Where the devil was Flora?
Isaac’s skull pounded at the increasing volume of the music and Miss Clarke’s nonstop chatter. The lady had returned to the drawing room quite some time ago. New confidence showed in an odd, satisfied smirk on her pale face. He briefly wondered what she’d been about until he decided he didn’t give a toss about what Miss Clarke had going on in her head.
Kate and the constable had also come into the room, and Flora’s friend kept shooting angry glances his way. He wanted to return to Flora’s room, whisk her away, and forget about all these people. He pulled at the cravat. It had constricted and threatened to cut off his air.
Sparing a glance to the side, he noticed the windows were closed, and the heat from the mid-day sun streamed into the room. Beads of sweat trickled down his back as the Stonehavens’ niece prattled on about the upcoming season. He’d turn and cut the chit at this point, but as he’d learned earlier, she was Archie’s cousin, and he couldn’t do that to a friend, especially one that was helping him with a problem.
Charles Bartrom appeared, blocking his view. “I’ve been waiting for your friend to arrive. Has she taken ill this afternoon?”
He smiled as he realized he now had an excuse to flee the room and check on Flora, even if it was under the guise of doing so for another. “I’m not certain. Please excuse us, Miss Clarke.” He deftly guided Charles toward the door, leaning toward the man as if he had something important to tell him.
“My wife remembered why her name sounds so familiar.”
Isaac stopped just before reaching the doorway. Dread enveloped him. Had they seen her in Aberdeen? The Bartroms seemed like an amicable couple, but would they call her out?
“Why is that?” He attempted to keep his tone light as he continued out into the hall.
“There is this lovely Scottish couple who settled in a cottage about half a day’s ride from my estate. Nice man. He’s a merchant in the village.”
The atmosphere in the corridor was less thick and humid. The cooler air tickled his cheeks, and the suffocating feeling that had clung to him lessened its grip. He breathed it in and kept striding for the stairs.
“Well, anyway. They lost a child many years ago. Just vanished from their sights.” Charles’s words were coming fast, and he had to turn them over in his head.
It was a moment before Isaac stopped and pivoted to face the man. “Why would they leave if their child was missing?”
“They had nothing. Their land had been confiscated as part of the clearances, and they were on the way to Canada when the child disappeared. They apparently searched for weeks, but then the local authorities found someone who had seen a girl matching their daughter’s description. The girl had been seen lying in an alley with a gash on her temple. The couple was told she was most likely deceased.”
Flora had a scar. Chills erupted where the sweat dried on his back.
“I think they never recovered from the loss. Despite the news, the couple settled in England because they couldn’t bear to put an ocean between them and the lost girl. The father made several trips to Scotland to try to find her.”
“I am not understanding you, sir. What does this have to do with Flora?” He was confused but glad the man’s story had taken an odd turn and out of Aberdeen.
“Oh, well, you see, they used to live not too far north of here.”
The hair on his arms stood tall. “And you think they may be related?”
“Well, Miss MacGregor does look like the mother, and their last name matches, but their daughter’s name was Mairi.”
His whole body tensed. He let his thumb trace across Flora’s ring, the one which commemorated a woman named Mairi MacGregor.
“There must be hundreds, if not thousands, of MacGregors in Scotland. I doubt they are related.” But the proof was on his finger.
“But when we were talking about her once, I could swear the mother called the girl her flower. Isn’t that what Flora means?”
Could it be true? Flora would be able to reunite with her family. And if Mr. and Mrs. MacGregor lived in England, she might consider his proposal.
He’d decided this afternoon as he’d cradled her in his arms, to the devil with society. He was an earl and could do what he wanted, and what he wanted more than anything was to marry Flora and spend the rest of his life with her.
But for now, he had to get to her and give her the news. Her parents might have been found. “Thank you. I’ll check on her, and then we’ll see if we can sort it out.” He didn’t care if it wasn’t proper to go straight to her room. She was his now, and he no longer cared what others thought. Elation freed his soul at the internal confession.
