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“No, but she’s political connections of her own. Those relationships could make or break Sinclair whiskey. Among the family’s other holdings.”
“So I’m the bull staked out to lure in the cash cow?” He couldn’t keep the edge of bitterness from his voice. Didn’t even try.
“You’re asked to think of the family and do what’s right.”
Cam had heard enough. What his uncle asked of him was another empty marriage. More long years of playing the London game. Not this time. The farmstead in Strathconon pulled him northward. He’d not give up the call for the dubious charms and fortune of Mrs. Kennett-Holmes. Not even to repair frayed family relationships. He started for the door. “There’s no more to be said. Good day, Uncle.”
His hand had barely gripped the knob when his uncle’s answer curdled his innards. “I’ll ruin her, Cam.”
The knob went slippery in his hand, sweat springing out on his palms, chilling his skin. He turned slowly back as if he’d not understood.
His uncle stood solid as a mountain in the middle of the room, his arms crossed in defiance, his face pale but set in rigid lines. “I’d hoped to avoid stooping to this. Hoped you’d see the wisdom of attaching yourself to a woman of Sally Kennett-Holmes’s caliber. She could take you far.”
“I don’t want to be taken anywhere. And not by her.”
Uncle Josh sighed. “It’s for your own good. If you won’t see the wisdom of this match, think of Miss Bligh. That’s her name, isn’t it? Think of her. She’ll be ruined.”
“Blackmail? You wouldn’t dare.”
Uncle Josh spread his hands as if in apology. “I know you think I’m being harsh. But I’m tired of watching you distance yourself from the life rightly due you by your name and position. Memories are short in this town. It wouldn’t take much to be welcomed back. You need a wife.” He paused before letting the final shoe drop. “Miss Bligh needs my silence.”
“One thing I don’t need is a wife.”
As if he felt he’d crossed too far over the line, his uncle withdrew. Sought conciliation. “How about this? Come. Speak with her. Play the war hero bit. If things work out, consider the possibility of remarriage.”
Cam felt the weight of Uncle Josh’s expectation like a noose around his neck. His throat went dry, the blood pushing its sluggish way through a body suddenly cold.
His uncle let him stew before nudging. “Well, Cam? What’s it to be?”
“I’ll be there.” He chewed the words like glass.
Uncle Josh turned his attention to the correspondence on his desk, effectively dismissing Cam. His parting words, “And without the martyred attitude, I hope.”
Cam’s vision went red, fury uncoiling with whiplike speed. “I said I’d be there. Beyond that, don’t push your luck.” He heard his response as if coming from another’s mouth—overloud and rough with emotion. But it was the expression of shock on his uncle’s face that set Cam’s heart racing. Sent him stumbling heartsick and shaking from the house.
Because until then he hadn’t known how close to murder he’d come.
Chapter 23
Morgan escaped the growing claustrophobia of the town house for the freedom of London’s streets. Though freedom might not be the most suitable word choice. She’d felt the disapproving eyes of at least half a dozen passersby as she’d walked the short distance to Green Park alone. As if she couldn’t risk stepping into the street without fear of being clubbed over the head and sold to white slavers. Or worse—exchanging unchaperoned words with a man unrelated to her by blood or marriage.
She pursed her lips, stared down the worst of the offenders, while folding herself deeper into the collar of her spencer to avoid the rest. This was just the sort of confining restrictions that made the remote wilderness of Skye so appealing. A freedom from expectations. From duty.
But duty to what? To whom? And what kind of freedom was she really looking for? When had the oath of fealty to the Amhas-draoi become like a stone about her middle, weighing her down? Taking away choices she didn’t know she’d had.
Picking a rock from the leaf-strewn path beneath her feet, she kicked it out ahead of her. Followed it, kicking it again.
What did Cam want? The pebble skipped ahead. Rolled to the verge.
What did she want? This time it ended amid a group of stones. She recognized its shape. Knocked it on farther.
Could she give up one dream to pursue another? Kick. Follow.
Take that leap of faith that a life with Cam wouldn’t be the drudgery and grind Scathach warned her it would be? Follow. Kick.
That they could find a way to fit their worlds together. Mold them into something new. Something greater than the individual pieces.
She’d seen that kind of love. A love that allowed for all things. That gave as much as it took. Her cousin Conor had found it with his wife, Ellery. They’d beaten back every obstacle to be with each other—including death. If they could do it, mayhap she and Cam could make it work as well.
