Page 14 of Scandal with a Sinful Scot

Fury danced in her eyes. “One day you will be sorry you lied and pushed me away. You will regret denying the love that exists between us. I pity you. And I hate you.”

He had been a miserable beast. God, how magnificent she’d been, standing up to him, toe-to-toe, poking him in the chest, calling him on his lies. And he more than deserved that slap in the face.

They were lies, all of them. Garrett detested lies and liars, yet he had easily deceived Abbie; it sickened him to have done it. Moreover, he was so damned weary of lying.

He’d hurt for a good while after she’d departed for Brighton. But as with most tragic events, time had lessened the pain and made the memories fade into the haze of past regrets. He remained determined to forget her, and thought that he’d succeeded for the most part. What a fool.

The mantel clock chimed twice. Two in the morning. He couldn’t bloody well sleep. Why in hell had she appeared in his life again? She never gave him an adequate answer. To torture him? He could act as he had all those years ago: as an arrogant ninny denying what existed between them. Truthfully, he didn’t have the strength to deny his feelings. God, would he have to act out this scenario again?

Perhaps he could convince her that too much time had passed; they had changed, and were not the same green adolescents they once were. He should try to convince her to leave him in peace. But now that he’d seen her, how could he ever be at peace again?

It had crossed his mind briefly, when Alberta Eaton took possession of her late uncle’s home, that Abbie may turn up at some point. He had no idea if the women had been in contact and had no desire to inquire about it. Abbie’s appearance answered that particular question.

She had seen him in Standon? What were the odds? Could it be fate? Abbie saw it as a sign; was it possible? How could he dismiss it? For she was correct: if he believed in the curse, he surely believed in fate. Damn it all, the curse. He must remain true to his convictions and make it clear that there cannot be anything between them.

If she even came here looking to reignite their brief but intense passion. How arrogant. Perhaps she’d arrived to visit Alberta and nothing more. It would be a solid blow to his ego, but it would also be a relief.

Regardless, there would be no tranquil sleep tonight. She wished to talk. Lots to discuss. Garrett should hear her out; it was the least that he could do. He owed her that much, and more besides. Damn her for upending his quiet life. For causing his heart to beat. For making him feel. Garrett threw back the rest of his scotch, stood, and poured himself another.

It would be a long night.

Early the next morning, Garrett readied himself for a walk, hoping it would clear his head. He’d managed a couple hours of restless sleep, but it was full of heated memories and reliving over and over the horrible way in which he’d ended the most passionate episode of his life. He had no idea how to proceed here. Logic stated that he push her away a second time.

But he couldn’t bring himself to be so blatantly cruel. Or could he? Somehow, he hadn’t the strength to deny his feelings, for they were as real and raw as they were all those years ago. How strange, for he’d believed he’d placed all these wayward and intense emotions in a dark corner, never to be thought of again. He absently rubbed his chest. His heart ached, yet pounded against his ribcage at the prospect of holding Abbie in his arms again. To follow down that particular path would be a mistake of epic proportions.

He still hadn’t the faintest idea as to why she came here. Garrett had the distinct impression that she was keeping something from him. Later this afternoon when they met, he would demand answers.

Inhaling the crisp January air, he was pleased that it was milder today than it had been in past weeks. They would be able to put some of the horses through their paces outside instead of the indoor exercise paddock. As he exited the wooded area between the Eaton’s property and the hall, Garrett stopped short. Sitting on a large rock was a young woman, completely absorbed in the book she was reading. She wore a heavy wool cloak with matching fur-trimmed hood. Part of her face was obscured, but he could tell she was younger than he first thought.

Even in a sitting position she was a tall, willowy creature with an abundance of freckles. As he observed the young lady absently stroking her chin as she read, an amused smile quirked at the corner of his mouth, for it was a gesture that he often used. Who was she? Did she come from a nearby house? He knew all his surrounding neighbors; none had a daughter or sister of this age. Perhaps she was a visitor. The girl kept reading, oblivious to his presence. There was something familiar about her. He shook his head and continued on his walk.

Garrett’s thoughts turned to Abbie. He must remain detached. Protect his heart. Protect…her. Which meant that he must continue to lie. The oath he had taken all those years ago must remain in place. Because of the curse, his love was a death sentence to any woman, and he cared for Abbie too much to allow anything to happen to her. Better to hurt. Better to lie. Better to let her go. He snorted. Right. Good luck with that, mate.

* * * *

As Abbie marched across the field and through the thin line of alder, beech, and juniper trees separating the two properties, the sprawling Wollstonecraft Hall came into view. The estate was as eclectic as she remembered. Garrett had told her that the front entrance and hall was from the original Tudor style of centuries past, while the Georgian and Gothic wings were more recent additions.

She had only been inside the place once, during an informal dinner party hosted by Garrett’s father, the Earl of Carnstone. Of course Sir Walter had declined, but he’d bid her and Alberta to attend with a chaperone, Sir Walter’s venerable housekeeper, Mrs. Claxton. Abbie had been overwhelmed by the opulence and the size of the estate, and it had struck her that Garrett was far out of her sphere. The son of an earl? Granted, he was a second son, but it became crystalline clear that the daughter of a man who had recently been knighted for his bravery as a soldier might not be an adequate companion to such a formidable family.

Abbie sidestepped an icy puddle. What would she discuss with Garrett? The past? The present? A possible future? Megan? What did she want from him? An apology would be a good place to start. It would allow her to bury most of her hurt and bitterness; at least, she hoped it would. Gazing at Garrett last night, she had the overwhelming urge to embrace him and slap his face, which showed how jumbled her emotions were about the infuriatingly handsome man.

Placing a light to the powder keg of emotions and memories they’d shared may not be prudent. Considering that she had no interest in taking a lover or remarrying, Abbie had acted impulsively in following him to Kent. What if Garrett were to suggest that they indulge in an affair? Would she be strong enough to say no? If the past was any indication, she would throw all caution to the wind. How troubling. She should have thought this through more thoroughly before she had come here. Too late.

As she continued to tread along the path, she caught a glimpse of the stables. Abbie wagered that she would find Garrett there, as it wasn’t quite three o’clock. With a half smile, she headed toward the building. Sure enough, she found him brushing down a magnificent brown stallion. “Garrett.”

He looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Am I late?”

“No. I imagined I would find you here. Are horses still the center of your life, raising and breeding them? You did claim that they would be your future.”

He gave the stallion an affectionate pat, then motioned to one of the stable boys. “Place Patriot in his stall. See there is fresh hay, and give him his special mixture of oats.”

The youth touched his forelock. “Aye, sir. Right away.”

Garrett didn’t answer her question. Abbie sighed and glanced about the familiar structure. How many surreptitious meetings had taken place here? She inhaled. It smelled the same, but she had never minded the scents of a barn or a man around horses. It possessed an earthy element. Masculine. Real. “I suppose the Wollstonecraft horses fetch a pretty penny?”

Garrett gathered up the brushes and curry comb. “It has become a lucrative business. We charge several thousand pounds, as our horses are of sturdy stock with impeccable lines. Well-bred. Beautiful even.”

Abbie smiled. “Much like the Wollstonecraft men.” He turned and stared at her. “Oh, come on, Garrett. Fourteen years ago you would have laughed at my teasing.”