Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
But what if it was all a ploy?
After all, I have to be honest with myself and acknowledge that my charms, whatever they are, surely can’t compare to his dream of acquiring land by hook or crook. We fell asleep downstairs, why did he find me upstairs? Did he take me upstairs so it would take longer for the fire to be discovered? How come he was so wide awake when he woke me up? And another thing. I remember his skin was not warm with sleep but cold and clammy, as if he had been outside.
Bit by bit, I begin to see the sense in Cecilia's shocking words, and it leaves me heartbroken, betrayed by the man I let in, the man I trusted. I need some time to think. I need to be away from him and away from here so that I can consider my situation properly. It is clear to me now that my proximity to him and intimacy with him has rendered me completely susceptible to him. It has made me dull, unable to think or even see clearly because even now, when the evidence seems clear to me and makes sense, every fiber of my being is still at odds, trying to defend him and to deny the truth.
My hands clench, and my drying tears are replaced by a burning anger. I turn, my steps quick and purposeful, heading toward the manor. I’m going to confront him, to demand answers, to give him a piece of my mind, because if he did this, if he played me, I won’t let him win, not without a fight.
Chapter
Forty-Eight
HUGH
Joseph, my estate manager, stands by the fireplace, his clipboard clutched tight, his face creased with concern, while a firefighter, his yellow jacket streaked with soot, gestures toward a diagram of Lauren’s cottage, its charred outline a grim sketch on the page. They’re talking about wiring, a faulty circuit from the rushed renovations, a spark that might’ve ignited the blaze, but their words blur, their assurances that “it’ll take more time, more inspection” to pinpoint the cause grates on my nerves.
It is reasonable, they’re reasonable, but I’m so exhausted that everything greatly irritates me. I won’t be able to rest. Not until I have some sort of answer about how this happened. If it is the fault of my building crew, then I plan to take full responsibility. Hell, I’m taking full responsibility no matter what. Lauren is my girl, my responsibility now. I’ll just get rid of these two and go find Lauren and assure her that she has absolutely nothing to worry about. I’ll sort everything out.
The door swings open, and I turn, my heart lurching at the sight of Lauren. Her face is pale, her eyes red-rimmed, her blonde hair tangled, and still carrying the hospital’s sterile scent.
She’s here, in my space, but something’s wrong—her shoulders are rigid, her gaze sharp, cutting through me like a blade.
“Could you guys please leave us? I’ll come meet you outside,” I tell Joseph and the firefighter, my voice low and strained.
They nod and leave after gathering their papers.
The thudding of their boots dies when the door clicks shut, sealing us in the room, alone. I move toward her, my arms aching to hold her, to pull her close like I did on the lawn. It will give me strength, I am sure. But she surprises me. Instead of reaching for me like I have become accustomed to, she flinches and steps back, her right palm raised. There is now effectively a wall between us, and I don’t understand why.
“Please don’t touch me.” Her voice is cold and bitter.
I freeze. Then my hands fall back to my sides. My chest tightens because just hours ago in the hospital, she’d clung to me, thanked me, and now she’s looking at me like I’m a stranger, like she hates me.
“Lauren, what’s wrong?” I ask, my voice rough, confusion swirling with hurt, because I don’t understand.
Her eyes narrow, blazing with anger. She steps closer, her voice low, trembling but venomous. “Were you responsible for this fire, Hugh?”
Each word feels like a dagger.
Stunned, I stare at her in amazement. For a mad second, I even think she’s joking. She has a cruel sense of humor. That’s how preposterous her question seems to me. Then I see that her face is hard, her lips tight, and I realize she means it, believes it.
My mouth opens, but no words come; my mind is reeling because why would she think this? Why would she think I’d destroy her cottage, her dreams, after everything? I’m offended, hurt, my heart pounding, because I’ve poured money, time, care into her home, into her, and she’s accusing me of burning it all down.
“Why would you—how could you even think I’d do that to you?”