After a hesitation, she crossed his threshold. He’d imagined having her here in his tower so often, but his mind had focused on passion, pounding into her like thunder, high above the glen he loved, and feeling her tighten around him as she found her pleasure.
Would he ever do that again?
He gestured to the second armchair beside the fire. “Would ye like to sit down?”
“No. No, thank you.” She paused. “Are you all right?”
He frowned. “Are you here to find out how I’m feeling?”
“No. Well, yes.” He wasn’t used to seeing her so unsure. “I heard something break.”
“A fit of childish theatrics.” Damn him if he didn’t blush. “I threw a glass into the fireplace.”
“Oh.”
A bristling silence crashed down, then they both spoke together.
“I’m glad you came to see me. I wanted to…”
“I talked to Papa after dinner, and he said…”
They both faltered into silence. He supposed if she’d talked to her father, that meant she’d decided to leave Achnasheen. “May I speak first? I have something to say to you.”
A tiny wrinkle of worry appeared between her eyebrows. “If you wish, but I’d like—”
He spoke before she could finish. “I’ve been going over everything ye said this afternoon.”
“So have I.”
He raised a hand. “Please, lassie, let me say my piece.”
“But, Fergus—”
“Mo chridhe.”
With a mulish expression, she folded her arms over that lovely bosom and nodded to indicate he had her permission to continue. He supposed it was an improvement on looking like she faced the guillotine, the way she had when she’d first appeared at his door.
“I ken what it’s cost ye to build your career. I understand that you don’t want to sacrifice all that, just as you’re reaching the pinnacle of success. The woman I’m in love with is an artist. She’s unconventional. That’s one of the reasons I love her. So I suggest an unconventional marriage.”
Fergus paused, because she looked like she was about to interrupt him again. But as she uncrossed her arms, she didn’t speak. She was listening so intently he felt like her very skin soaked up his words.
He prayed to God that when she’d listened, she’d agree. If she said no to this, he had nothing more to offer.
“Your patrons are in Florence, and your subjects are in Italy, so I’ll come and live with ye there.”
Marina made a choked sound and went as pale as hawthorn blossom. “Do you mean that?”
“Aye, with all my heart.”
“But you love Achnasheen.” She spread her hands in bewilderment. “You’re the laird.”
He shrugged, although they both knew how much it would pain him to abandon his home. Before he reached this decision, he’d taken the time to consider its full cost. “I’ll still be the laird, but I’ll be the laird who lives in Florence with his beautiful, talented wife, and who runs his estate through a capable bailiff. It’s not as if half the estates in the Highlands dinna have absentee landlords.”
“Not this estate.” She shook her head. “You’ll miss it.”
“Aye, I will.” He made a sweeping gesture. “Not as much as I’ll miss you if you leave me. And we can visit. I suspect that once the duke has his pictures on display, your patrons are going to want more Scottish scenes.”
“You’d do this? Leave Achnasheen?” When she blinked, he caught the glitter of tears in her eyes. “For me?”