Ethan took that as encouragement.
Stepping closer, he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him once more.
“Ye cannae marry Charswood. A man who will take your best years and leave ye wealthy, aye, but alone in the end. An old man who willnae appreciate the fire and joy—the love!—that ye are.” Here, Ethan ran a hungry hand from her ribcage to her hip, tugging her that much closer. “Choose me, Allie. Make a life with myself. Be my wife. Let me show ye every day the true meaning of freedom.”
For one flickering eternity of a moment, Ethan thought she would capitulate. She swayed toward him, their lips brushing in the lightest of touches.
But then she pressed a hand against his chest, forcing him to step back.
“Your words are hopeful, Ethan, because that is what you are—an optimist. But I am a realist. I willalwaysbe a realist.” Tears glittered in her eyes, at odds with her hard tone. “And the reality is, I am not sure I can chooseus.”
And with that lethal shot, she turned and walked away.
21
Allie raced from Thistle Muir, wind tugging at her bonnet and scattering her tears.
Ethan called after her, but she refused to turn around.
Sheshouldbe brave and fight for them. She knew this.
It was just . . .
The thought of choosing Ethan—loving him and letting him love her in return—set a shaky tremor to vibrating her very bones until running became the only logical response.
She knew her brother and her father before him—ruthless men who would permit nothing to stand in the way of their aims. Men who tormented wives, separated children, kidnapped siblings and held them captive.
Charming poets, in particular, were to be obliterated.
Yet even as she ran, the memory of Ethan’s voice nipped at her heels.
Ye dinnae want freedom. Ye want tae belong.
His words resonated like a struck gong.
The man was more prophet than poet.
Panting from her exertions, Allie slowed to a walk, forcing her lungs to take in measured breaths.
Think.
She needed to think. To somehow untangle the knot ofterroragonyfearlovelovelovethat pounded against her sternum.
If Ethan were to be believed, she had been chasingbelongingall these years.
She turned the idea over and sideways in her mind, poking it to see what truths might tumble out.
A wish to belong could explain her eagerness to ally herself withLa Giovine Italia.And perhaps it clarified why Tristan’s transformation into Kendall had so thoroughly devastated her. She had assumed that she would always belong with her twin, and when that bond broke, she was cut adrift.
We could belong tae each other, love and be loved in return.
Shedidwish that. Of course, she did.
Who didn’t want to love and be loved in return? Particularly by a man such as Ethan Penn-Leith?
Allie closed her eyes at the pain of the revelation, stumbling and nearly pitching herself face-first onto the narrow lane. Regaining her feet, she continued onward.
As she rounded the last bend down the long drive to Muirford House, Allie noted several carriages gathered before the open front door, footmen moving in and out with luggage.
