Maddie felt her face growing hotter. The edges of her vision turned a pulsing shade of red. âThatâs enough, thank you.â
He went on reading. â âI should have said something insipid, like sweet or nice . Or better yet, nothing at all. Instead . . .â â
âCaptain MacKenzie, please.â
â âInstead,â â he continued, â âthis silly, boastful word tripped off my tongue. Iâm not certain where it came from. But once it was out there, I couldnât take it back. Oh, my captain. I told Miss Price our kiss wasâÂâ â
She dove for the paper. He raised his hand overhead, removing it from her reach. Despite herself, she hopped in a futile attempt to grab it. He chuckled at her attempt, and she felt the loss of dignity keenly.
â âI told Miss Price our kiss was incendiary, â â he finished.
Oh, Lord.
He folded the paper and returned it to his breast pocket. âThis one isna so bad, really. There are more. Many more. You may recall, they grew quite personal.â
Yes. She recalled.
For young Maddie, those letters had served as a diary of sorts. She would write down the things she didnât dare speak aloud. All her petty complaints, all her most uncharitable thoughts born of adolescent moods and disappointments. Her ill-Âinformed dreams about what love could be between a woman and a man. Sheâd sent those letters to Captain MacKenzie precisely because sheâd never wanted anyone who knew her to read them.
And now he threatened to expose them to the world.
A sense of despair churned in her belly. She felt as though sheâd spent her youth stuffing heartfelt wishes into bottles and tossing them into the oceanâÂand suddenly, years later, theyâd all been returned.
By a sea monster.
âWhat if I refuse to marry you?â she asked.
âThen I think Iâll forward your letters on to someone else. Someone whoâd be verra interested.â
She winced. âI suppose you mean my father.â
âNo, I was thinking of the London scandal sheets. Most likely Iâd go to both and see which one will offer me more money.â
âI canât believe anyone would be that heartless.â
Chuckling, he touched the folded letter to her cheek. âWeâre just getting acquainted, mo chridhe. But believe me when I tell you Iâm nothing you ever wanted and worse than you could have dreamed.â
Of course he would be.
This was a perfect example of Maddieâs luck. Of all the ranks in the army, all the names in Christendom, and all the clans in the Highlands . . . she had to randomly choose his.
If this had only been a matter of some mortification, Maddie would have taken that punishment, and gladly. However, if those letters became public, it would mean more than simple embarrassment.
ÂPeople laughed at a fool; they hated a fraud. Perhaps she hadnât set out to deceive all of England, but sheâd made no objections to stirring her familyâs sympathy and her peersâ jealousy. Years later, after the captainâs supposed death, sheâd accepted their condolences.
Sheâd even accepted a castle .
All of her acquaintances would know that Maddie had deceived them, and for the silliest of reasons. The gossip would haunt her family for years. And who would commission scientific illustrations from a woman infamous for lies? She could find herself all alone with no means of support.
Her sense of panic only grew.
âLetâs discuss this rationally,â she said. âYouâre proposing to blackmail me with letters I wrote when I was sixteen years old. Didnât you do anything rash and foolish when you were sixteen years old?â
âI most certainly did.â
âGood,â Maddie said eagerly. Perhaps she could convince him to be sympathetic. He would agree that no one should be forced to pay a lifelong price