Somewhere a bit of sanity returned. Sinclair had to leave this room—thishouse—before he acted on the anger surging through him. He was not thinking clearly.Could notthink clearly. He was a child again—hurt and ready to strike blind, undirected blows.
He opened the obscured door to the servants’ corridor and stalked through it. He’d almost made it to the exit when he heard Rose call his name. And by some damnable instinct, he turned around.
Chapter 13
The sheer rage on Thorfinn’s face caused Rose to falter. He was normally so even tempered, so ... congenial. But now. Now he truly looked like an ancient warrior.
“You are all the same.” He spat the words at her.
His words ignited the doubts already seeping through Rose, like a match dropped in gasoline dripping from a punctured tank. Thorfinn’s earlier revelations about the viscount had unbalanced everything she had been painstakingly erecting since that November night on Daytona Beach. She’d made Barbury’s purpose her own. Yet if what Thorfinn said was true, his half brother had been just as desperate as her to create meaning in a world that seemed to have none. The viscount had seemed so self-assured, so certain. But so had she—gathering false confidence and bravado around her just as she’d donned the shimmering costume of Nike when she’d felt no victory.
What had she done when faced with Barbury’s own fallibility? As soon as Percy had popped into the library—all irreverent nonchalance—she’d assumed the identical false shite that she always did.
“Who are the same?” She stuck her chin out, both daring him to answer and fearing his response.
“You nobs.”
“I’m not a nob.” But the protest felt weak. Because, thunderation, wasn’t she despite all her efforts and protests to the contrary?
“You aren’t?” Thorfinn advanced on her, his fist bunched so tightly his knuckles were white lumps against reddened flesh. But she didn’t flinch. Even with him puffed up like a damn bull rampaging through Pamplona, she didn’t fear him.
“No.” Rose tossed back her bobbed hair. The feel of it striking against her cheeks gave her strength. She wouldn’t crumble. “I’m an American. We don’t have titles.”
“But you want them,” Thorfinn pointed out. “You certainly seem chummy with the duke back there.”
“That’s because wearechums! We raced in the same circuits before the war.” And they’d been lovers on more than one occasion, but she wasn’t about to discuss that in the servants’ hall with her voice raised like a damn harpy, her insides splintered like wood strafed by bullets.
“What about Astrid? I thought you considered her a friend, but are we all just peasants to you? Hares to throw to your real pack when the wolves run low on entertainment?”
“Are you insinuating that I am some kind of Wild West madam?” Rose had thought she’d been accused of all the depravity there was—but being likened to a brothel owner was a new and unpleasant charge. Thorfinn’s words seemed to blast apart the remains of the purpose she’d been trying to build. He had always seen more in her—challenged her to be more. And now he was not just voicing her innermost fears; he was damning her more than she’d even damned herself.
“That would be too gauche. You probably envision yourself as some female Dionysus, leading us all in hedonistic glory—not caring about the price that others pay for your pleasure.”
The words sheared through Rose, nearly slicing her in half. She had called herself that so many times, but hearing Thorfinn say it, witnessing the contempt in his face, and feeling his distaste like a palpable blast against her skin left her shaken.
She’d been wrong.
Thorfinn Sinclair was more than capable of hurting her.
Rose stumbled back and felt like she was truly falling backward into the abyss. It was a yawning dark chasm she’d sought to avoid by running off to war. But it was here to swallow her up—the meaninglessness that she’d become, perhaps that she’d always been. She’d spent her whole life racing with no destination in sight. She’d thought she’d found purpose on Daytona Beach, yet she had only been clinging to another lost soul’s desperate gamble to make his life meansomething. The spies were real, but her mission ... her mission was an illusion. It would not bring her peace or even a sense of consequence.
But she would not allow this man—any man—to see her crumble under the incongruous weight of emptiness. She wouldn’t show shame, and most of all, she wouldn’t reveal her pain. Rose straightened and stared straight at Thorfinn. “You asked me to be a laird.”
“I didn’t expect you’d take to the role so completely.” The words were an ugly sneer. In the midst of all the pain, Rose realized that Thorfinn wasn’t angry just at her but also at himself.
“What do you want from me, Mr.Sinclair? I have done my best to make Hamarray and Frest better for the folks who live here.” And she’d liked doing it. She’d feltgoodeven. She’d never laughed as much as when she’d sat around the table with the Flett children or even when she’d herded sheep with the crofters. And she’d neverfeltas much as when she’d kissed Thorfinn in a sea cave or when she’d lingered with him over a candlelit table while planning new schemes to foster prosperity in the isles.
“Parties, toffs, fast cars, and speedboats aren’t going to bring life back to this island.” Thorfinn crossed his arms over his chest. “They aren’t real, Miss Van Etten. They are fantasies for those who’ve never known want.”
“Are you calling me spoiled?” The last word tasted bitter on Rose’s lips. The world was forever calling her that, and she’d always said she didn’t care. But ... but deep down she couldn’t escape the truth—something was dead inside her or rather had never lived at all.
Thorfinn stood before her breathing hard, not answering at first. With each second that ticked away, a rawness grew inside Rose.
“You’ve faced down demons on the Western Front that I can never fully comprehend, but there are things that you will never understand about people like me. We are not playthings for you to move about on a game board as you wish.”
“Do you truly believe that is what I’m doing here on Frest and Hamarray?” Rose’s voice cracked, and the show of weakness caused her fury to kindle.
A bit of Thorfinn’s own rage dimmed, and what she saw in his left eye stunned the ire straight from her. He looked ... lost, wounded even. As ifshe’dbeen the one hurling insults, instead of the other way around.