He’d made it halfway to her door when a woman’s voice pinned him from behind, “Ye willnae find her there.”
He froze as dread washed down his spine, then fear spiked in his gut.
Pivoting, he met Kate’s glare. “She left.”
His chest caved in. Why would she leave? Isaac was certain she cared for him just as he did her. “What?”
“What did ye do to her?” Kate’s tone and look took on that of an imperious queen squashing down a rebellion.
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“She came to me and said she had to leave straight away. I’ve never seen her like that. She’s always the sensible one. So, what did ye do to make her run off?” The Highland lass stood, feet apart, hands fisted on her hips, as her allegation assaulted him.
Flora had left him. The pain settled in his heart. He turned to the papered wall and braced himself as panic was unleashed and beat through his veins. She’d left him. His eyes started to sting, but instead of giving in, he pounded on the wall with the bottom of his fist.
He swiveled and stalked toward her room. She wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t leave him. The way she’d looked at him today said she cared for him. Hell, he’d fallen in love with her. He had planned everything and was going to see to it that she and her family were all cared for. He flung open the door.
Empty.
His throat closed in. His newly ordered world crashed as nausea assaulted him. He didn’t move but let his gaze roam the vacant space. The cavern in his chest felt hollow and ached as if a carriage had run over him. He considered sprawling out on the bed to see if he could still smell her. Instead, he inched his way to the dressing table and plucked her brush from the cool surface.
“What did ye do to her?” Kate asked again, and her words scorched the back of his neck.
The accusation smacked him. Heat enveloped him, and he let the anger consume him as he continued to stare down. His fist clenched around the brush.
The first time he’d let his guard down and left her on her own, she had run. He had trusted her. The hurt tried to resurface, but he buried it and turned to Flora’s friend. The window caught his attention, and the vision he’d had of him showing her his home—no, sharing it with her—tormented him, and he had to close his eyes.
His belongings. He was a fool. She didn’t want him to pay her brother’s debt. The thief wanted his ships, and she’d finally found a way to outsmart him. She’d broken him down and run off with everything. His fists clenched, then threw the brush at the window. It clanged, then fell to the floor.
“Where is she?” He turned to Kate.
“I dinnae ken. What did ye do to her?”
“I believed her lies.” And now I’ll lose everything.
Pushing the hurt aside, he banished the thoughts of all he’d wanted to share with Flora. He welcomed the rage because that was easier to embrace.
“Where is she?” He moved closer to the woman who also lied for a living, his body tensing with each step.
“I have never seen her that upset. Ye must have done something.”
All he’d done was give her his heart and promise to take care of her. “I trusted her.”
Kate’s angry expression turned sad. “Ye do care for her then?”
He glanced away as Kate’s words reached into his soul and stripped him bare. Humiliation assailed him because he’d fallen for her charms, just as he had on that day in the streets. His eyes stung as their trip to the kitchen replayed in his head—her confessions, the way she watched him as he’d made love to her.
It had all been lies.
Something shifted in Kate’s tone. The fury was replaced by pity. “She took my carriage and headed back to Aberdeen. She probably has a two-hour head start.”
He nodded but didn’t open his mouth. He wasn’t sure what would come out.
“She’s in some kind of trouble, her and my brother Bran. She wouldn’t tell me more, but she’s always looking out for everyone else. She needs someone to look after her.”
“Aye, she does if she doesnae give me my ships back.” He wouldn’t let his guard down again. Once he caught up to her, he wouldn’t release her from his sight until she’d returned everything.
“What?” Kate dared to look confused.
“She has my ships.” His nails dug into the palms of his hands.
“What makes ye think that?”
“She stole them, Kate.” It was anger that caused him to blurt out her real name, not the fake one she’d been claiming since she’d arrived.
“How does one steal a ship?” Kate laughed. It was hollow like she was just catching on to a joke that had long since been forgotten.
“She has the deeds.” Now he felt as if she were mocking him.
“Do ye think she even kens it?”
“Of course, she does.”
