Page 145 of A Rogue in Firelight
“Not nearly half your worth. Feeling sorry for yourself is useless. You will sort it out.”
“She’s annulled our wee wedding.”
“She will change her mind.”
“She changed her mind about the wee wedding, sir. She seemed happy,” he added. “I thought we were happy.”
“Her father is a powerful influence.”
“Rat Corbie is a powerful influence too. More than I thought.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “One good thing about this damnable royal visit,” he began.
“I am hard-pressed to think of one just now.”
“With all the chaos in the city, Corbie forgot to count the number of days we were in prison. Hah!” Ronan said.
“It was brilliant of you to notice it.”
“I am a bit fou,” Ronan said then, feeling as if his head spun a little.
“Get some rest. My driver is waiting to take me back to my mother’s house. Her place is overrun with guests and good cheer.”
“Well, this is not a cheerful place for you, so go on. I will see you tomorrow for a very important day, so they say.”
“It is an honor for you to ride beside Sir Evan, as he requested. Are you up to it?
Ronan waved a hand. “I will be. Until tomorrow, sir.”
“Good night. Get to bed.” Hugh stepped out and closed the door.
Hearing the vehicle wheels creak, hearing hoofbeats, Ronan leaned forward, arms on his knees. He was not so very drunk, as such things went, but he was very tired. And unhappy. Miserable, he thought. That was the word. Miserable without her.
But with her or without her, he would be fine eventually. If he had to live without Ellison Graham, by God he would. He would try to forget her, or at least make the effort.
For now, bed. He stood, wavered a bit.
Hearing footsteps, a knock, he stopped. He had not yet drawn the latch on the door.
“Come in, Cameron! What did you forget?” he called.
The door opened and a woman, slight and graceful, entered in a sweep of dark skirts. Her delicate face was shadowed by a wide hat fussy with ribbons and heather fronds. She looked around. He saw an angel’s face.
“Ah,” he drawled. “The wee landlady.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Pulling off hergloves, heart pounding, hoping for a welcome but realizing otherwise, Ellison stared at Ronan. He was in shirtsleeves, waistcoat, kilt, without cravat, his collar open to his strong throat. His dark hair was curled and mussed, his blue eyes glittered. So very blue, even in candlelight. He did not look glad to see her.
“Are you drunk?”
“A bit. Not much. Do not worry, it is not a usual state for me, my dear. Oh, wait, we will not be residing together after all, will we. What can I do for you?” He swept an arm toward the parlor. “Would you care to sit?”
“There is only one chair.” She walked into the room. He followed.
“I am enough of a gentleman to offer it to you.”
She whirled. “What is wrong?”
“Perhaps you can tell me.”
