Beware a Scot's Revenge

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Beware a Scot's Revenge Page 29

by Sabrina Jeffries


  The sudden flicker of something in his eyes, something needy and dark and desperate, gave her hope.

  Then his face went blank again. “I claimed a lot of things with you.” He swallowed, then continued in that cool, awful voice she was rapidly growing to despise. “They were only villainous attempts to get what I wanted—yer dowry, the money I thought yer father owed. That doesn’t mean the things I said were true.”

  Now, that roused her temper. She marched up to him, face alight. “So you don’t love me? That’s what you’re saying.”

  He stared down at her, his expression conflicted. “Go home, lass. You don’t belong here in this ruined place, scraping and saving for a few curtains.”

  She noticed he couldn’t bring himself to say flat out that he didn’t love her. “I don’t care about any of that! And I do belong here, I do! Ask anyone in your clan, and they’ll say the same.”

  “You belong with yer family. I thought I had just cause to take you, but I was wrong, do ye ken? I had no right at all.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That’s what this is about? You’ve transgressed against your own rules of right and wrong, so now you mean to atone for that by doing something foolishly noble?”

  “I’m not going to be like my father, damn it!” he shouted, then caught himself and lowered his voice. “My father stole what didn’t belong to him from a man who was his friend, who’d done naught to hurt him. Father never had to pay, and thanks to that, I’ve gone and done the same, rubbing salt in a man’s wounds who didn’t deserve it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, no more. It ends here.”

  “You mean, you plan to atone for your sins by trampling my heart.”

  Pain flashed over his face before he masked it. “I’m sending you back where you belong. Where you always belonged, if I’d had the sense to see it.” He glanced away, a muscle throbbing in his jaw. “Once ye’re safely back in London, you’ll see that I’m right. Ye’ll find a man worthy of you, and you’ll take yer place in society where you belong. You’ll forget this, all of this.”

  “You must think I’m quite the fickle female, if you believe that.”

  “I think ye’re caught up in the romance of yer childhood home. But it won’t last.”

  He’d said something like that before, but back then he hadn’t known her well, so he’d had reason to believe it. He didn’t now. That he could convince himself that he did infuriated her.

  “What if I find myself with child?” she asked, heedless of who else heard.

  With a glance beyond her to where her father jerked upright at the mention of children, Lachlan stiffened, then returned his gaze to her. “Ye’re only saying that to force yer father’s hand. Because you and I both know that if you found yerself with child, yer father would make me marry you.”

  “And you would marry me then?”

  “If you ever found yerself with child. Which you won’t.”

  So that’s how he was going to justify this…this insanity. He would send her back to London ruined but free to take another husband if she pleased, figuring that her dowry would smooth over any man’s objections to an unchaste wife.

  But if she should happen to bear his child…well, that was a different matter. He would have to claim her then—it was the right thing to do. Keeping her now that he’d married her wasn’t right, oh no. Letting their love heal the rift between their families wasn’t right, oh no. But if a child came into it, then and only then he could forget his cold and lofty ideas about justice.

  Well, he was in for a surprise. She had a sense of justice, too. He might have spent years away from the Highlands because of his pride, but she wasn’t about to let him spend years away from her because of some foolish ideas about atoning for his sins. So she’d have to force his hand.

  “Fine,” she said, tipping her chin up. “If you don’t want me, I’ll leave.”

  He gritted his teeth. “I didn’t say I didn’t want—”

  “But listen to me, Lachlan, and listen well.” She walked up close until she was nose to nose with him. “I’ll give you three days to come to your senses. Then my father and I will leave for London.”

  He just stared at her, his face as rigid as his justice.

  She scowled. “Once we do, I’ll be gone from you forever, do you understand? You’ll know nothing more of me, ever. If I should happen to find myself with child, you’ll never know. If I marry some other man and let him raise your child, you’ll never know.”

  His jaw grew taut. “Yer father would tell me—”

  “Not if he doesn’t know. And if I have to move to another country to ensure that, I will.” That seemed to shake him, so she went on relentlessly. “If I leave here without you, then my life is my own. Who knows? I may just join my friend Amelia in Morocco for a long visit and never return.”

  That made alarm flare in his face, and she said, “If you’re going to shut me out of your life, Lachlan, then I’ll shut you out of mine.” Her voice broke. “So you’d better think long and hard about your justice. Because once I’m gone for good, you’ll get to spend the rest of your life wondering where I am and how I’m doing and whether you have a son somewhere with another man’s name.”

  When he just continued to stare at her, hollow-eyed, she stifled a sob. She’d counted on such a threat bringing the stubborn lout around, but what if it didn’t? Would she really walk away from him, to leave this place forever in three days?

  No, never. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. It was time Lachlan Ross learned that life didn’t always go according to his plan. That right and wrong weren’t as easy to define as he believed.

  “Here’s one more thing for you to think on over the next three days.” Tears burned in her throat. “Consider this while you’re sitting in the master bedchamber where we confessed our love, while you’re doing the ‘right thing’ and atoning for everyone’s sins.”

  She reached up to cup his cheek. “The greatest sin of all is to deny love. And there’s nothing in this world you can do to atone for that.”

