Enraptured (32 page)

Violet stared after him, shocked and numb, almost shaking under the flood of rage and loss and a hundred other emotions she couldn't name. The sound of the door's banging shut brought her out of her paralysis. She left the library, almost running up the stairs to her bedroom. She closed the door and locked it after her, as if that would somehow shelter her more.

She went across to the window to stare out. Dusk was falling, suiting her mood. In the distance, she could see Coll striding down the driveway toward his home. Obviously anger drove him, for he had already reached the edge of the trees. Well, apparently she would not have to worry about facing him at the dinner table in a few minutes. She swallowed hard, feeling as if she were choking. She leaned her
head on the cold glass, closing her eyes against the tears that welled up in them.

How could she have been so foolish? Why had she let herself believe Coll understood her? Knew her? Liked her? He did not feel for her as she did for him, as if nothing the world thought mattered as long as they were together.

She shook her head, swiping at the tears on her cheeks, and began to pace the room, pulling up her anger and resentment to fill the emptiness inside her. It was so like a man to hold her at fault because he suddenly felt the burden of his conscience. To decide to assuage his guilt by making her his possession, turning her into something she was not, giving her a life she did not want.

She, apparently, was not expected to have a choice in the matter. No doubt she should simply be grateful that a man would give her the protection of his good name. Coll had not even bothered to cloak his decision in words of love. No, it had all been what other people would think and how it reflected on him. He refused to be a liar and a libertine, which left the obvious implication that she was both.

It should not have shocked her. The only real surprise was that she had been so naïve as to believe he was different. That he accepted her without feeling the need to change her. She stopped before the window again, leaning her head against the cold glass and staring out sightlessly into the darkening evening. A shudder shook her as she thought of how he had looked at her with such bitterness, such anger and contempt.

It was foolish to have let herself feel so much for the man. She was not in love with him, and she did not expect him to love her, either. It had been far too short a time to have fallen
in love. But she had thought he liked her, thought he cared. In the end, it was only physical attraction.

But, oh, what a strong attraction! Again the tears came. There was a hole inside her now, a cold and lonely ache. Violet knew, however little she liked to admit it, that she had felt much more for Coll than desire. She had been perilously close to falling in love with the man.

No doubt she was fortunate that it had ended before she took that fatal misstep. She only wished that being fortunate did not hurt so much.

Coll was not in the dining room when she went down to supper. She had no desire for food and had almost sent a note to the kitchen, pleading illness. But in the end she would not allow herself to be such a coward. Coll might run away, but she would not.

She ignored the empty place across from her just as she ignored the curious sidelong glances of the footman. She hoped none of the servants had been able to distinguish their words, but she was certain they had not missed the loud and angry tone of their voices or the crashing of doors as Coll stormed out. They were bound to be curious.

The food could have been sawdust for all she tasted it. Violet pushed it around on her plate enough to give the appearance of eating and was relieved to find that Jamie removed and served the courses with good speed. Afterward, she went up to bed. There would be no more evenings spent researching the treasure, she supposed, any more than there
would be tender nights in bed with Coll. Still, when she went to sleep, she left the door unlocked.

She awoke the next morning, unsurprisingly, in a cold and empty bed. At breakfast, no one was in the dining room but her and the footman.

“I presume Mr. Munro is not joining us this morning,” she remarked coolly, thinking that she should say something just to show his absence did not gnaw at her insides.

“Nae, I wouldna think sae, with the heid he'd have on him this morning.” Jamie cast a wary glance at her.

So Coll had spent the evening drinking. He had probably walked straight to the tavern when he left her. Violet wondered bitterly if he had spent the evening with a serving wench as well as a bottle of whiskey. Was he drowning his disappointment because Violet had turned him down or celebrating his newfound freedom? Better not to think of that.

Bundling up, she made her way to the ruins, arriving before anyone else. There was a wind, and the cold was biting, but the gray day suited her mood. Grimly, she began to dig. Before long the other workers joined her. They seemed to have little inclination to talk, either, and the few times they said anything to one another, it disappointingly had nothing to do with Coll or how he had spent the evening before. The damp cold was more penetrating than usual, and even Angus McKay's visit did not liven things up.

It was a relief when the day ended. Climbing the hill to Duncally, she wondered if Coll would once again avoid the dining room. It occurred to her that he might have decided to move back to the gatehouse. Clearly, he did not want to be around her. He was not the sort of man who would take
his revenge by sending her from Duncally and the work she loved. But he might conclude that since two weeks had passed without any further sign of the intruder, there was no longer any danger and therefore no need for his presence in the main house.

Her stomach squeezed at the thought of living in that great, silent house by herself, but she knew that it was less fear that pierced her than it was the thought of not seeing Coll anymore. She had made the choice long ago. She had always known that the life she wanted would be lonely; it was the price she would pay for being free. But she realized now how much easier that decision had been in the abstract than it was in reality. The prospect of night after cold night in her bed alone filled her with a bitter pain.

