Page 66 of Scandal with a Sinful Scot

“You must eat,” Abbie replied, in a kind but firm tone.

“If you knew how weary I am of hearing that statement. I will eat it shortly, if I must. I take it you haven’t revealed my real name?”

“It is not for me to expose your secret.” She passed him the mug, then pulled up a chair.

“I’m not in the mood for conversation. Allow me to drink this swill in peace.”

“I have just returned from an extended visit in Kent.”

Aidan sipped his tea, grimacing as he did. “I don’t really care.”

It was obvious from the bored expression on his face, and the equally bored tone of his voice, that he truly did not care. No use revealing any current events, such as Megan’s existence or Garrett being shot. Abbie had volunteered here long enough to understand that the patients needed to be kept in a tranquil environment to hasten along their recovery. Shocking reveals would not be prudent. “It is obvious you do not care about much of anything, else you would not be here.”

“How astute,” Aidan snorted sarcastically.

“My late husband started this sanatorium. His dear friend, Gethin, is carrying on his work along with, Cristyn, his daughter. She is a lovely young woman, eager to help others. Compassionate. From what I’ve observed, she has given you particular attention.”

Aidan glared at her over the rim of his mug, one eyebrow arching. “I am hardly in any condition to notice a pretty girl. What do you want, Abigail? Trying to play matchmaker? This from the woman who broke my uncle’s heart.” He scoffed and continued to sip his tea.

Well. Aidan was certainly nothing like Riordan. Twins they may be, but their personalities could not be more dissimilar. His younger brother was a serious young man committed to making the world a better place. Aidan? Out for his own pleasures. Yet she could see the pain in his eyes. The stark loneliness. “And how do you know of Garrett’s broken heart?” she asked in a soft voice.

“I may have been ‘all of twelve,’ but I was observant enough. I also heard the two of you in the hayloft one night. You were not particularly quiet, considering that you were meeting in secret.” He snorted. “Quite shocking to my young sensibilities.”

Abbie’s cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment.

“How did I know of his broken heart? Garrett was miserable after you left. He refused to talk about it or you. Swore me to complete secrecy.”

As she was about to speak, the door burst open and the imposing man Abbie had seen on her way home for luncheon stepped into the room. He closed the door behind him. He was well over six feet in height, though not as tall as Garrett. But he was broader, if it were possible. The stranger was a lurking brute of a man with a strange countenance. A few scars, a crooked nose, yet a cruel handsomeness skulked beneath the well-worn features. It was hard to ascertain his age. Late thirties? Early forties? When the man’s gaze landed on Aidan, his eyes took on a fiery heat.

“Who are you, sir?” Abbie demanded. Goodness, this man exuded an aura of danger. She stood. Should she scream for Gethin? Was Samuel still looking about the property?

“Leave us. I’ve come to talk to Aidan.” His voice was rough, gravelly, and demanding. He also had a slight accent. Irish? Scottish? Hard to tell.

“I do not know this man,” Aidan replied, looking away.

“You know me,” the man barked. “Intimately.”

Aidan swung his gaze to him and his eyes widened in recognition. He dropped the mug and the remaining tea splashed across the wood floor. “No. You belong in my nightmares. You are not real.”

“Oh, aye. I’m real enough.” The man shifted his gaze toward Aidan. “We need to talk. About what happened between us at that damned house party.”

Aidan visibly paled, becoming almost ghost-like in appearance. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”

“I had to see for myself you’re all right. That it wasn’t because of me that you’re here.”

Abbie looked back and forth between the two men. The conversation had her riveted. And curious.

“Do not flatter yourself,” Aidan replied in a disinterested tone. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Missus, get out. Aidan and me need privacy to talk,” Delaney barked, giving her a cursory but menacing glace.

“I will not,” Abbie replied defiantly. “He wants you to go, and I would suggest, sir, you do exactly that.”

He slipped a knife with a jagged blade from his coat pocket. “I didn’t come here to hurt anyone, but I will, if pushed and provoked.”

Abbie gasped at the sight of the blade. A thought struck her. Was this Delaney, the Marquess of Sutherhorne’s ‘bullyboy,’ as Riordan had called him? What did he mean about a house party? What had happened between the two men? “Your name is Delaney, isn’t it? Haven’t you done enough to this family? You shot at my daughter and me. Injured Garrett. How dare you come here and threaten a sick man?”

“I didn’t shoot at anyone. It was the bloody marquess and his quest for revenge. Nothing to do with me. I’m just his hired muscle.” He looked Abbie over. “Mrs. Hughes. I recognize you now. I thought that you were still in Kent. No matter, I—”