Page 116 of To Wed an Heiress
Chapter Fifty-Two
“What is going on?”
Her father came to the foot of the stairs, followed by Flora and Gregory. They were certainly attracting attention. All they were missing was the rest of the staff.
“Mercy, get back inside your room,” her father said.
For the first time in her life, she disobeyed him. Instead, she walked toward Lennox. She didn’t know why he was here, but she was going to take advantage of any extra time she had with him. He took her hand and she looked up at him.
“You’re wearing a kilt,” she said. What a magnificent sight he was.
“That I am.”
He gripped her hand as if he never wanted to let go. If only that was true. If only that was real.
“Caitheart, explain yourself,” Douglas said.
She looked down at Uncle Douglas, then back at Lennox. He was smiling at her, and there was an expression in his eyes she’d seen in the forest just before he kissed her.
“Lennox?”
She held tight to his hand as he turned and headed for the stairs. Her grandmother scowled at Lennox, but didn’t try to stand in his way. They descended the steps followed by Ailsa. At the base of the stairs Lennox walked around her father and the others, ignoring them. He led her to the center of the foyer, just below the rotunda.
“I hadn’t planned where to do this, Mercy, only that it had to happen.”
“What must happen?”
He stood in front of her, taking her other hand and holding both in his.
“Just what are you about?” her father said. “You march in here like you own the place. You act like a barbarian and now you refuse to answer any questions.”
Her father grabbed her arm and tried to pull her away from Lennox.
“Mr. Rutherford,” Lennox said. “I mean you no disrespect, but this is between Mercy and me.”
“My daughter wants nothing more to do with you.”
“Is that right, Mercy?” Lennox asked.
She shook her head. “No, it isn’t,” she said.
“Then I’ll ask you not to interfere, sir,” Lennox said to her father before turning back to her and taking her hands once more.
No one ever spoke to James Rutherford in such a fashion. Mercy couldn’t tell if it was rage or surprise that was keeping her father silent.
“I love you, Mercy. I have probably loved you from the moment you accused me of riding a dragon.”
Time slowed until it didn’t move at all. She stared up at Lennox, feeling as if her heart had stopped as well.
“No one has ever occupied my thoughts as much as you. I can’t think. I can’t concentrate. I can’t devote myself to my calculations. Your face is always there.”
“Oh?” She couldn’t think of a thing to say, but what did words matter right at this moment?
“You’re in my dreams. I stand at the top of the tower and stare toward Macrory House like a lovesick boy. I replay every conversation we’ve had. I touch things you’ve touched, wondering if I can feel you on them.”
Her eyes widened.
“I can’t let you go back to America.”
