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Atholl raised a brow. “I see ye’ve grown a pair, laddie.”

“Is that what you called me in here for? To insult me and my wife?”

“No.” The answer was short, controlled. Atholl waved a glass of whiskey dismissively. “Sit down. Nae need fer yer theatrics.”

He looked at Ian, calmly, waiting for him to resume his seat. “Aye, I ken I havena been fair tae ye, laddie. I let out all my anger on ye when yer mother was the one wha’ deserved it. But when she died, I couldnae be angry wi’ her anymore, and ye were a… logical substitute.”

“How flattering.” Ian’s voice was dry.

“But we can start anew,” he said and took a sip of whisky. “Now that ye’re a married man, I wanted tae offer ye the Dunrossness estate. It’s a bonnie land by the sea. It should help yer frail wife tae feel better. I shall resume ma allowance tae ye—”

“I have no need for your money or your land,” Ian interrupted. “You might not think me capable of much, but I have made a name for myself in England, a name your gossip papers would never print. I have my own money, I have a home. And I will take care of my wife and her child all on my own.”

“She has a child?” Bushy eyebrows knitted low over his eyes.

“Yes, she is a widow raising the child of her first husband. A child who isn’t of her womb. And she loves her like her own, which tells everything you need to know about her character.” He lifted his chin in challenge.

Atholl snorted. “As opposed tae me, ye mean.”

“Whatever judgment you come to, your opinions are yours to keep. We are leaving for London as soon as she feels better.”

“Don’t ye hae a sense o’ loyalty tae yer family? Yer country?” Atholl frowned, obviously confused.

Ian wanted to laugh, so clueless was this old man. He thought he offered Ian the world. To Ian it was but a cage. “I have a sense of loyalty, just not to you. I have a sense of loyalty toward the man who saved me from becoming a drunken disappointment, and not the one who threw me out on my arse. I have a sense of loyalty toward the country which claimed me, not one that ran me out.”

“Dinnae be so dramatic.” Atholl waved a dismissive hand, his favorite gesture. “Nobody ran ye out, ye wanted out.”

“And I won’t be crawling back.”

Something flickered in the old earl’s eyes, something that looked uncomfortably similar to pride. “Well, at least ye’re not a simperin’ coward like yer father was.”

Ian stood, his blood boiling and demanding to punch the smug earl in his face. “I am not like you either,” he said calmly, then turned away and steadily walked toward the door. “Thank God.”

Chapter 22

The evening conversation with Ian didn’t go as planned. Anna, the bright soul that she was, insisted on joining Helen for dinner, to get to know her better and sent Ian to mingle with the guests.

Helen couldn’t say that the time spent with Anna was time spent in vain. She quite enjoyed the young lady’s company. And she exposed a whole new side to Ian that Helen didn’t know about.

It seemed like their family was very tight and friendly, spending a lot of their time together. Especially before their mother’s death. But after that, it seemed as if everything had changed, fracturing their little family and resulting in Ian’s defection.

Helen didn’t understand what exactly caused the rift, and Anna didn’t elaborate, evading the questions as easily as if she were a spy herself, probably deciding that Ian should be the one to tell those intimate details to his wife.

His wife.

The words easily rolled off Helen’s tongue, as easily as they appeared in her mind. She never thought she’d see herself as someone’s wife again. And it was an impossible dream to be Ian’s. But for a few brief moments, she imagined Laney running along the hills, swimming in the lake, growing up in the beautiful Highlands and her heart squeezed.

She wanted to have her own home. Not this grand palace she currently resided in, but a small, cozy cottage by the sea would be something she would gladly occupy with her little family.

She shook the thoughts out of her mind.

Useless dreams.

Impossible dreams.

“I can show ye if ye want,” Anna said and looked at Helen expectantly.

What were they just talking about? Ah, the portrait gallery.