Page 30 of Sweet Home Highlander
“Let me see if I understand,” Ronan said, his expression incredulous when Niall finished. “Ye’ve agreed to a public apology admitting yer failures as a husband, and sending her back to Paris with a divorce if she’s able to tempt ye into her bed before the next six weeks are up?”
“Aye.”
Ronan did something rare then. His lips parted, breaking into a wide smile, and he barked out a short, harsh laugh. “Ye’ve already lost, brother, and she kens it.”
“How do ye mean?”
“What are ye, some sort of milksop? Do ye really think ye’ll be able to resist the lass when she offers herself to ye? I’d heard rumors from her time in France that she’s as clever as a fox.” Ronan shook his head as he sat back and took a sip of his whisky. “Ye couldnae wait to make her yersbeforethe vows.”
Niall pushed his coffee aside and leaned forward. “Wait, what did ye hear about my wife in France?” he asked Ronan, frowning.
Ronan’s amusement fell off, and he looked slightly abashed. “Ye’re my kin. My brother. Ye think I wouldnae keep an eye on the lass while she gallivanted around Paris?”
“That wasnae yer duty.”
It had been his. And he hadn’t done it. He’d known where she was, and he could have written to her. Could have asked any number of friends and acquaintances who’d traveled to London what they’d heard of Aisla. But asking after her would have only drawn their pity. And there was no chance that he’d make the mistake of showing up in Paris himself—not again. He’d been doltish enough to try it once, to bring her home. He still felt the burn of humiliation whenever he thought about that wasted trip, and shoved it out of his mind now, too.
“Duty or no’, I had to make sure she wasnae in any trouble,” Ronan said.
The spear of guilt lanced Niall again. It was something he should have done. “What did ye learn?” he forced himself to ask.
“That she had a firm place in society. Balls, parties, friends. She was never alone, and didnae lack the attentions of male company.”
It came as no surprise that Aisla had been popular among the men of Paris. Niall had sensed a new maturity about her, a subtle sensual awareness that only experience could provide. The French fop, clearly, had not been her only champion. The guilt eating away at him changed then, transforming into a recognizable beast: hot, knife-edged jealousy.
Ronan tossed back the rest of his whisky and lowered his voice now that the faro game to their right had dissolved, and the clamoring around them had quieted. “Why dunnae we forget the wager? Ye’ve worked hard, Niall. To move on. To forget her. And now, I can see it burning in yer eyes again. That old anger and hurt. I ken what ye were like when she left the first time—”
“I’m no’ the same man I was back then. And I fully intend to win the wager. Yers and hers.”
“I ken that. But ye’re still playing with fire,bràthair. No matter who wins at this game ye’ve got going on, ye’re going to get hurt.”
Ronan didn’t mince words. Never had. But he also didn’t truly understand, not if he thought Niall had been working hard to move on and forget it. Niall hadn’t been doing that at all. He’d been building himself, making himself into somethingmore. And every step of the way, he’d also been dreaming of the possibility of being able to brandish it in Aisla’s face just how far he’d come. How much he’d changed.
He’d made mistakes, too, he wouldn’t deny that. But he wasn’t the only one at fault. And now, the only reason she was back at all was to finalize what she’d set into motion years ago—that he’d never been the man for her. No. She wasn’t here to stay.
“Where my wife is concerned, I’m no’ playing with fire,” Niall said. “I’m wielding it.”
Ronan sat back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He held his brother’s steady gaze. “I hope so.”
A bubbly laugh cut through the gaming room, and Niall was grateful. He glanced up to find three scantily garbed women mingling on the floor. One looked his way, a curly haired brunette with a pair of jade eyes that might have once pinned him to the back of his chair. They were eyes that knew what they could do to a man. But they didn’t have any effect on Niall.
He had come to the club to speak to Ronan and to slake his pent frustration with a woman, any woman. Keeping his mind sharp and his lust drained had been the reasoning behind it. But the conversation with Ronan had been enlightening. Not once in six long years had Niall allowed himself to take a woman to bed. He’d felt cravings, to be sure, but his real appetite for the company of women had been snuffed out.
“The lass is looking over here,” Ronan said, beginning to stand. “I’ll take my leave so ye can have a chance with her.”
“Dunnae bother,” he told Ronan. “I’m leaving as well.”
Niall braced his hand and leather-covered stump on the tabletop to stand. The brunette’s eyes went straight to the stitched leather and hook covering there, and couldn’t mask her reaction, or her horror. She turned away. Niall only chuckled grimly. Her rejection couldn’t touch him. Not now, after building such a resistance to caring about other people’s opinions. Ronan had been right: Niall had come a long way, and he wouldn’t tumble back down into that hole he’d once lived in.
He had two goals now—one was to teach his wife a lesson she would not soon forget, and the other was to clear his ledgers with Ronan.
Both would allow him to move on.
…
Good Lord, Aisla could breathe again. With Niall gone, the constriction around her chest had loosened, like the strings of a husband-sized corset. She didn’t want to investigate that curiosity further, or admit it might have had anything to do with her residual feelings for him. Or worse, hercurrentfeelings for him. Instead, she put it down to the fact that Niall was a powerful laird, and his presence was simply everywhere. If it were up to her, she would leave and never look back. She’d done it once, and she could do it again. But she couldn’t, according to Mr. Stevenson, who was hopefully closing in on the missing marriage records.
This is for Julien’s dying mother, she reminded herself.And your one chance for a real family and a happy future.
