She nodded. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been very helpful.”
He tipped his hat at her, a puzzled look on his face, but she was already turning, running to catch up with Mr. McKenzie. Of all the uncouth, abhorrent gentlemen she had ever met, he was the worst.
In fact, he wasn’t a gentleman at all. He was a Scot.
She caught up to them at the back of the house, where they stood looking out at the ocean.
“You cad!” she shouted, unwilling to communicate in their silent language this time. Her grandmother was as guilty as he.
Mr. McKenzie turned. “’Tis a bit early tae be throwing insults, isn’t it?”
“How long?” she demanded. “How long would you havelet me go on, believing you wear Highland attire every evening and drink like madmen and only use knives?” Now that she stopped to think about it, she felt foolish, for she’d been served with forks and spoons at every one of the inns she’d stayed at in Scotland.
Mr. McKenzie crossed his arms over his broad chest. “That depends,” he replied. “How long were ye willing tae believe it?”
Shame and humiliation singed her as she thought of last night. Of how she’d believed and gone along with every one of their machinations. The amusement she’d provided them. “And you,” she said, facing her grandmother. “I’d never have expected my own...why would you...”
“’Twas my own foolish pride,” Grandmother cried, immediately contrite. “And I am sorry. I should never—”
“If the fault is anyone’s, ye ken it is mine,” Mr. McKenzie broke in.
Arabella’s eyes snapped to his, hot tears burning down her cheeks. She batted them away. She didnotwant this man to see her cry. “Of that, I have no doubt.” Her voice shook with anger.
And then, looking for escape, her eyes caught on the path that led down to the beach, and she fled.
ARABELLA FLEW DOWN the steep steps.
What was it about Mr. McKenzie? Arabella rarely gave way to emotion. And she never cried. Mother always said it was a weakness a woman could ill afford. But somehow,hemanaged to...
Another tear splashed down her cheek.
She was nearly halfway down the cliffside when Mr. McKenzie called her name. “Miss Hughes!”
She ignored him.
“Miss Hughes, please. Hear me out.” His voice was closer now, only a few steps behind her.
Anger mounting, Arabella whirled to face him. “And why should I? You lied to me from the first moment we met. Why should I listen to a single word you say?” Her chest was heaving, hair coming loose from her untidy braid.
He peered at her, gaze inexplicably soft. “I didn’t lie tae ye. I spoke with an English accent, yes. But I never said IwasEnglish. The assumptions ye made were yer own.”
She gritted her teeth. “You knew exactly what I thought and were all too willing to take advantage. A true gentleman would never have done such a thing,” she said icily.
“And a true lady would never have spoken the way ye did.” He leaned forward, the softness in his expression vanishing. “Ye sat at that table, slinging insults at me and my countrymen, so full of prejudice, ye couldn’t see what was right in front of ye. So yes, I took advantage. And just as ye made assumptions about Scots, I made some assumptions about ye.”
Somehow the words were both an apology and a rebuke, which only heightened her fury. “You do not know me, Mr. McKenzie. You know nothing about me or what brought me here—”
“I knew enough tae fear ye’d hurt Nan,” he interrupted. “That with yer ridiculous preconceptions ye’d wound the woman who has only ever wanted one thing—tae be a part of your life. I’ll not stand for it, Miss Hughes. So blame me. Hold me responsible. Hate me, if ye must. But do not fault your grandmother.”
She stared at him, caught off guard by his defense of her grandmother. The protectiveness in his voice. The love.
But she was too angry to give him credit for such feelings. “You needn’t worry, Mr. McKenzie. I holdyoufully responsible.”
He cleared his throat. “I am sorry if I hurt ye, Miss Hughes. ’Twas only meant as a bit of fun.”
Arabella raised a brow. “At my expense.” It was not a question.
“Can ye not find even an ounce of humor in it?”
