She jerked her hand away with a gasp, the shadow of a memory hitting her. Of a gallant knight who'd helped her at one of the worst moments of her life. Her gaze shot to his, and her mouth went dry.
“My God, it was you,” she whispered. “That day at the gathering.”
“Aye,” he said softly. “It was me.”
For a moment, she was overcome. Overwhelmed with the realization that her knight in shining armor and the man to whom she'd given her heart were one and the same. She took a few steps forward, catapulting into the waiting shelter of his embrace and letting out a deep sigh of contentment when his strong arms enfolded her against him. She pressed her cheek against his chest, savoring the discovery of a connection that extended further than she'd ever imagined.
It was him.She couldn't believe it.
Was it fate that had brought them together?
It took her a moment to find the words she'd dreamed of someday saying, if ever given the opportunity, to the man who'd been so kind to her. She smiled, sheer wonder making her eyes shimmer with tears. “Thank you.”
Her praise seemed to make him uncomfortable. “It was nothing.”
But they both knew it was much more than that—he'd risked his life in helping her. He'd stood beside her when no one else would. How could she be anything but eternally grateful? Gazing up into his handsome face, she shook her head. “I don't understand. Why didn't you tell me?”
“I couldn't. You would have known I was a MacGre-gor.”
She nodded and then frowned. “But why not after? Why not tell me once I discovered your identity? You must have known how grateful I would be.” His gallantry had been the only bright spot in that horrible day.
“I thought the memory might cause you pain—I thought it better left in the past.”
She winced, suddenly picturing with embarrassing clarity the scene he'd witnessed. Tripping and landing in the puddle on her backside. Sitting there, dripping with mud, utterly humiliated. No one coming to help her.
Had he heard what John and his friends had said?
Her cheeks heated with mortification.Of course he had.
She dropped her gaze, too embarrassed to look at him, scared that she would see pity on his face.
He tipped her chin in his strong fingers and forced her gaze back to his. “It's their shame, not yours, Lizzie.” He pressed his lips on hers in a tender kiss. “Forget about it. That day was a long time ago and means nothing to us now.”
He was right. What happened then was the past and he was her future. The memory would always be a painful one, but now perhaps knowing his part would make it a little more bearable.
She covered her embarrassment with a wry smile and a self-deprecating attempt at humor. “What must you have thought of me? I must have looked quite the pitiful sight.” She laughed self-consciously. “Not exactly a good first impression. I can't believe you would even want to try tricking me into marriage after that. I suppose you drew the short straw.”
The jest fell flat in a thud of uncomfortable silence.
She looked up at him expectantly, waiting for reassurance, surprised instead to see a flash of something akin to guilt.
Her poor attempt at eliciting a compliment had misfired— badly. The smile slid from her face and she stepped back, eyeing him uncertainly.
“It wasn't like that,” he said an instant too late. “I'm the one lucky to have you, Lizzie. I never thought I could have a woman like you and jumped at the opportunity. I wouldn't hear of it being anyone else.”
All of a sudden, the implication of what he'd seen—and then done—hit her with enough force to take her breath away. He tried to pull her into his arms again, but she backed out of his reach. “Patrick”—her eyes locked on his taking in every facet of his reaction—“did what you saw that day play a part in your decision to pursue me—to seduce me into marrying you?”
Her heart thumped wildly as she guessed the answer.
The look in his eyes said it all.
Please, anything but pity.Her insides curled. She wanted to crawl into a tight ball.
She took a step back, the burning in her chest excruciating. “God, it did,” she said, her voice hoarse with pain.
“It's not what you are thinking,” he said fiercely.
He couldn't imagine what she was thinking. He'd probably never felt a moment of self-doubt or insecurity in his life. Her eyes raked over his too perfect face, her heart straining to beat in her tight chest. Tears swam before her eyes. “P-p-poor, pathetic Elizabeth Campbell.” She took a deep breath, forcing the stammer from her voice. Could she be any more humiliated already? “A plain girl with a stammer and three broken engagements would be grateful for the attention of any man, let alone a sinfully handsome one like yourself. Did you think me so desperate that I would fall at your feet?” The memories stabbed. She would lap it up like a grateful pup. And she had. She'd fallen right into his seductive trap. But look at him—she'd never had a chance. A sob tore from her chest. Eyes wide, she gazed up at him and asked in a tiny voice, “Did you laugh at me?”
