Chapter Sixteen
The meeting hadgone very well. Lord Arlington was excited about Malcolm’s plans and had agreed to think it over and give an answer in two days. Excitement pounded in Malcolm’s heart, and he knew he was on his way to starting his own business. Yet through the excitement, guilt ate away at his gut. He would have to confess to Camilla, and he prayed for her understanding and forgiveness.
Shadows played with his vision while he traveled home, especially when he spotted a couple atop a horse in a lovers’ embrace. He narrowed his eyes, not believing what he saw. His heart dropped, shattering as it hit the ground. What was Camilla doing with Captain Wilkes?
He tightened his grip on the reins, and his jaw hardened. They kept their conversation low, but it was the way the captain’s arms wrapped around her in a possessive manner that made pain, cold as steel, slice through Malcolm’s heart. Then she leaned over and bestowed a light kiss on his lips.
Malcolm neared, and she quickly broke away from the soldier, swinging her head toward him. The moonlight peeked through the trees, lighting her wide eyes. Although the pain in his heart caused his chest to tighten, he still held his head high as he rode toward the couple.
She pushed away from the soldier and dropped to the ground. Wringing her hands against her stomach, she hurried to him. “Malcolm,” she cried softly.
“Hold your tongue, woman.” He swallowed the bile rising to his throat. “We will not air our quarrel in front of others.” He gestured to her horse. “Mount and follow me home.”
She inhaled sharply, and her hand flew to her mouth. Tears swam in her eyes, but it didn’t matter. He closed off all feelings but anger.
Captain Wilkes didn’t speak, but his self-assured grin said enough. The arrogant man lifted his chin and rode away. When Kat grabbed the reins, her hands shook and there was a slight quiver to her chin. Good. Let her worry about the consequences.
Malcolm kicked the horse’s belly and let out a yell, urging the animal into a run. Wind blew against his face. Each mile closer to home made his chest tighter, threatening to suffocate him. He couldn’t understand why she had done this. She had charmed him into loving her, and he fell fast for her antics. This was the same Kat he had married, not someone from his dreams.
Upon reaching his estate, he pulled his steed to a stop and jumped off, throwing the reins to Hyrum. “Mrs. Worthington is not far behind. Assist her.”
He strode to the house, not looking back to see exactly where his wife was. Entering the hall, he limped, and the heavy footsteps echoed on the floor. The clamor he made as he awkwardly hurried up the stairs brought most of the servants out of the rooms in haste. Once inside his room, he slammed the door behind him.
He yanked off his cape and flung it to the floor. Anger guided his hands as he removed his waistcoat, not caring that buttons flew in all directions. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots.
His breath came fast, as if he had run for miles. He stood and paced with a limp across the floor, raking his fingers through his hair. Unanswered questions swam in his head. Why had he been so gullible?
When his door swung open, he stopped and faced the intruder. His wife stood still, silhouetted by the moon shining through the window. She wore a servant’s dark brown blouse and breeches, but her cloak was missing. She held a single candle that gave enough light to see her tear-streaked face. Her bottom lip quivered. Her hand shook, making the flame flicker.
“Malcolm,” she whispered, a sob tearing from her throat. “It’s not what it looked like.”
He threw back his head and released a bitter laugh. Once he contained his mirth, he sneered, “If you remember correctly, that is the very phrase you used the first time I caught you in another man’s arms.”
She stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. After setting the candle on the nearby table, she walked toward him. “I’m not that woman.”
“Indeed? It certainly appeared that way a little while ago.”
She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms over her bosom. Her brows were drawn, her lips pursed. Deep lines of anger marked her forehead.
“And looks can be deceiving,” she said.
“Yes, you have definitely proven that theory.”
“Malcolm, will you allow me to explain?”
“Explain what, my dear?” He shrugged. “There is nothing to explain when I can see perfectly with my own eyes.”
“What you saw was a woman pretending—”
“Yes, just like you have clearly pretended with me.”
She huffed. “Will you stop interrupting so I can explain?”
He sighed and folded his arms.
“As I was saying, you saw a woman pretending… pretending to be her sister to protect the man she loves more than life itself.” More tears ran down her face.
He scratched the throb booming in his forehead. “Pretending to be her sister? What are you talking about?”