  Then, with her heart breaking, she turned, took her father’s arm, and left Lachlan to his cold and lonely atonement.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Dear Cousin,

  I am willing to call a truce between us, if you’ll agree with me on one matter. A man hunting for a wife ought to admit his situation from the outset. That way no woman can ever accuse him of treachery. Surely you’ll admit that the best marriages are built on honesty.

  Your relation,

  Charlotte

  Lachlan spent his first day away from Venetia in a blessed numbness, checking on the stills and going into Dingwall to let people know he wasn’t dead. It was sobering to find himself the object of such great concern. His flimsy story that he’d played dead only until the Scourge’s men could be routed met with astonishing acceptance. They were apparently so glad to have him back, they weren’t going to quibble over how it had happened.

  At least someone wasn’t angry at him. His clan members were furious that he hadn’t pressed Duncannon for the money. They couldn’t understand his reasons, since they didn’t know what his father had done, and he meant to keep it that way. Duncannon deserved not having his secrets widely known.

  Mother deserved her privacy, too. He cringed every time he thought of how mortifying it must be to discover that your dead husband had taken your friend into his bed. Lachlan didn’t know how to comfort her.

  Not that she would let him. Refusing to speak to him, she stomped about the house telling the maids what a pity it was that Venetia couldn’t be there to help. She referred to him as “my idiot son” with a frequency that began to annoy him.

  Of all people, Mother should understand. Couldn’t she see that the lass deserved better than a life in the Highlands cut off from her family?

  Guilt clutched at him anew. It had been one thing to hear Venetia speak of her aging, ill father, and quite another to watch her worrying herself over the shattered relic
of a man. She needed her father; the man needed her. She certainly deserved better than a lifetime chained to the scoundrel who’d ripped her from him.

  Never mind that she didn’t seem to agree; she would in time. It would be selfish of him to keep her here. What did it matter if the thought of her leaving Ross-shire, never to return, stripped the very flesh from his heart? Letting her go was the right thing to do.

  Then why did it feel so very wrong?

  That night he couldn’t sleep. And in the morning, he awoke to the realization that he had only one more day before she would make good on her threat. God help him. The thought of her bearing his child without his knowing it…

  No, that at least must never happen.

  He went to find his mother. “I need you to pay Venetia a visit at Braidmuir.”

  Mother arched an eyebrow at him.

  “You must beg her to write you from London if she finds herself with child.”

  His mother crossed her arms over her chest. “And why must I do this?”

  “Because it would be yer grandchild! Surely you care what happens to it.”

  “Aye, but you gave up my right to care about the bairn when you denied the marriage. Which you said you didn’t consummate anyway, remember?” Her eyes held an unholy glint. “So as you told Duncannon, there won’t be any grandchild.”

  He scowled at her. “You know damned well that I bedded Venetia on the night we said the vows. Half the servants in Rosscraig probably saw her leave my bedchamber in the morning. And they’d never keep something like that from you.”

  She shrugged. “I still don’t see what that has to do with me. You had yer chance to keep her; you threw it away and the bairn with it.”

  “It’s not any bairn I care about!” he cried. “I just can’t stand the thought of her bearing one alone, ye ken? What if something happens?”

  Her face softened a fraction. “Seems to me you gave up the right to worry about that, too.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck in sheer frustration. “What if she goes to Morocco like she said? Do they even have doctors in a place like that? She’ll be forced to use some foreign fellow, who’ll most likely kill her in his ignorance.”

  “That could happen, I suppose.”

  He glared at her. “And if she stays in London and has a child, she’ll be branded a whore by society. She’ll have to live in seclusion.” He shook his head. “Venetia wouldn’t be happy in seclusion. She likes being around people.”

  “I didn’t think you cared what she liked,” his mother said with a cool smile.

  “Of course I care! That’s why I’m doing this. For her. So she can have the decent life in society that she deserves.”

  “Has she said that’s what she wants?”

  He let out an oath. “The lass doesn’t know what she wants. How can she, when I’ve tricked and seduced her at every turn?” He paced restlessly. “She hasn’t even considered that marriage to me means leaving her sickly father, since I doubt Duncannon will ever wish to return to the Highlands.”

  “Perhaps. Still, it’s her choice to make, isn’t it?” She eyed him closely. “Besides, you didn’t care about any of that before you learned about yer father and Lady Duncannon.”

  “I did care. But I was a selfish ass, willing to run roughshod over what she needed if it meant I could have her.”

  “Aye, because separating her from the villainous Earl of Duncannon seemed just to you. Separating her from the wronged Duncannon only seems cruel.”

  “When you put it that way…well, yes.” A lump lodged in his throat. “Look at the havoc Father wreaked on the lass’s life by sending her mother to the grave. I’m no better.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Father didn’t set his wrong right, but I can. I have to.”

  “First of all,” she said tersely, “yer father didn’t send Lady Duncannon to her grave. She sent herself. She could have refused to lie with him. God knows I wish she had.” A sad smile touched her thin lips, and he felt a lurch of sympathy for what she must be suffering. “But she didn’t. And while I know you gave Venetia no choice when you kidnapped her, she had plenty of choices to leave afterward. She didn’t take them.” Her eyes gleamed at him. “She didn’t say no to sharing your bed either, did she?”

