She narrowed her eyes. “But you suspect something?”
His expression flattened out. “When I heard about your father’s death—about the nature of it—I asked my father if it sounded like arsenic poisoning to him. He grew furious as I have never seen him. He beat me for my impudence. He said I must learn that accusing a man of murder is a thing that can never be done lightly.”
She rose up from her chair. “But you didn’t accuse anyone, did you?”
“I didn’t.”
“And did your father—”
“He never spoke of it again, though I asked.”
Her eyes widened. “You asked again?”
“Once when I began doing our business negotiations. We’ve had a profitable exchange with your clan.” Her clan had coal and his had copper. Truthfully, he needed the relationship with her uncle more than he needed a wife. “I asked why we go far out of the way to get coal when your mine is so close.”
“Because my uncle demands a high price—”
“Not from us.”
She jolted at that.
“The coal comes to us at a generous cost, but my father will buy no more than absolutely necessary.”
“Because he helped kill my father.”
“Because he does not trust your uncle.”
She stepped forward until she gripped the post at the base of his bed. “But he knows.”
“He will not speak of it.”
“You have to ask—”
“I have. I asked him bluntly if your uncle had taken arsenic from us…” He stopped speaking when she visibly flinched. Her knuckles went white, and he waited until she steadied.
“And?” she finally whispered.
“He cuffed me. I was larger and stronger than he, and old enough to win a battle against my father. But in this, he would not be cowed. And he repeated what he had said years before.”
“That one cannot accuse a man of murder without proof.”
“And support, Iseabail. Your uncle is a laird who sells coal to Edinburgh. He has a great many people who will defend him.”
She nodded slowly though her grip never released on the bedpost. “And so you will not marry me for fear of angering my uncle.”
He snorted. “Had I the proof, I would do everything to right the injustice. I have nothing but the vague memory of a boy.” He touched the cold back of her hand. “I will not marry you, Iseabail, because every time you look at me, you will think of your murdered father. And I think the same whenever I see you.”
Her eyes widened then, and she drew her hand away from him. Not quickly, which reassured him, but with a slow withdrawal and a lifted chin. “I hate Scotland,” she rasped. “My uncle poisons everything there.”
“Then you hate the man, not the country.”
She shrugged, and he could tell that it was one and the same to her.
“I cannot help you with your uncle. I would if I could. But I can do something else.” It was the least he could do, and it would go a long way to easing his guilt over whatever had happened years ago between his father and her uncle. “I will pay for your come out, Iseabail. That’s the real reason you came here, isn’t it? You need someone to pay for the countess’s sponsorship.”
She shrugged. “The countess has pointed out to all three of us that you will be the biggest catch this Season for all that you’re Scottish. A duke is a duke, she said, and we would all be extravagantly fortunate to become a duchess.”
He sighed. He had no interest being pushed as this Season’s most eligible bachelor, but he knew it would happen. Instead, he focused on her. “We would not suit, Iseabail.”
