Chapter Twenty-four
Heathcliff heard Lucas’s voice before he heard the footsteps down the hall. He’d secreted Miranda back in her room a half hour earlier so he could attempt to clean up the mess that was his body. And even though it had only been a half hour, he missed her.
Oh, he always missed her when she wasn’t with him. Hadn’t he just been musing about avoiding thinking about her? So that meant she was the only thing he could think of. He gave a wry chuckle. This was different, though.
Because the choice had been removed from him.
From her as well.
But in taking away the choice, he’d been given a freedom he’d needed, craved, and would have denied himself till his dying breath.
He would have her.
And he didn’t have to be worthy . . . he simply had to be willing.
He could be willing.
Hell, he was beyond willing.
The whole thought had him practically taking wing and flying! He only wished the same euphoria translated into Miranda’s heart. As he remembered her words, they pieced him anew.Will I never have a choice in life? At every turn, it is stolen from me, and I wish . . .
How he wanted her to be able to choose him!
But he knew, he knew deep within, that he would never have allowed himself to give her the choice of him for a husband.
She deserved more.
Which brought him right back to the fact that he wasn’t worthy.
Damn, it was a beautiful thought to be willing, though.
“How in the hell . . .” Lucas stormed into Heathcliff’s room, the door making a wide arc as he strode through. He frowned slightly when his gaze fell on Heathcliff, as if disappointed the door hadn’t smacked his friend in the head.
It would have been a mighty blow had it. It was, after all, an oak door, and Lucas had wielded it like a weapon.
Heathcliff decided it was quite possibly his lucky day. He was all but betrothed to the woman he had gone mad over, and he’d been lost in his musings, so he’d neglected to approach the door when he’d heard Lucas’s approach.
Yes. Indeed it was a lucky day.
He’d have to remember that and see what other charms life decided to throw his way today.
“Wipe that bloody smile from your ugly face,” Lucas ground out, but some of the heat had dissipated from his expression. He closed the door none too gently and strode into the room, wiping his hand down his face. “It’s not even dawn and I’m in your bloody room, all because I received a cryptic message that my sister-in-law is in danger and your intention to remedy it.” He took a few steps forward. “Do you have any idea what conclusions I’ve drawn?”
Heathcliff blinked, frowning with confusion. “Pardon?” What in heaven’s name was Lucas spouting off about? Heathcliff had rather thought he’d been utterly clear in his short message. How could there be any conclusion drawn other than the fact?
“Is she with child?” Lucas asked, his expression tight.
Air rushed out of Heathcliff’s lungs as he replayed Lucas’s question, wondering how in the hell everything had gotten so out of hand so quickly. “Dear God, no. Why would she be?” Heathcliff asked once his air returned, and with far more shock in his tone than care.
“Forgive me if my best friend has been mooning and utterly a caged tiger because of the girl, and then I get a message implying her in danger. Am I to assume the danger isnotyou?”
Heathcliff stood and then, rather wisely, put some distance and a chair between himself and his irate friend. “There has been a misunderstanding, I believe.” He spoke calmly, clearly, watching his friend as if he were a snake about to spring forth and bite him.
“Explain.” It was one word, but it was enough.
Heathcliff gave a shortened version of the evening’s events, starting from his discovery of the errant footman—still imprisoned in the storeroom and heavily guarded by Heathcliff’s most trusted men—and then skimmed over a few of the details, such as his state of undress, as he relayed the agreement he’d reached with Miss Miranda. Adding, finally, that the magistrate had been notified and would be picking up the prisoner sometime that morning.
When he finished, Lucas’s anger had shifted into an alert expression that caused Heathcliff no longer to fear bodily harm.