“Mayhap ye dinnae ken her as well as ye think.” Kate straightened and fisted her hands on her hips. Her changing hazel gaze pinned him. “She cannae read. Aye, she worked hard to be certain the rest of us could, but never had the time to learn herself. If she has yer deeds, she willnae ken what they are.”
Chills erupted on his arms. He tried to think back to all the times they’d discussed what she’d taken. She’d always referred to his belongings as his box or baubles. Hell, she didn’t know what she’d taken. She had kept the box just for the jewelry and only to pay off whatever debts her brother had acquired. His stomach knotted.
If Flora handed over the box to this man on the docks, she wouldn’t even know what she was giving up. He had to get to her. “How much of a head start did you say?”
“She left about two and a half hours ago, but she’s in my carriage. You should be able to make better time.”
“Did she say what had upset her?”
“Nae. But it had to have been something that wench in the drawing room spouted. Flora was running from her when she found me.”
Miss Clarke’s smirk came back to him. “Excuse me. I have to get back downstairs.”
Kate moved to the side and followed him from the room. “What are ye doing?”
“Going to see what the viper in the drawing room said to her.”
He stalked down the hall to find out why Flora had left. Then he would attempt to stop her from giving away the earldom’s fortune.
Flora sobbed without restraint. She’d not done so since she’d realized her parents weren’t coming for her, choosing only to let tears free during the night. It had always been her place to be strong, to be certain everyone was cared for. She typically restrained her emotions so that the ones she protected would not lose their courage.
Now, there was no one to see. Her whole body shook, and it hurt.
She was the one who had lost hope. How had she let herself believe Isaac was different, that their situation was different? Why had she let Isobel put Bran’s fairy tales into her head? She was a thief and always would be.
She’d tried to convince herself that she was worthy. That silly mantra she’d made up taunted her. She’d never utter those foolish words again. Now, she knew the truth. She’d never been good enough for Isaac. She hadn’t even been enough for a simple farrier’s son. Why would she ever be suitable for an earl, a Sassenach at that?
Wetness clung to her lashes and streamed down her cheeks. The fear that had haunted her since childhood awoke and roared—she was not worthy. Her parents had abandoned her. No one would come looking for her.
She swiped her sleeve under her eyes, but it didn’t stop the flow. And while she was locked in this carriage with no one else to see, she would release the pressure of the years of humiliation and self-doubt. Her heart ached, and she knew now, it would never be whole again. Isaac had used her just as John had, and once he had his box back, he’d meant to leave her like her parents.
His offer had resonated with her, and she’d believed he wanted to help her . . . that he’d cared for her. Isaac had lied. She inhaled sharply as another sob racked through her shoulders.
He had only been trying to persuade her to give his box back. And she had thought he cared, but he truly was Ruffles. She’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t really exist. The man who had opened up about his family as they’d laughed and made love deep into the night. He’d given her hope and made her feel worthy.
She’d felt special in his arms and had welcomed his embraces, even cherished them. He’d not withdrawn the last time they had lain together. She could even now be carrying his babe in her belly. How had she been so naïve?
She wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. How was she to care for the children still at Camelot, or her babe? And Bran?
She could at least save Bran.
And what of Alastair? She would not be responsible for that man seeking retribution against her family for an act she had committed. He would have to be dealt with.
Her thoughts turned to the task ahead, then to the jewels she’d hidden in her secret spot only days ago. Then, she would have said that Isaac had everything he needed and the baubles only meant going without his valet for a few days. Now, she knew different. If he had been telling the truth, his family depended on him just as much as hers did her. He was a kind man. Even if he couldn’t look past who she was. She couldn’t risk harming him or his family. She loved him.
Another sob wrenched from her body as she started to shake. She’d never cared for a man before, and now that she did, she’d chosen one who would never view her as anything other than a street criminal.
Once she reached Camelot, it was nearly dawn. She spied Alastair’s man across the street, but he was dozing, and the carriage hid her. Instructing the driver to wait for her, she snuck into Camelot and tiptoed to the fireplace to retrieve the box.
Back inside the carriage, she made her next request, surprised at how easy it was to sell her soul.