“Aye, you do,” Flora retorted. “I didnae get my allowance this month.”
Louisa gave a bitter laugh. “I see.”
Maxwell groaned. “No, you don’t, Louisa. This is not what you think. She has no cause to be here. Just let me expl—”
“What Ithinkis that you should get your drunken whore off my lawn and away from my home,” she said, moving past him. “You bastard.”
“No, wait, please.” He grabbed her arm. “We need to sort this out. I swear it isn’t as it appears.”
All at once feeling strangely calm, Louisa looked down at his hand and then into his eyes. “Let go of me, Maxwell.”
“Aye, leave her be, Max,” Flora said. “You can sort it with her later.”
“Shut your mouth, Flora,” Maxwell snapped. “Louisa, please, just let me—”
“Take your hand off me,” she said, each word annunciated through gritted teeth.
“Christ,” he muttered, releasing her. “You really have got this wrong, love.”
Louisa huffed and then glared at Flora. “If I ever see your whore here again, I’ll have her arrested for trespassing. I want her gone, Maxwell. Immediately. See to it.”
She concentrated on controlling her pace, but it took all she had not to lift up her skirts and bolt to the house. Once inside, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, chest heaving beneath the weight of shock and disbelief.
“Louisa.” Finlay’s voice startled her. “Are you all right?”
He stood in the office doorway, his expression one of concern. Undoubtedly, he’d observed the goings on from the office window.
Louisa had always liked Maxwell’s brother. Had come to love him, even, like a brother of her own. But now she looked at him with suspicious eyes, wondering how much about he knew and had kept hidden from her. Everything, probably.God help me.As if the anger and hurt were not enough, she also felt naive and foolish.
So bloody foolish.
“Louisa,” he said again, and stepped toward her.
“I’m quite all right, Finlay.” Giving him a scathing look, she pushed herself upright and headed for her sitting-room. “Everything is fine.”
The sitting-room door closed behind her with a quiet click, and again, seeking support, she leaned against it, harsh questions continuing to torture her mind. Had Maxwell’s declarations of love all been lies? Had he merely been playing a game all along? Had he really said that he didn’t love her? Did he prefer bedding Flora McNally?
The last question in particular clawed viciously at her heart. Louisa treasured their intimate moments, never so happy as when she lay in her husband’s arms, feeling loved and special. The thought of him being intimate with another woman was simply too much to bear.
Tears burned her eyes, demanding release, but she blinked them away. She wouldnotlet him see her pain. She wouldnotcry. There would be time for that later, in the silent, dark hours of night.
Drawing breath, she drew herself upright, went to her desk, and wrote a short note to her parents, excusing herself from the planned afternoon visit to Highfield, due to a headache. Not a lie. Certainly, her mind was agonizingly chaotic. Having summoned a maid and dispatched the note with instructions, Louisa went to stand by the window. She would stay there till he came to her, as she knew he eventually would. The window offered a pleasant view of a private side garden, not that it really mattered. She merely needed something to occupy her gaze, so she didn’t have to look at him. She would have to listen, of course, as he denied and pleaded.
Disbelief and pain bore down on her again, crushing her resolve, and she bit her lip against a fresh threat of tears. “How could you,” she whispered. “My God, how could you!”
*
Sickeningly aware thatuntold damage had been done, Maxwell watched Louisa walk away. He then turned to Flora, who stuck out her bottom lip. “She’s no’ as bonny as me, Max,” she said, sniffing.
An urge to laugh, Maxwell realized, was not at all contingent on there being a humorous situation. It could also manifest when faced with a circumstance so unthinkable that it lacked any kind of attributed response.
Oddly, along with his urge to laugh came an adverse and unfamiliar compulsion. Not once had he ever laid a rough hand on a woman. Not once had he ever even thought of doing so. Till that moment.
He didn’t laugh, however. Nor did he give in to a desire to shake Flora McNally till her brains rattled. Instead, he uttered a command. “Come with me.”
She sniffed again. “Where to?”
He didn’t reply, but headed toward the stables, setting a rapid pace, attempting to burn off some of his anger. Flora followed, complaining the entire way that she couldn’t keep up. He ignored her till they entered the stable yard.
