Page 82 of Ghost of the Ton

“Mia.”

She opened her eyes, and he caught his breath at the raw need in them. They were so dark that they were almost black, save for the gleams of silver in their depths, like tiny stars pulsing with raw desire.

She blinked and pushed open the door, then paused at the threshold, and he held his breath in anticipation. Was she inviting him in? Dare he ask, knowing that he’d not be able to control himself if she did?

Then she opened the door fully, stepped over the threshold, and let out a cry.

He followed her in and froze.

The cottage had been ransacked. A chair lay in pieces on the floor. The shelves were empty, with the jars and bottles littered about, some intact, others smashed, shards of glass gleaming in the moonlight, their contents strewn over the floor. The drawer in the cabinet had been pulled out and their contents emptied over the table.

“Devil’s ballocks!” Hamish cried. “Who would do such a thing? And why?”

“I can answer why,” she said, her voice uneven. “As to who—it could be any number of people.”

She crossed the floor, picking her way over the mess, and went through the door leading to the rest of the cottage. When she returned, her jaw was set in a hard line as if she gritted her teeth.

“Have they been everywhere?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, just this room. How kind of them.”

“I’m sorry.”

She let out a snort. “I should have known better than to dine with you. Did you ask some of your friends to visit while I was at the castle?”

“Good God, Mia, surely ye didnae think I’d—”

“I don’t know what to think!” she cried. Then she laughed. “It was a foolish thing to do, was it not? It won’t make me leave any quicker. You should have told your friends that I was intending to leave sooner anyway. I thank the Almighty that I have some friends, at least, even if I have none here.”

“Mia, ye do have—” he began, but she interrupted.

“What do I have? A husband who cannot stand the sight of me and declared it to the world—a man who, unwilling to honor the promise of returning the dowry he squandered, wishes to drive me away by ransacking my home. No.” She raised her hand as he opened his mouth to protest. “He’s too much of a coward to do it himself, so he sends others to do his work for him.”

Her words cut through his heart. Was that what she thought of him—that he’d stoop so low as to destroy the meager life she’d built for herself here?

But could he blame her for thinking it was his doing?

He was responsible. Perhaps not directly, but had he welcomed her as a husband ought, set aside his disappointment, and abided by the vows he’d made to her, she might have been happy here, not merely contented, living at Glenblath Castle, a loving daughter to Ma, a firm but kind sister to Iona, and…

…a future mother to his children.

He stooped to pick up a blanket.

“Stop that,” she said. “I can do it myself. It’s not as bad as it looks.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Much like my face.”

“But—”

“Just go!” she cried. “If you care for me”—she hesitated—“no, if you feel anything for me other than contempt, then leave.” Her voice wavered and she wiped her forehead.

If he cared for her? Didn’t she know that he—

He caught his breath.

No. Loving her was not something he could allow himself to do.

“Mia, I…”

“Please,” she whispered. “I want to be alone.”