He wanted to speak. The words pressed behind his teeth like a rising tide, but none felt worthy. Not when the truth had already torn through her so violently.
Still, he said nothing.
Bridget’s breath caught at his silence. The quiet felt like a blow, knocking the wind from her chest. She had expected resistance, anger, anything but this. She turned slightly, just enough to glimpse the conflict etched into his features. For the first time, uncertainty crept in, whispering that she had miscalculated, that the man standing before her was not as simple as the sins of his father.
But before she could speak, Thomas turned sharply, moving toward the door. He paused, just for a breath, as if considering some last words. He paused, his breath catching, his hand lingering on the doorframe as if words teetered on the edge, but none came. He chose silence instead. Without a sound, he left, the door shutting behind him with quiet finality.
As the door clicked closed, her shoulders sagged, and her composure cracked. A single breath shuddered out of her, unsteady and raw. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, asif to hold the pieces together, but they scattered like ash in the wind.
Bridget pressed her forehead to the cool glass, hoping for relief, for clarity, anything but the hollow ache creeping through her chest. But the room was empty now, and Thomas had left her with nothing but silence.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bridget stormed intoher chambers, her pulse a relentless drumbeat in her ears. The heavy air of summer offered no reprieve, thick and suffocating, but it was nothing compared to the chill settling deep in her chest. She hadn’t felt this kind of betrayal in years, not since the Clearances stole everything from her family.
And now she knew why.
Thomas Grenville. Son of Viscount Huntington.
A man who had walked beside her, stood beside her, and kissed her while carrying the name of the man who had ruined her people. She had vowed never to trust an Englishman again. And yet… She clenched her fists, her breath uneven. How could she have been so blind?
A soft knock at the door barely registered before Catriona stepped inside, a folded linen draped over one arm. She studied Bridget for a long moment before setting the cloth down. “I heard you pacing from the hall. Are you trying to wear out the floorboards?”
Bridget exhaled sharply. She turned away, staring at the flames as if their heat could burn away the fury in her chest. “I don’t have patience for jests, Catriona.”
The humor faded from Catriona’s eyes. She took a step closer. “Aye, I can see that. What’s happened?”
Bridget shook her head, pacing to the window. The reflection in the glass showed her own rigid posture, with her shoulderstight and her jaw clenched. “Thomas—” She stopped, swallowing hard. “Grenville. I should have known there was something he wasn’t telling me. That his name—” She forced the words past the lump in her throat. “That name has haunted my family for years. I just never thought it would be his.”
Catriona’s brow furrowed. “His name?”
Bridget turned sharply. “His father. Huntington. The Huntington.” The name felt bitter on her tongue. She whirled back toward Catriona, her voice raw with emotion. “The man who carried out the Clearances. He—” Her breath caught. “He took everything from us.”
Catriona went very still. Something flickered in her expression, an emotion Bridget couldn’t place.
Bridget’s pulse pounded. “I let him stand beside me, Catriona,” she whispered. “I let him get close. And all the while, he knew. He knew. And he never said a word.”
Her chest tightened, rage battling against something far more dangerous, a pain not like anything she had ever experienced. How could she have let herself forget who she was, what she’d lost? It would be easier if she hated him outright, if she could erase every shared moment from her mind. But the warmth of his touch, the way he had looked at her beneath the stars, the way he had kissed her as if she was his salvation…
Bridget shook her head sharply. She couldn’t afford such thoughts. Not now. Not ever.
Catriona exhaled, her gaze unreadable. “And what did he say when you confronted him?”
Bridget’s jaw clenched. A fresh wave of anger rose in her chest. “Nothing. He didn’t even try to deny it.”
He hadn’t denied it. But he hadn’t looked triumphant or indifferent. He had looked… broken.
Catriona tilted her head slightly. “And did you give him the chance to explain?”
Bridget faltered. “What?”
Catriona’s voice softened, but her words cut straight through. “Did you let him explain? Or did you decide you already knew what he would say?”
Bridget stiffened, a sharp retort ready on her lips, but it never came because Catriona was right.
Bridget had confronted Thomas and had pushed him to speak, but she had never really given him the chance. She had wanted an apology, a defense, something to make the betrayal make sense. But his silence had been more damning than any excuse. And yet…
No. She shook her head sharply. This wasn’t about excuses. This was about the truth. And Thomas had kept that truth from her.
