will not be so onerous. I fancy we can contrive to rub along well enough.”
“There is more to marriage than merely ‘rubbing along.’”
“Indeed? Pray tell.”
“There is compatibility, for one. You were entirely correct. We wouldn’t suit in the least. Faith, we cannot even hold a simple discussion without arguing. We would fight all the time.”
“Fortunately, I like shrewish women.”
“You like all women,” she retorted, ignoring his jibe.
“Aye, ’tis true.” His self-deprecating grin held a contagious charm. “Females are my besetting sin, I admit it.”
“You have a vast number of besetting sins!”
“But I also have several sterling qualities, which you are set on overlooking.”
Sabrina took a steadying breath, trying to steel herself against that sinfully easy charm and the warm laughter in his eyes. He had stolen a thousand female hearts—but he would not steal hers. “Sterling or no, they cannot outweigh your undesirable traits. I’ve told you, I have no desire to marry a lecher.”
Glancing down at his sleeve, Niall plucked at an imaginary speck of dust. “I suppose you would expect fidelity.”
“What a singular notion,” Sabrina replied with sarcasm.
The midnight color of his eyes held her captive. “I’ve told you, lass, I’m not inclined to be faithful. But I can promise you I will endeavor to be discreet.”
Her hand moved to her breastbone, as if to slow the painful pulsation of her heart. She didn’t want a husband who could offer her only discretion.
“I won’t make the ideal husband, but I will provide protection for you and your clan.”
Her clan. It always came back to that.
“You haven’t even proposed,” Sabrina muttered mutinously.
“How remiss of me.” Niall sketched a brief bow while still sitting on the edge of the bed. “Mistress Duncan, will you condescend to do me the great honor of bestowing your hand in marriage?”