He’d waited long enough to return to Scotland. A true friend would wish for him to have everything he wanted.
Even if what he wanted wasn’t her.
Chapter Twelve
“It looks like we got here just in time, Markham.” Lord Vale strolled into the study and threw himself into a chair in front of the massive oak desk. “What is the trouble, Ramsey? You look a bit green about the gills.”
Ciaran grunted. Hefeltgreen. After his encounter with Lucy in the carriage last night, he’d come home and drunk half a bottle of his brother Finn’s very good port. By the time he’d sat down to write what he now imagined was a very incoherent letter to his sister Isla, demanding to know everything she’d ever heard about Godfrey, he could barely keep his eyes open.
Until he’d stumbled into bed, that is. Then he’d lay there staring into the dark, his thoughts in turmoil.
Isobel. Scotland. London. Lucy.
Lucy.
She’d tweaked him about his heroic instincts again last night. She’d reminded him she’d never needed him to save her. Not from drowning, and not from the brawl. But this business with Jarvis and Godfrey…Ciaran couldn’t shake the notion that this time, she truly did need him.
She needed him, and he was abandoning her.
On the day of the bout in Brighton, Lucy had insisted a friendship between them was inevitable. She’d said fate had decreed they become friends, whether they liked it or not. Ciaran didn’t believe in fate, but he couldn’t deny it was odd, the way they kept finding each other. Thousands of people in London, and she’d dropped right into his lap.
That is, not hislap. She hadn’t a thing to do with his lap.
They were friends, nothing more.
Still, he was starting to believe there was no such thing as coincidence. That there was something inside him that recognizedher, no matter the occasion or setting, as his final destination.
Like a bird returning to its nest.
“Well, Ramsey?”
Ciaran had been staring out the window, but he looked around to find Vale watching him with an infuriating smirk on his lips. “My green gills—or the reasons for them—aren’t any of your bloody business, Vale. Who the devil let you two in here, anyway?”
“A short, roundish fellow. Pleasant enough. I think he said his name was Travers. I believe he’s your brother’s butler.” Vale grinned. “Good thing we’re here, too. Ramsey doesn’t look quite himself, does he Markham?”
Lord Markham perched on the edge of a chair, folded his hands over his walking stick, and regarded Ciaran in silence for a moment. “Not a bit. You look a wreck, Ramsey.”
Ciaranwasa wreck, but not for the reasons his friends supposed. He dropped into the chair behind the desk, his brow lowering in a scowl. “What do you know about Lord Godfrey, Vale?”
Vale’s eyebrow rose. “Godfrey? Bit dry and creaky, isn’t he? Not terribly amusing, either. Aside from that, not a blessed thing. Is he the reason you’re scowling? What’s he done?”
Nothing yet, and Ciaran wanted to keep it that way. “He was at Lady Ivey’s ball last night. He asked Lady Lucinda to dance and I didn’t like his manner toward her, that’s all.”
“Ah, so that’s it.” Vale balanced an immaculate buff-colored leg over his knee. “You know what I think, Markham? I think Ramsey here is preoccupied with Lady Lucinda. I’d wager the guineas in my pocket on it.”
Ciaran blinked. All right, then. He was a wreck precisely for the reason his friends supposed.
“That’s absurd. I’m not preoccupied.” Still, Ciaran couldn’t forget the look on Lucy’s face when he’d told her he was leaving for Scotland in a few days. Her disappointment, the slight trembling of her lips, the way she’d slid her hand into his as if she’d keep him with her if she could…
He dragged a hand through his hair. If there were another bottle of port to hand, he’d be emptying it right now.
All right, then. Hewaspreoccupied.
“Mind you, I don’t blame Ramsey a bit.” Vale plucked a heavy marble lion off the desk and pretended to study it, but the sly grin was still hovering at the corners of his mouth. “Lady Lucinda is lovely enough to throw any man into a hopeless passion, even an oblivious fellow like Ramsey here. She’s good fun, too. What say you, Markham?”
Lord Markham didn’t appear to say much at all unless he was prompted, but this time he answered with surprising enthusiasm. “Lovely, indeed, though I prefer dark-haired young ladies to fair ones.”
Ciaran lifted an eyebrow, impressed. It was the longest sentence he’d ever heard Markham utter in one breath.
