She sucked a breath in sharp through her nose.
His words tore like knives through her flesh.
“And Lucy?”
Through eyes glazed with a fresh set of tears, Lucy stared blindly at Arran. “Aye?” she said, her voice scraped raw.
“Your other betrothed, Mr. Joseph—or just Joseph, as he gave leave—indicated the inn is crowded and you are needed immediately.”
So that’s how he’d discovered the truth. She’d never be mad at Joseph. Lucy had but herself to blame.
Arran wasn’t done breaking her heart into pieces. “I want you out now before you bring any further hurt to my family.”
Lucy may have nodded. She lived outside her body at the moment, a voyeur on a tragedy befalling some poor, pitiable, broken-hearted young woman.
And Lucy watched on numbly as Arran let himself out.
Only when he’d gone did she let the full weight of sorrow settle into the marrow of her bones.
Collapsing, Lucy sobbed against the exposed plank floors.
And only after she’d cried her last tear and there wasn’t a further drop to shed—she left.
Chapter 18
Gritting his teeth, Arran trampled through the halls on his way to the evening meal.
The memory of Lucy’s grief-ravaged, tear-stained face followed him.
Just as it’d done since he’d shown her the door.
“…there was so much confusion and someone mistook me for Campbell’s sweetheart… and I couldn’t get my thoughts clear or my words…”
Those were sentiments he now knew all too well. Arran dragged a hand through his hair. She’d turned him upside down and inside out in the process. “Christ!”
A young maid lighting the sconces for the night jumped and hurried the opposite way.
Scaring servants now too. Taunting Lucy. Why, he was becoming an all-out bully.
I will not feel guilty over Lucy…I will not feel guilty…
That mantra fueled each one of Arran’s sure footfalls. He ground his teeth at his molars so hard, it was a wonder they didn’t snap.
Why should he care about all the tears she’d wept in his presence, and then the wrenching sobs he’d made himself stand and listen to outside her door panel after he’d left her.
And a new mantra echoed in the chambers of his raging mind. The one he’d silently begged from outside her doorway.
Please, stop…Please, stop…For the love of God, please, just cease!
She’d wept with ferocity enough to break. He’d waged a herculean war to not storm inside and take her in his arms, despite all that’d come to pass.
He’d managed a restraint he’d not known he possessed.
Do not think about it…do not think about it…
And the devil had been making Arran pay the price since.
“…Madam, you are a damned stranger to me… I do not care what you like or don’t like about me or bloody anything…”
