Chapter Twenty-seven
Samantha bit the inside of her lip as she followed her fiancé into the hall. A few candles flickered in the now daylight, surely a leftover aid from their eventful night. It was clear Heathcliff had something quite singular on his mind, or at least she suspected as much, but his silence had let her know he wasn’t quite ready to disclose his reason.
So, she followed him down the hall toward the foyer. Sothers noted their approach, nodded his head, and opened the door without as much as a word. Heathcliff gave a curt nod in thanks and escorted her into the morning sunshine.
It was a lovely Scottish summer day. The sun was arching over the eastern sky, and somewhere a rooster crowed belatedly in welcome of the sunrise. Hazarding a glance at Heathcliff, she noted he was frowning slightly, as if concentrating on some invisible dilemma.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she said by way of conversation.
He glanced at her. “They aren’t worth that much,” he teased.
“Let me be the judge of that,” she replied.
He gave a low, deep chuckle and led them around the gravel of the semicircular drive of Kilmarin. Samantha tried to convince herself to be at ease; certainly there was no reason to be concerned. Yet her fears, irrational beasts that they were, hinted at several problems, and she found herself growing more impatient to discover Heathcliff’s intention in whisking her away from the parlor.
Before she could ask anything, Heathcliff released her hand and walked over to a stone fence that divided the drive from the road that led to the main gate. He leaned his forearms on the fence, resting his weight on it. Folding his hands, he breathed deeply and turned to her. His expression open, unguarded, not at all what she was expecting.
“It’s odd to have such a lovely day after such a hellish night,” he said, his tone reflective.
Samantha let out a sigh that alleviated some of her tension and walked up beside him. She stretched out her arms and allowed her fingers to bump along the stone of the fence. “I’ve found that such things usually are that way. They always say dawn comes after the night, and I think that’s quite accurate.”
“Indeed.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then turned to him. He met her gaze, his brows furrowing for a moment before his eyes lightened with understanding. “You’re wondering why I stole you away.”
She shrugged, able to be slightly less desperate now that he’d introduced the topic. “The question has crossed my mind.”
He gave a twitch of a grin. “Something you said earlier this morning has been simmering in the back of my mind,” he started, his expression sobering.
“Oh? I said a great many things this morning.”
“That is also quite true. But you mentioned that at every turn, your freedom to make a choice had been thwarted. That, I think, is a very apt statement. And I find I’m quite guilty of putting you in that very same position, even just this morning.”
He grimaced, as if the words he said weren’t actually the ones he had planned to say. She regarded him. He was such a contradiction. She’d seen him overconfident and charming and revered by others. She’d also discovered an insecurity that lurked deep within, the kind that few would ever notice unless they looked deep, unless they cared.
She cared.
And it humbled and astonished her to discover he could have such a chink in his otherwise impenetrable armor.
“Yes, I did say that this morning,” she affirmed. “But I wasn’t saying it in response to the betrothal. Well, I was, but not in the way you’re likely to assume,” she amended.
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. “How so?”
She bit her lip, thinking. Instinctively, she knew it was of the utmost importance that she explain herself well, or else she could tap that Achilles’s heel of his and shatter what they’d begun to build.
But to do so meant she would have to take off her own emotional armor, and that was, in a word, terrifying.
Because what if he didn’t return the strength of her regard? What if he was flattered, but nothing more? She didn’t think his attachment was so fickle that he’d disregard hers, but she wasn’t sure either. It was a quandary.
One that she had very little chance of avoiding. So, with a resolve that was more determination than courage, she continued.
“I, that is . . .” she started quite inarticulately. “Because my father most assuredly has the intention of coming to collect me from Scotland, soothing his damaged pride, you have little choice. Your friendship with Lord Heightfield is very strong, and I am his family.” She breathed out a tense sigh, casting her gaze to the gray stones of the fence and directing her words to them, rather than Heathcliff. “And it is difficult, because I can understand and even appreciate how you would remedy the situation I find myself in by marrying me. But that marriage isn’t necessarily based on your attachment to me. And I rather . . . that is, I wished your choosing to marry me was based on something more than a lack of other ways to save me.” She sighed, then continued. “It always feels as if someone has to save me. Never once have I been given the chance to save myself. Just once, I wish I could be the hero of my own life, but each time I find that eludes me. It’s quite frustrating. And that is why I said what I did this morning. I hate that there is a possibility that, because I can’t save myself, you’re having to play the hero, regardless of your inclination to do so for any other reason than your friendship with Lord Heightfield.” She huffed the last sentence, her emotions running away with her words. It was a moment before she could collect herself and look up to meet his gaze.
His breath was measured, his gaze searching hers. “So, you don’t resent my taking away your choice; you simply wish I would have chosen you for another reason?” he asked.
Samantha nodded once, her heart pounding hard as she awaited his response to such a revelatory truth.
He glanced down at the fence, shaking his head and giving off what sounded dangerously like a scoffing sound.
