“Aye, well, Miss LeBeau has never been a stranger.” Picking up his sherry, the earl took a sip.
Never been a…stranger? Arran’s heart thundered in his chest.
The countess threw her hands up and cried out, “Would you say whatever it is you are not saying, Harold?”
Her inelegant shout pinged around the room.
Horrified color seeped into her graceful cheekbones. “Eek!” She slapped her palms over her mouth.
“You all really need to be more observant. Miss LeBeau is the late Mr. LeBeau’s daughter,” Father explained with a smile, as if that cleared everything up. “Of The Spotted Elk,” he added when only confused expressions met his announcement.
Arran flew to the edge of his seat. “What?” His heart hammered in his chest. “You recall her.”
“Course I do.” The earl bristled. “Just as I knew her and Campbell haven’t been sweethearts in all the years we’ve visited, just as I noticed how very taken you were with Miss LeBeau.”
Arran froze.
His father wore a knowing smile.
The air left Arran on a sharp exhalation.“What?”
“Yes, since Miss LeBeau arrived you’ve been more alive than you have in…” Dallin furrowed his brow. “I believeever.”
Arran swung a horrified stare his brother’s way. “You knew as well…” A hot flush climbed Arran’s neck, the implications of that admission hitting him at once. “Youknew?” he shouted.
“No!” Sheepish, Dallin shot his palms up. “Not until you and Lucy ran to Campbell’s side, and father and I had a moment to…discuss.”
“I knew her in an instant,” Lord Winfield declared from his seat beside the earl. “I’ve sailed this way enough—”
“And you didn’t think to say something?” Arran demanded.
The marquess shrugged. “It wasn’t my place to question.”
“No, Arran,” Campbell said quietly, “you took that role on all yourself.”
Shame, regret, and sorrow punched Arran square in his chest, and he sucked in an anguished breath.
From the moment Lucy showed up at McQuoid Manor, he’d been intrigued.
Some people took years to fall in love, as had been the case with Linnie and Tremaine. Others did by accident, like Cassia and Winfield, and Myrtle and Aragon. Never was it convenient. Always was it complicated.
As for Arran… His throat moved with the force of emotion. He’d fallen in love with Lucy from the very start.
He placed his shaking hands on the surface of the table and stared at them. How did he even begin to make amends? The things he’d said…
“…you are nothing to me…”
His ribs tightened.
“…You are even less than nothing…”
My god, what a blistering fool I’ve been!
“You most certainly have been,” Campbell muttered.
Arran looked at his cousin with an unfocused gaze.
The Duke of Aragon offered a commiserative smile. “We usually are when it comes to matters of the heart.”