  “Only because she was worried about her father and wanted to soften me.”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you? What about her words of love? Those were just lies?”

  Instantly, he saw Venetia’s face, her look of betrayal, when he’d pretended not to love her. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “All I know is that if I hadn’t meddled where I shouldn’t have, she’d be back in London where she belongs.” The thought of how heedlessly he’d wrenched her from her life tortured him. “I did what I had no right to do and shattered her life. Hers and Duncannon’s.”

  “Aye, that’s true. Trouble is, like some wee bairn who’s knocked a jar off the table, you think you can fix the broken glass by fitting all the pieces together and setting it back up where it was. You think you can pack her off home with her father as if nothing ever happened between you. That won’t work, my son.”

  Touching a hand to his cheek, she gentled her voice. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t melt down the pieces to make a new jar. Oh, you’ll have to figure out the new way for you and her and her father. So whatever glass you blow won’t be the same as the first, because nothing in life stays the same.” She smiled indulgently at him. “But it can be just as good. Or even better. If you’re willing to try.”

  He pulled away from her, unshed tears clogging his throat. “If I keep her with me here and she ends up miserable, missing her father, missing her home, I’d never forgive myself. After everything I’ve done to her family—”

  “She doesn’t care—she said that. So why won’t you at least try? Don’t you love her?”

  “I love her more than my life,” he whispered.

  “You love her, she loves you, so…” She trailed off as she searched his face. “Ah, that’s what you’re afraid of. That she won’t keep loving you. That once you’re not controlling everything and she can really know you, she won’t like what she sees.”

  Startled by that oddly truthful remark, he stared at her, his heart pounding so heavily he could hardly stand it.

  “Did you actually believe that nonsense yer father always spouted, about how wild and irresponsible you are? It’s not true. It never was.” Her voice grew choked. “Ye’re not the only one who’s been thinking about things these past few days. I realize now why Alasdair was always so angry at you.”

  A ragged sigh escaped her. “Because he was terrified that you’d guess the truth—that one day you’d see beneath his discipline to discover he was the wild and irresponsible one. So he drove you away. He was a coward who couldn’t face having you find out about him.”

  She rubbed tears from her eyes. “Don’t be a coward, driving away anyone who cares enough to see you for yerself. It’s easy to live yer life alone, son. It takes courage to live with another. But in the end, yer life can be so much richer for it.”

  He could hardly breathe for the tears choking him.

  “At least give the lass the chance to know who you really are. If you don’t, you’ll surely regret it.” Then, with another soft pat of his cheek, she walked off.

  Give the lass the chance to know who you really are. Aye, the thought of that did terrify him. What if she came to hate him, hate his rough ways so much she left?

  He gave a choked laugh. If she left then or left now, what difference was it? Either way he’d be without her. And a couple of days without her had already shown him he’d ne’er survive a lifetime.

  Gazing around at Rosscraig’s newly painted walls, he remembered the pride shining in her pretty face when she’d taken him round to show the work she’d done. Mayhap that pride wouldn’t last. Mayhap she would tire of the harsh Highland life.

  But he had to give her—and himself—the chance to find out. Because
if he didn’t, his life would be too awful to endure.

  Quentin stared down at the ledgers before him, a tightness in his chest. Venetia was right. Things had fallen apart at Braidmuir. McKinley had been dipping his hand into the profits deeper by the day, from the looks of it. And Quentin had let him do it because he couldn’t be bothered to oversee him properly.

  He could blame it on his health or bad memories, but the fact was, it had been sixteen years since Susannah had betrayed him with his closest friend. That was a damned long time to hold a grudge.

  And a damned long time to let other people do his dirty work. He still wasn’t sure he’d done wrong by bringing in the sheep farmers, no matter what Venetia might think about it. But he did know that he’d once had what Ross had now on his land: people who cared about each other, who looked out for each other. Something was lost when that was gone, no matter the reason.

  He sat back to stare about him as the afternoon sun streamed in the window. His daughter meant to restore what had been lost, didn’t she? Everywhere in the house, dust covers were coming off tables and chairs, silver was being brought out of storage, beds were being made. When he asked why she was doing it even though they’d be leaving for London shortly, she just cast him a sad smile that told him she was still waiting for Ross. Then she went back to her work.

  Leaving him with a chill in his heart.

  What was he to do about Ross? The man had kidnapped his daughter, yes, but he wasn’t the reckless idiot that Quentin had assumed. Quentin had spoken to the people in Dingwall—they’d sung his praises. And God knows Ross had managed to hold his estate together when any lesser man would have given up.

  Still…

  The sound of horses in the drive made him start. It couldn’t be Lady Kerr and that colonel fellow. They’d already left for London, eager to tell the man’s daughter about their impending wedding.

  A few moments passed before the housekeeper knocked at the door of his study. “Sir Lachlan Ross to see you, my lord.”

  Damnation. This was all moving too quickly.

 

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