It was simply . . . too much.
How could she have been so heedless, so stupid?
What was she to do?
Panic shuddered—a giant’s fingers wrapping around her ribcage and slowly squeezing.
The same panic that had gripped her as she watched Tristan’s tear-streaked face fade into the distance all those years before.
The same panic that had lanced her as their mother took her last breath.
The same panic that had chased her from house to house in Venice, barely two steps ahead of her father’s hired thug.
Allie couldn’t keep Ethan. Not like this. Not with only love and trust knitting them together.
If keeping Ethan required some feat of great strength or courage—climbing a mountain, facing an unruly mob—Allie would gladly embrace it.
But placing every last shred of her battered soul on the altar of trust? To have faith that Ethan would not eventually discard her as every other man in her life had done? To believe that their love could endure Kendall’s vindictive destruction of Ethan’s career and family?
No. She feared that was bravery she did not possess.
But how could she give Ethan up?
That thought, too, felt unbearable.
That she would leave Fettermill in two days’ time, journey to Charswood’s estate, and agree to become his countess. Never again to bask in the warmth of Ethan Penn-Leith’s regard. To let this vast, new horizon of love in her breast dim and recede, eventually snuffing out all light within her.
It was too much.
Too much feeling.
Too much pain.
The world went black at the edges; the room turned suffocating. The panic in her breast shuddered along her limbs, agitating them into motion.
Allie surged to her feet and raced out the front door before consciously thinking to move.
20
Allie raced down the gravel drive of Thistle Muir, heart pounding.
The turmoil in her chest bubbled over, spilling tears down her cheeks.
Was is possible to run far enough to escape the pandemonium exploding within her?
Could she sprint away to join a revolutionary group as she had after losing Tristan? Perhaps some band in the Caucuses might—
A shout sounded from behind her.
“Lass!” Ethan called.
Allie ran faster.
Feet pounded, coming closer.
A hand wrapped around her elbow, pulling her to a stop.
Allie pivoted into Ethan, collapsing onto his torso, her elbows tucked between their bodies.
