Page 32 of Ghost of the Ton

“Well,” he said, “ye have survived. I must therefore decide what to do. Which is why”—he leaned back—“why I wish for an annulment. I dinnae see it as an impossibility, provided that—”

“Provided that I’m in agreement?” Mia said.

“Provided that the marriage has not been consummated. I doubt it would be difficult to prove that ye and I have not”—he made a random gesture between them—“given that…” He lifted his gaze to her face and flinched.

“Given that my looks make it impossible for any man to consider me worthy of bedding?”

“That’s not a subject a woman should speak of.”

“Not even when she’s your wife, which I am at present, even though you wish I weren’t?”

“Do ye not also wish for an annulment?”

She paused, letting in the hopes and dreams she’d clung to during the past fortnight. They swirled in her mind, the images of her huge Highlander sweeping her into his strong arms and kissing her into ecstasy. Then she pushed them to the back of her mind, like an old trunk filled with childish toys, to be consigned to the attic to gather dust while she ventured out into the real world.

At length, she nodded, ignoring the shard of pain in her heart at the relief in his eyes. “I agree that it would be more conducive to my happiness to be alone and unmarried rather than married and unwanted.”

“Is that a yes?”

How dare he! Did he think to reject her then claim that she welcomed it?

“I have a condition,” she said.

His jaw bulged as if he gritted his teeth.

“Be not alarmed, sir, that I wish to remain here forever. You’ve made it plain that my presence here would be detrimental to your happiness and the welfare of your people. We wouldn’t want my face to frighten them again, would we?”

Drawing consolation from the flicker of guilt in his eyes, she continued.

“From what I understand—and forgive the limited understanding of one of my sex—the purpose of an annulment is to render a marriage invalid, as if it had not taken place at all. Yes?”

He tilted his head to one side, then nodded. “Aye.”

“Therefore, both parties should be placed in the position in which they found themselves the moment before the marriage took place.”

He continued to stare, but she could see no understanding in his expression.

“The same position,” she said, “in every respect.”

He shook his head. “Forgive me—every respect?”

“The same financial position.”

This time there was no mistaking it. Understanding flooded his expression, followed by a flash of fury. “Ye cannae mean…”

“That would be fair, would it not?” Mia said.

“From yer perspective.”

“And yours,” she retorted. “I assume your purpose in disposing of me is not only to find yourself a wife whose face you can look at without retching, but also one with a dowry large enough to meet your monetary demands.” She took his silence as agreement. “It seems only fair, therefore, to return the dowry that you took from me.” She arched her eyebrows and tilted her head to one side. “Yes?”

He blinked slowly. “I dinnae have it.”

“Then I’ll remain here until you do,” she said. “Consider your dislike of my presence as an incentive to acquire it.” He opened his mouth, most likely to protest, and she raised her hand, tempering the anger simmering in her gut. “I take it you’re not so without feeling as to want me to leave here destitute, compelled to use my body to earn a living?”

He shifted in his seat, the first sign of discomfort.

“And,” she continued, “you must agree that my prospects of earning a living in such a manner are nonexistent, given I have the face of…what was it?” She placed a finger on her chin. “Yes, that was it…a pockmarked witch.”