An anguish-filled gasp exploded from his lungs, staggering him.
“…You are nothing to me…”
Groaning, Arran shot his hands out, just managing to catch himself against the wall.
Stop!
“…you are even less than nothing…”
Why should he care about the tears Lucy had wept following their earlier exchange? The lass was a liar.
Did she really lie?
Arran jerked to a stop. Chest heaving and his breaths coming in short, jerky spurts, he stared blankly at the wall and forced himself to confront fully the truth he’d been running from all day.
Lucy had tried to tell him.
Numerous times.
She’d begged Arran to hear her out.
He knew that now. With a clear head, free of the initial shock, he thought back to all the moments. In the kitchens. In the greenhouse.
All the times he’d cut her off. She’d been trying to tell him something, but he’d not allowed her to do so. There’d been an interruption, multiple ones.
A different memory assailed him: Lucy, breathtaking in her cloak of Scottish pride and resilience.
“…Hate me for my mistakes and for wronging you, but I will not let you repaint the entire situation as some nefarious plot I constructed. It wasn’t.”
Longing for her, pure and all-powerful, compelled him back from the most acute memory he’d now be forced to carry of Lucy.
Arran continued to borrow strength from the wall. There was no going back for him. For them…
He needed to lay the memory of her,allof them, to rest. When he trusted himself to move, he gave his head a firm, clearing shake. “Let it go, man. It is done.”
The last thing Arran cared to do this night, after having shown Lucy the door, was join his family anywhere.
There’d be questions about Miss LeBeau’s abrupt departures, questions he alone would be required to answer.
Better to have done with it. Arran didn’t wait to be announced; he strode into the dining room.
The McQuoids and Smiths climbed from their chairs.
“It is just Arran,” Fleur’s announcement of the obvious rang with disappointment.
Cassia attempted to lessen any hard feelings. “We were waiting for Lucy.”
Lucy.
Just hearing her name sent a spear sliding into his stomach.
Good, you deserve that; you miserable bugger.
Arran did a quick sweep of the family who’d assembled and stopped in his tracks, thrown by the unexpected appearance of one member of the family—Campbell.
“…I’ve fancied Campbell half my life… He always visited…”
Wearing a relaxed grin, Campbell conversed, completely oblivious to Arran’s hate-filled stare. God, how Arran wanted to slam a fist through the other man’s good-looking face. Animal-like jealousy ravaged Arran.
