Page 9 of Return of the Scot
Some attachment to it…as if a favorite trinket or pair of boots. Good God, she tried his patience. And yet, he had to try and warm her up to him, gain her trust.
He fiddled with his button again, taking a step closer to her. “There are other properties. Better ones, even. Some with docks already built. I can help ye find the right one.” In all his training, Lorne had become quite accustomed to reading body language, and the way she was pinching her fingers together was a telling sign that she was nervous—that she might not have been telling him the whole truth. Suddenly, he was speaking before thinking. “Did my brother put the castle up for sale, or did ye approach him?”
She stiffened, perhaps not expecting his bold question. “Why does that matter?”
Lorne shrugged, feigning indifference.
Her gaze shifted from his. “I do no’ recall.”
He moved closer, impressed that she didn’t back away from him but held her ground. There was a defiance in her eyes that lashed out and struck him in the chest.
“Why did ye want to buy my castle, Miss Andrewson? Tell me the truth.”
Anger flashed across her face, a ripple in cream. “How dare ye come into my house and accuse me of being a thief and a liar.”
“I never accused ye of being a thief.”
“Ye might as well have.” Her hands were flying around as she spoke, and he dared not get any nearer in case he came into contact with one of them.
“I am simply trying to understand what has happened. And I think ye’re hiding the truth from me.”
“I am a businesswoman. I want to expand my business. That does no’ make me a liar. But ye, Your Grace,” she said the latter in a disgusted hiss and poked him in the chest, “ye’re a hypocrite.”
“What?”
“All this talk of thieving and lying when the only one in the room who’s done any of the latter is ye.”
“I’m no’ a thief, nor am I a liar. What basis have ye to make such an accusation?”
Jaime snorted as though he’d told her the most hilarious of jokes. “Let me introduce ye to the elephant in the room, Sutherland. The reason ye’re no’ my brother-in-law at this very moment.”
Och, but he could have bloody guessed that there was more to her choice in buying his castle than a load of ships. The cunning wee wench. Lorne ground his teeth, fisted his hands and took a step back as anger filled him; the need to roar out the injustice of what she implied.
There was no way he’d continue to take the blame for what happened between him and Jaime’s sister. Nine years ago, before he’d accepted his commission in his regiment, Lorne had been betrothed to her. Shanna was an heiress and lovely to boot, with auburn hair and eyes very similar to her sister’s. Eyes that stared at him right now with such fury, he nearly retreated another step back.
The way she looked at him, the stubborn set of her jaw, Lorne knew that nothing he could say would change how she felt about him. Not even if he told her the truth about what had happened the night of his and Shanna’s engagement ball. The night he’d found her fumbling in the darkened library with a lover. As soon as he’d made himself known, the man had run, leaping out the window—his identity a mystery to this day. And Shanna, sobbing like a bairn, had begged Lorne to look past her indiscretion. Told him it was a mistake, that she’d been coerced. What a fool he was to have believed her. To have kept the secret, to save his pride in making him a cuckold, to have saved both their families the humiliation.
His hands clenched at his sides. What lies Shanna must have told…
When she’d tried to move their wedding date sooner, his suspicions of her being pregnant grew. Lorne broke off their engagement, appalled that she would think him such an idiot. And then more appalled at himself because he had been for trusting to begin with. Shanna must have told her family the bairn was his. That he’d soiled her and then left her to her fate.
The same sourness that filled his belly whenever he thought of Shanna filled him now. How could Jaime think her sister deserved any sort of retribution? That he was at fault?
Because she didn’t know.
“Ye do no’ know what ye’re talking about.” Lorne shook his head, thrust his fingers through his hair. “Ye’re a fool.”
A flicker of uncertainty showed in her eyes. But he was too much of a gentleman to correct her. Too proud to air his humiliation before a lass he barely knew.
And bloody hell, if she believed him a monster, despite the truth of what had happened, there was no way he would garner her favor by proving her right with his temper.
Lorne gritted his teeth and swallowed his fury, determined not to offend her and risk never regaining his family’s castle.
Despite Lorne’s frustration, he had to find a way to convince Jaime to return what was rightfully his. But right now, he needed a bloody drink.
“This is no’ over, Miss Andrewson.” Lorne brushed past her.
The best thing to do right now was to walk away, which fought against every intuition in his body to stay and battle it out. To prove to her that she was in the wrong, that he deserved for her to listen, to understand, to give him back his bloody castle. He needed a plan.
