Ethan did not know what to do about Kendall. Given his actions with Ethan’s publisher, there seemed no feasible way to salvage a contract with the duke now. It was more likely Kendall would chain Ethan’s bloodied carcass to a dank dungeon wall for daring to court his twin sister, and then set about laying waste to Ethan’s life.
The lease was nearly up on his uncle’s London townhouse for the Season, and so, Uncle Leith would be returning to his home in Aberdeen soon. As usual, he wished Ethan to join him and spend the autumn and winter wooing potential investors and ensuring that Uncle Leith was invited into every home of influence.
But this year, Ethan wanted nothing to do with that social whirl. He wished to remain right where he was—close to Allie.
Uncle Leith would finally disinherit him in all likelihood.
Kendall would ruin him.
But in the light of Allie’s happiness, Ethan struggled to care.
After three weeksat Muirford House, Allie received word in the morning post that Kendall desired her to return to London in advance of their visit to Lord Charswood’s estate. Her brother would arrive on theSS Statesmenin Montrose in two days to retrieve her, as he wished to “ensure her comfort on the return journey.”
Allie rolled her eyes at his words.
More than likely Kendall wanted to ensure she spurned Ethan's advances and was bludgeoned into accepting Lord Charswood's offer. As if her brother’s threats would be the sole reason she decided to marry a gentleman.
No. She intended to go into marriage more clear-minded than that.
She was a realist, after all.
Over the past weeks, she had looked at her life from every angle.
And though thoughts of Ethan stuffed her head near to brimming, each path she considered led to the same conclusion—
Lord Charswood’s offer of marriage was likely the best choice for her future.
She simply did not see a way forward with Ethan. He had told her of Kendall’s threats to his publisher. Allie believed her twin’s warnings—he would destroy Ethan Penn-Leith before he would have the man as a brother-in-law.
Ethan himself appeared unconcerned about the prospect of Kendall’s retribution, but Allie suspected that attitude would rapidly change once her twin expanded his reach to harm Malcolm and Uncle Leith.
And even if Allie could embrace the chaos of a life on the run from her brother’s cruelty—could stomach the vitriol he would rain down on everyone connected to Ethan Penn-Leith—she couldn’t summon the will to place her soul in Ethan’s hands. To trust him with both her heartandher future.
It was simply a bridge too far.
After all, Tristan had changed into Kendall.
Ethan could change, too.
Regardless, the Scot needed to be told of her imminent departure.
Muirford House was in a bit of an uproar—maids airing guest bedrooms, footman polishing silver—as a small group of Lady Isolde’s intellectual acquaintances from London was set to arrive later that afternoon.
However, the chaos ensured that no one noticed as Allie tucked Kendall’s note into her pocket, donned her bonnet, and slipped out the front door, walking the three miles to Thistle Muir.
But when she knocked on the front door, Ethan himself answered, not the housekeeper or maid of all work.
“What is wrong?” Allie asked, taking in Ethan’s missing coat, cuffed shirtsleeves, and general sense of disarray. “You look as if you didn’t sleep last night.”
“Ididn’tsleep last night,” he said, voice harried and weary.
Ethan stepped out onto the front stoop, closing the door behind him.
She had never seen him like this . . . exhausted and depleted. As if clouds had rolled in and shrouded the light of his optimism.
It tugged at her. She yearned to clasp her hands tightly around his waist and promise all would be well. Which, given the weight of the letter currently resting in her pocket, would be a heartless lie.
A scream rent the air.
