Page 36 of This Laird of Mine

His future without her.

Despite the hurt she would cause him, he would go on. He would be the laird of the MacIntyres, and he would assume his proper place in society if she did what Jane and Margaret asked of her now.

“Yes.” The word was a whisper of sound that cut through her pain.

“You’ll do it?” Jane asked with a look of hope on her face.

Claire nodded and suddenly found herself hauled into Jane’s embrace. “Thank you, Claire. We will make this a night to remember, just you wait and see.”

“Thank you for the lovely gown.” Claire was certain she would remember this night every day for the rest of her life. The memory would be steeped in sadness and pain. She would yearn for a husband she could never truly have, for all the moments of his life she would miss, and she would ache with loneliness that could never be assuaged, not because of what she did for her girls, but because she realized in that moment that she was utterly and hopelessly in love with Jules.

She drew an uneven breath, at last recognizing the truth. She loved Jules.

The words repeated, ran together, and stabbed deep. She had searched her whole life for this feeling, and only when her life had been turned upside down with threats and treachery had she found what she’d searched for all along.

Merciful heavens, it was so unfair. Visions of Jules came to her, whispering, insinuating their way into her heart, gathering the air around her until it filled her with all the joy and hope and the splendor of what was possible.

Love.

Love was a gift not to be taken for granted. It was precious and fragile, elusive.

But how could she ever indulge in her newfound feelings without sacrificing the girls? She’d never had any doubts that they would be killed if she didn’t do exactly what she’d been instructed to do—to break the heart of the man she loved. She would break her own as well. Claire released her breath in a painful sigh. She moved away from Jane and Margaret’s puzzled stares to the window.

Her heart was beating so quickly she could hear it in her ears. Was there a way to keep what she had suddenly found? Could she tell Jules the truth? Would he be able to help her rescue the girls? Or would the kidnappers make good on their threats to kill the girls immediately if she so much as uttered a word to her husband?

“Claire, is everything all right?” Jane asked from behind her.

She would take that risk with her own life, but not with Penelope’s, Anna’s, and Eloise’s. Claire clasped her trembling fingers before her and turned around, suddenly finding the courage to go forward, despite the pain and anguish that pulsed through her with every thudding beat of her heart.

Claire met Jane’s concerned gaze and nodded. “If we are to have a party, then we will need a room that can accommodate all of our guests.” This time it was Claire who took Jane’s hand and pulled her from the room, down the hall, and up the stairs until they stood before the boarded-up chamber Jules had barred her from entering on their first day together.

“The old ballroom?” Jane’s eyes went wide as she pulled her hand from Claire’s. “Jules has made it clear to anyone who knows him that no one is to enter that room.”

“Well, I am not no one. I am his wife.”

Jane smiled. “I knew I liked you.”

Claire pulled on the boards she had loosened, setting them against the wall until she cleared a large enough hole to step through. “I’ve made a few changes to the room over the last few days.” She stepped back and allowed Jane and Margaret to precede her into the chamber.

“Jules hates this room. He—” Jane broke off as Claire pushed open the shutters, allowing the golden daylight to fill the chamber. “Sweet Mary, who painted the ceiling? Jules does not have the funds to hire a painter, especially one of this caliber.”

“It’s beautiful,” Margaret said with awe, then turned to Claire. “You did this, didn’t you?”

A rush of fear and pride brought the sting of tears to her eyes. “Yes,” she admitted, desperately wanting their approval.

She waited breathlessly as both women leaned their heads back and studied the beginnings of the elaborate painting she had planned. At the center of the room, Claire had painted the ceiling in perfect perspective so that the flat surface opened up into the illusion of a three-dimensional dome. After learning of the sorrow that had befallen not only Jules, but this room, she had wanted to transform it, make it appear as though it opened up into the heavens above.

“How on earth did you do that?” Jane asked, her voice tight with reverence.

“I paint,” she said simply.

“You do far more than paint,” Margaret said with a laugh. “How did you manage to make the ceiling look as though it had sprouted arches and pillars? It looks three stories high.”

“The technique is called quadratura, and unites architecture, painting, and sculpture into one form. I taught myself how to paint this type of mural by imitating the work of the Italian painter Andrea Pozzo.”

“Does Jules know you possess this talent?” Jane stared at Claire now.

She shook her head.