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Still, her livid expression hinted at additional blows aimed in his direction, and if he remembered rightly, that spark in otherwise gentle brown eyes spelled trouble. “Very well. Your identity is safe, Mr. Douglas, for the reasons you so correctly spelled out.” Her voice wavered, her hands closing into fists at her side.
He took a wary step back just in case, but it was unnecessary. She slumped onto a sofa, a hand rubbing absently at her temple. “But why? Answer me that one question. You were dead, Brendan. Dead and buried.”
Why did he leave? No way to answer that didn’t scare her to death. Why had he returned? Equally difficult to explain without revealing the depth of his past villainy. For some reason, it was easier to have Elisabeth hate him for a rogue who’d run out on his bride than know the far uglier truth.
His gaze flicked to the stone nestled between her breasts.
“Enjoying the view?” she asked tartly.
His attention snapped back to her face, which now wore an expression of resignation, as if she were used to men speaking to her chest. Something deep in his gut tightened at the thought of other men eying Elisabeth in such a bold manner.
“Perhaps like young Lochinvar, I came back when I heard you meant to wed another.”
“If that was meant to be a joke, you’ll have to do better,” she answered breezily. “As you explained when you asked for my hand all those years ago, our marriage was one of convenience at the behest of your mother.”
Had he said that? Damned rude of him. It’s a wonder she’d agreed to have him if he’d carried on that way. More a wonder she hadn’t smashed something heavy over his head for such impertinence.
He fought off a momentary stab of guilt, focusing his thoughts on the men hunting him, hardening himself against faltering resolve. “I’m here for one simple reason. Dun Eyre is the last place anyone will look for me.”
The stubborn square of her chin pushed forward, her gaze narrowed in new speculation.
“Which is why I’ll reiterate, the name is John Martin,” he said.
She twisted her broken fan until the sticks splintered. “You’re a right bastard, Brendan Douglas.”
He grinned at the base language coming from that pretty mouth. She’d always been a contradiction of femininity and ferocity. “But you love me anyway.”
“Once, maybe. But you’ve spent that coin.” She closed her eyes for a moment as if trying to adjust to this new reality, and when she opened them, surrender dulled the heat of her gaze. It was almost worse than her fury had been. That he’d prepared for. This was different entirely.
“How could you come back like this and expect me to act as if nothing had happened?” she asked. “You left me, Brendan. No note. No explanation, though all and sundry were willing to supply one.”
He turned to study the fire as if he might find answers written upon the flames.
“I didn’t mind that so much,” she continued. “I mean it was mortifying with Aunt Pheeney spouting proverbs like water and Aunt Fitz stalking the house, muttering threats on your person. But then afterward, your father’s murder . . . that was so much more horrible. What was I supposed to believe after that?”
He swung around, a hand gripping the mantel. He noted the bloodless fingers as if they belonged to someone else. “What everyone did, I suppose. That I was guilty.”
“There were some who refused to believe,” she said softly. “Even then, they had faith in your innocence.”
“I’m sure you soon set them straight.” This was not a conversation he wanted to have. Being here cut too close to the bone for comfort. He hadn’t thought it would. He’d thought those ghosts had long been exorcised. More fool he. Time had done little to salve that wound. “Take heart,” he bluffed. “I won’t inconvenience you for long, and you and your Mr. Shaw can gallop up the aisle with my blessing.”
She too seemed to have shaken off her momentary confusion. She rose, adjusting her skirts in a show of indifference. “I’m relieved. I should have been heartbroken to know the man who threw me over didn’t approve of the man honorable enough to hang about for his own wedding breakfast.”
“Speaking of Shaw, where did you meet him? Last I heard, you were in London.”
“Keeping an eye on me?”
“A year-old London Times. What’s his background?”
“Are you my guardian now?”
“An interested party. I may not have married you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you happy.”
Folding her arms over her chest, she huffed, “Fine. Not that it’s any of your business, but Gordon has a decent fortune of his own. A solid position within the current government. And isn’t you. All quality traits in a husband.”
“Ouch. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were sorry to see me.”
“Ughh!” She threw up her hands. “You’re incorrigible. Go away, Brendan. Crawl back into whatever hole you’ve been hiding in, and stay there this time. You ruined my last wedding. You are not going to ruin this one. Do you hear me?”