There was no sign of him when she entered the house. Violet went up the back stairs to her room, telling herself that it was closer, but inside she knew that she did so because she dreaded walking past Coll's chamber. She spent time on her appearance, brushing out her hair and re-pinning it, and choosing the most flattering of her dresses. It would all be for naught if Coll was not there, but if he was, she was determined to look her best. She would not let him see the turmoil his ultimatum had inspired in her.

Coll was, in fact, waiting in the dining room when she entered it. He stood, looking out the window, hands in his pockets, a stance so familiar that it hurt Violet's heart to see it. He turned toward her, his movements as stiff as the expression on his face. Any hopes she might have harbored that he had changed his mind died a quick death.

“Good evening, Coll.” She was pleased to hear how calm her voice sounded. “I hope I have not kept you waiting long.”

“No.” His short reply was followed by an awkward silence.

“I was not sure whether you would be here.” Violet saw little reason to tiptoe around the subject. It gave her a small measure of satisfaction to see his glance flicker uncomfortably over to the footman and back.

“Yes, of course.”

“I was sorry to hear you were ill this morning.”

Now the look Coll shot the footman held more annoyance than unease. “I'm fine.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Jamie seemed slower than usual at serving the food. Violet suspected he hoped to hear more conversation to provide grist for the gossip mill in the servants' hall. Coll, however, remained stubbornly silent, and Violet was not about to try to strike up a conversation.

For a long time, the only noise was the slice of a knife or stab of a fork against china. Violet kept her gaze on the table, though once she glanced up at Coll's face and found him watching her. He immediately looked away and pushed the food about on his plate. No doubt, she thought uncharitably, he was still queasy from all the whiskey he had drunk the night before.

But no. It was unhappiness that blanketed the man. However infuriating, however stubborn and wrongheaded she thought him, the truth was that the man was miserable. Violet's throat tightened.

“You need not stay in this house,” she said quietly. She set down her fork and raised her gaze to meet his. “I am sure you would prefer to return to your home.” Her voice had a maddening hoarseness.

“Is that what you think of me?” Coll set his jaw. “That I'm the sort of man who would just leave? That I would allow you to face danger alone just because I did not get what I wanted?”

“No. I think you are the sort of man who is entirely stubborn. It has been two weeks now and the intruder has not come back. You have frightened him away. Or he has realized that there is no treasure here. Or he got what he wanted the first time, and we just don't know what it was. In any case, there is no longer any danger here.”

“Ah.” He gave a short nod of his head. “I did not realize you could foretell the future.”

Violet thought how satisfying it would be to fling her glass of wine in his face. “I am able to draw reasonable inferences from the evidence.”

“I am not moving out,” he said flatly.

Perversely, she wanted to argue with him, even though only an hour earlier she had been fearful he would do exactly what she was trying to persuade him to do now. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“I am aware that you are sufficient unto yourself.” Coll's voice dripped sarcasm. “However, there is the negligible matter that I have been entrusted with the care of this house and its contents, as well as the safety of those who live and work here.”

“Of course. I would not presume to deflect you from your
duty
.”

He snorted. “That is the only thing you would not presume to do.”

Violet's eyes glinted. She felt buoyed by the antagonism rising in her. It was a much easier feeling than the sense of
loss that had been sitting on her chest all day. “Pray forgive me for attempting to relieve you of your burden.”

“What burden?”

“The burden of having to remain in the same house with me.” She whipped her napkin down on the table and jumped up.

Coll came to his feet, leaning forward and bracing his fists on the table. “I think I am capable of handling one wee woman.”

“I'd like to see you try.”

His eyes lit. “Would you now?”

Fire swept along Violet's nerves like the rush of strong liquor. They faced each other, their bodies taut. Violet wanted nothing more than to launch herself at him and beat her fists against that broad, implacable chest—unless it was to wrap herself around him and kiss him until he broke and carried her to the ground with him. And feeling that, seeing that reflected in his eyes, she hung poised, breathless and furious and eager.

It was Coll who moved. Swinging away with a throaty, unintelligible growl and shoving his chair back so hard it crashed to the floor, he stormed out.

And that was that, Violet thought. It seemed they could not even sit in the same room with each other without flaring into rage. She sat down, her knees suddenly shaky. She heard a noise behind her, and for an instant her heart leapt, thinking he had returned. But it was only the footman, coming around the table to set the chair back in its place.

Violet rose to her feet. “I believe we are done now.”

C
oll did not eat at
the breakfast table any longer but grabbed a scone and coffee and left early. He returned late, oftentimes staying to eat with one of the crofters, thus managing to avoid the evening meal at Duncally as well. When he was there at supper, he spent his time pushing the food about on his plate, exchanging a few stiff comments with Violet about her work at the ruins. After supper, he disappeared again, taking a long walk around the grounds and the house to secure it from intruders. Later he shut himself up in his bedroom, though now and then he loitered in the library, aimlessly searching through the stacks of books without choosing any.