Page 3 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“It’s been over two years.” She kept her arm stretched out and wiggled her fingers. “I will always love Sebastian, just as I will always love Thomas, but I’m lonely, Aidan. I want someone to talk to. Do you not understand that feeling?”
“I do,” he sighed, his voice heavy with unspoken heartache. Then he whipped his arm up, clasped her hand in his, and pumped once. “We have an accord. However, I don’t recommend informing Patrick of your plans to meddle. He’ll vanish before you finish the word matrimony.”
Snickering, Alana glanced at the window behind her father, and the smile faded from her face. The journey had been much quicker than anticipated. She gulped, retracting her hand.
“Have we arrived already?”
Aidan craned his head, staring out the glass as they passed into the small town. He nodded, looking over at her.
“You seem nervous. You shouldn’t be. You’ve sailed before.”
“Not this far,” Alana whispered, winding her fingers together.
Aidan grabbed her wrist and before she could react, yanked her to his bench. Bumping his forehead against hers, he grinned, keeping his voice low.
“That doesn’t sound like something my sister would say.”
“What would she say?” Alana blinked her eyelids, attempting to clear the tears that threatened to fall.
“She would tell me to worry about myself and stop focusing my attention on her, as she is more than capable of caring for herself.”
“But you do, anyway.”
“Yes, I do.” He embraced her, squeezing tightly. “I shall miss you, dear sister.”
Alana sniffed and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his collar.
“Where are you going, m’girl?” a gruff voice asked. Their father peeled one eye open, the faded blue glaring at them. “You said we were here to meet Patrick.”
“We are,” said Alana, sliding across the aisle. She patted his hand.
“I’m disappointed in you, lying to your father.” Their father sat up, staring at her, his mouth pinched into a thin line. His gaze flicked to Aidan. “You as well.”
Aidan stumbled over his reply. “It’s what is best—”
Their father slammed his fist against the side of the carriage. “I decide what is best for this family. If your mother knew… the treachery, the sneaking around behind my back.” He lunged for the rifle, but Aidan reacted quicker, snatching the barrel out of the older man’s hands.
“Tell him, Aidan,” Alana said, her soft voice interrupting the impending scuffle. “He’ll find out shortly.”
“Tell me what?” The old man’s suspicious gaze shifted between the two of them.
Aidan cleared his throat.
“With the continued threat against the family, we,”—he gestured between Alana and himself—“decided Alana would be safer in America until the killer is captured.”
“We?” Their father arched a bushy white eyebrow, turning his attention to Alana. “Is this really what you want?”
Alana glanced at Aidan, questioning. Aidan tilted his head, but didn’t reply, waiting for her to follow through with their agreed-upon plan.She turned back to her father, holding his gaze, and spoke clearly.
“We,” she said.
Her father’s wrinkled face crumpled, tears leaking from his eyes. “Do you not trust your Da to protect you?”
Alana flung her arms around his neck, squeezing him, and he wept on her shoulder, his frail body shaking. “I do, but…”
Her eyes jumped to Aidan, begging for assistance.
“She has decided to remarry, Da.” Aidan placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. “She’ll return with her husband after the danger has passed.”
