She picked up a rock, turning it over and over in her hand, its rough surface scraping the soft skin of her palm. Then she hurled it into the ocean, watching as it hit the water with a satisfying splash.
She picked up another one and threw it, this time aiming for a rock that jutted up out of the incoming tide. Imagining it was the back of Mr. McKenzie’s head.
She threw another.
And another.
And another.
She’d thrown a great many stones before she realized that although she was far from ready to forgive Mr. McKenzie, the bulk of her resentment wasn’t truly for him.
It was for her parents.
For sending her away, far from everything and everyone she knew.
For not even trying to understand her and why she’d done what she had.
Arabella still couldn’t think back on that awful day without her stomach becoming a tight-fisted knot. In the quaint gardens of their London townhome, it had been a sunny day. Several friends had called, Mr. Gresham among them, and they’d congregated out by the marble fountain, where they’d spent the morning talking and laughing. Then one by one, they’d left, until only Arabella and Mr. Gresham remained. When she’d turned to go inside, he’d caught her hand, pulled her to him...
And kissed her.
Within seconds the back door had slammed open, her father striding toward them. Ire in his eyes. Fury in his words. He’d demanded Mr. Gresham’s silence and sent him away, then accused Arabella of risking her future for a nobody.
She’d known the risks.
She just hadn’t expected the consequences to be so dire.
An entire summer sequestered in the Highlands of Scotland, far from anything that resembled civilized society.
Arabella looked up the shoreline, where the rocks and stones gave way to white powdery sand. The sun glinted off the water, the waves ebbing and flowing with a calming regularity.
Her parents had wanted her to regret what she’d done.
And she did.
Just not for the reasons they believed.
The kiss had been an utter disappointment. As brief as it was unexpected. Mr. Gresham’s arms around her back, while she stood frozen in his arms, the stiff press of cold lips against her own. Arabella had been too shocked to do anything but stare at him, wide-eyed, wondering if kissing was always so...rigid.
She picked up one last rock, surprised at its polished exterior. Instead of throwing it, she rubbed her thumb back and forth over the smooth surface.
The sandy white dunes farther down the beach beckoned to her, and she wandered up the shoreline, still holding the stone. Between two dunes that sheltered her from the wind, she lay back on the sun-warmed sand, listening to the wash of waves and the gulls overhead, trying to push out the thoughts crowding her head. But it was no use.
Mr. McKenzie’s words echoed in her mind.
Your grandmother is a fine woman.The very best. Do not let whatever your parents told ye keep ye from spending time with her and getting tae know her.
Arabella was sick to death of everyone telling her what to do. Her father. Her mother. And now Mr. McKenzie.
The glint of sunlight off the water began to hurt Arabella’s eyes. She laid an arm across her face to block the brightness, wishing she could as easily block out thoughts of him. But hermind seemed determined to relive that moment on the steps when Mr. McKenzie had pulled her to safety, encircling her in his arms.
There was only one other time in her life she’d been so close to a man: Mr. Gresham. Both times the contact had been initiated by the man. Both times the proximity had taken her by surprise.
And yet they hadn’t been the same at all.
Mr. Gresham was thin and blond, and his grip had been demanding. And the way he’d kissed her—as if her lips were something to be taken. Stolen.
Mr. McKenzie’s hair was dark, his large frame muscular. Yet his hold on her had been both secure and gentle. Safe. She’d stayed in his arms longer than necessary, her cheek pressed against his chest.
