“Well, the king offered me an earldom first but I did not want the burden of that title. I only wanted what would open doors into the places where wealth and power lived and a knighthoodfor services rendered on behalf of the kingdomdid just fine.”
She laughed then and shook her head at him. “You turned down an earldom. Only you would do something so—”
“Stupid?” Her laughter rushed over him, soothing his shattered nerves. “Nay, once money was made, the title—even just a knighthood—became irrelevant, really. All those bluebloods, too good to lower themselves to trade, all the while they cannot resist a profit for their coffers.”
“Now your blood is blue.”
“I doubt that a sword tapped on my shoulders and a piece of parchment from the king will do that.”
He walked back and went to the mahogany cabinet in the corner near her desk. The extremely well-stocked cabinet. He chose a whisky and poured them both a large portion in the crystal glasses on the shelf. Handing her one, he nodded and drank deeply from it. Sitting before her, he leaned against the back of the chair. He waited because he knew she would ask—
“What was your name?”
“I was called Freddie. Freddie Dubh,” he said.
“Dubh? Like that man Dougal?” She drank now, at the reminder of the terrorized children.
“For our coloring. Black hair both of us.” He slid forward, resting his elbows on the desk and running his hands through his hair. “Clare, I had nothing to do with him.”
“Chalmers found—”
“Chalmers was right. He was coming to my office. But I had nothing to do with it. My solicitor thought he could help my goals by scaring you off. If no children came to the school, you would have no reason to remain and to enlarge your facilities or expand into the ones I wanted.”
“Mr. Gilchrist?”
“We go back to very early days in Iain Buchanan’s empire as you called it. Being a solicitor is not his first career.” And it would not be the one Bertie would return to now that they had parted ways. “Once Dougal and I understood one another and he told me who was paying him, I put an end to it all.”
“I....” She started and stopped a few times before putting the words together. “I did not believe you.”
“When I thought on it, why would you?” She shook her head. “Nay, I had deceived you, I had interfered, and I had lied to you in a number of ways in spite of swearing I had not. I let you believe you meant nothing to me other than an offer made and terms accepted.”
He walked around to her and tugged her to her feet. When she did not resist, he thought there might be the smallest chance for them. If she was not frightened off by the past he’d shared with her, there may just be a chance.
“Each time I told myself I did not want more than your body, it was your kindness, your intelligence, and your frank curiosity that intrigued me and called to me. Every time I pursued what I wanted, you were in my way. You were my obstacle—teasing me with all that you are, Clare. Taunting me with everything I had never had. With all that is too good for the likes of me.”
“Is that why you accepted the title?” He could see her turning what she’d heard over in her mind.
“Aye, I thought the title would make things easier for you if you did accept me. I know how you struggled during your marriage, living outside the world you’d been raised in and away from most of your family and friends. And I know you loved Logan without a title. I know I can never compete with the love you had for him. I can never be your first, but I want to be your last, Clare.”
Iain leaned down and kissed her. Not the possessive kind, but just a kiss to reacquaint them. Her stricken expression, her usually lively green eyes fading to an empty stare, made him lean back. Then, she burst into tears and pushed out of his embrace. Though he enjoyed the way she could still surprise him, this was startling.
When she rushed out of her office leaving him standing there gaping like a fool, it took him several moments to gather his wits and go after her. By the time he followed, she’d left a trail of servants looking much as he did—dazed and confused. He reached the street and stood on the landing of the steps for a better view of the square, the streets leading into it and the houses all around. She was gone.
Do not makea hero of me.
He’d confessed his past to her, even about the violence of his life and worse. A hero? Nay. A man who’d survived the most hellacious of lives to rise from it, using his own ambition as the force to do so. He’d outlived and outmaneuvered stronger, richer, more dangerous men than himself and he still walked the earth alive.
When most men she knew faced decisions about the cut of their clothing or their choice of beef or lamb at dinner, Iain, Freddie, had grown up making decisions that could prove fatal every day of his young life. She thought of every lad in the school and understood some of what they faced, and what threatened them in the worst areas of the cities and towns. But how many of them had the drive of young Freddie Dubh and would survive to reach adulthood?
Hero? Nay, he was not. But now that he had revealed his past to her, Clare knew that he was brave and resourceful and accomplished and though his morals were somewhat questionable, he had them and lived by them. She could not condone the crimes he’d committed along the way, but she would not damn him either. For he had more courage and integrity than she ever would.
He lived by his convictions, his beliefs, while she masqueraded as the virtuous widow who yet mourned her beloved husband. A woman who stood up to the powerful men in her life and made her own way. A woman who chose love over class and position. A woman so frightened to live her life that she hid behind deals and contracts instead of claiming what she wanted.
Clare knew Iain thought he’d lose her when he revealed the sordid details of his past. Well, Clare would lose him when he learned her truth.
A man like Iain Buchanan needed a strong woman at his side who was as bold as he was. As brave as he was—walking in a world not his and flourishing in spite of it.
But Lady Clare Napier Logan was not that woman.
