Page 28 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“You haven’t married.” Not a question, but he answered nonetheless.
“The woman I wanted went to another,” he said.
She warmed at his words. “Not because she wished it.”
“I think you could’ve fought harder had you wanted.”
So said a man who was the king of his kingdom. A man, even in the semidarkness, who exuded power and confidence.
“I had a choice,” she said. “To marry Lawrence, or be taken home to America in disgrace.”
“I would’ve found you there,” he said.
She stared into the candle flame, trying not to allow his words to affect her. He would have come after her, she was certain of it. The wedding night she’d so dreaded would have been with him and not Lawrence.
“You never protested?”
Yes, she had, but what good did it do to tell him? She’d been afraid, but she’d pleaded anyway. She’d begged. She’d offered logic and reason. Her father had never heard her.
Two reasons spared her from punishment, and neither was due to kindness or affection. Her father had no one to administer a beating to her and was no doubt loath to do it himself. Plus, since she was promised to the earl, he didn’t want her to go damaged to her bridegroom.
Macrath didn’t know about that, either.
She was suddenly angry. Why did he spear her with questions now?
“If you’d cared so much,” she asked, “why did you give up so easily? It’s easy now to say you would have gone to America. A year later.”
He stared at her for long minutes while the fire crackled and the wind pushed against the windowpanes. She was not going to be the first to break the brittle silence.
“I never gave up,” he said. “I went to your house many times and was turned away each time. I wrote you a dozen times. I never stopped until I got your letter.”
She couldn’t breathe. Had Hannah laced her too tightly?
“I never received one letter from you,” she said. “Nor did I ever write you.”
She’d been guarded so well she might have been able to compose a letter but never to post it.
He abruptly stood, striding toward her.
Reaching into his jacket, he pulled something out, placing it on the table beside her without a word.
Slowly, she picked up a much folded paper, unfolded it and read:
Macrath,
I am to be married. I know you will understand that it would be foolish of me not to agree to a union with the Earl of Barrett.
Please don’t write me again.
I wish you great success in your future.
How could he think she would write something so impersonal and almost flippant to him?
“That isn’t my handwriting,” she said.
“Look at the signature.”
She hadn’t paid it any attention, but at his words, she did, feeling her heart sink to her toes.
