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The Man She Should Have Married

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His gaze snagged on the Turner watercolour on the wall opposite and he felt suddenly blazingly angry.

Somehow it made it worse, finally seeing it again in person, knowing that Nia had quietly and calmly weighed him up against all of this.

Back in LA he’d been stunned, and then almost blinded with fury to learn that Tom and Diane would be staying here. But after he’d cooled off coming back to Lamington had seemed to make perfect sense. There would be a certain satisfaction in knowing that he was staying there, in her house.

His spine stiffened.

Much as he didn’t like to admit it, his reaction had confirmed what he already knew but had ignored.

Nia was still in his head.

In his head, in his dreams, and sometimes he would even see her in the street or a restaurant or climbing into a cab.

Of course, it was never her, and he knew that.

But it always stopped him in his tracks just the same—left his whole body trembling with a longing and a loneliness that made it hard to stand up, to sleep, to eat, to think.

He’d hoped that seeing Nia again would flip some kind of switch inside him, and at first, in the drawing room, it had felt as if it had.

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure.

Confronting her had felt good, satisfying. He hadn’t wanted or needed to hear her excuses or explanations. But throughout the meal he’d kept feeling his gaze drawn to her beautiful pale face at too frequent intervals. Not so he could feel some kind of triumph, but because he hadn’t been able to look away.

Not liking the implication of that particular thought, he lowered his glass and tugged at Diane’s hand. ‘So, Mrs

Drummond, when are you and the big man here meeting the genealogist?’

‘On Friday. And then next week we’re going to take a field trip up to Braemar. That’s where Tom’s family originally came from,’ she said to Nia.

Keeping his gaze fixed on Diane’s face, he felt rather than saw Nia nod.

‘It’s very beautiful round there,’ she said, ‘and the castle is quite significant historically.’

‘Is it?’ he asked softly. ‘I thought it was just a hunting lodge for the Earls of Mar. But I suppose I’ve been spoiled. I mean, Craithie is a piece of Scottish history.’

So much for not talking to her.

Her eyes jerked up to meet his. ‘What’s Craithie Castle got to do with anything?’

‘Oh, didn’t Diane and Tom tell you?’ He let his gaze drift lazily over her face. ‘I’m thinking of buying it. Partly as an investment, partly as a retreat. These last few years have been hoachin’, and I want somewhere I can kick back and relax. Do some creative thinking.’

A flush of colour was spreading over her cheeks. She looked stunned—probably because she knew the asking price.

Tom grunted. ‘Make sure some of that creative thinking is about more than just work. I’m not saying it doesn’t matter,’ he said, picking up his wife’s hand and pressing it against his mouth, ‘but other things matter more. Like finding Mrs Wilder.’

Mrs Wilder.

The words spun in front of his eyes, glittering like the snowflakes that had fallen on Nia’s face that day in Holyrood Park when he’d proposed.

Did she even remember it? Or know what it had taken for him to say those words? Even now it made his heartbeat slide sideways like a car on black ice.

He held up his hands in surrender. ‘Then I know you’ll both be pleased to hear that I’m ready to make a fool of myself over a woman again. Any number of women, in fact.’

That wasn’t quite true.

He knew he would never let any woman get close enough to do that and, glancing over at Diane, he felt a spasm of guilt. She cared about him. Tom did too. They were the parents he’d never had. Kind, loving, warm. And, like any child lucky enough to have that kind of parent, he knew they only wanted the best for him.

Always had, even when he’d been at his worst.



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