Page 41 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape (Scottish Escapes #9)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A s soon as I’d thanked Kirsty for coming over, she vanished across the patchy remnants of snow.

I closed the door and fetched my mobile from the sitting room table.

I dialled Mitch. ‘I need you,’ I blurted before realising what I’d said. My cheeks scorched.

‘Well, there’s an invitation I’m not going to turn down,’ teased Mitch.

He made me blush even harder. ‘Sorry. I mean, I need you to come over. I’ve got some rather interesting information about Ruth Mangan.’

‘Sure. Give me ten.’

Minutes later, there was a knock on the front door and I moved to open it. I realised I was fluffing out my curls and stopped. Bronte let out a volley of excited barks when she saw it was Mitch.

He sat down on the sofa and began fussing over her, and I took up a seat opposite. I tried not to register how delicious he looked, with his dark hair windswept and the stubble grazing his chin.

Mitch gave a mock bow of his head. ‘So, why did you get me over here?’

I explained about meeting Gwen and then Kirsty and what Kirsty had told me about Ruth’s jealousy of my grandma’s artistic talents.

‘Okay.’ Mitch looked at me, waiting for me to explain further.

I sat forward in the armchair, still mulling over what Kirsty had just told me.

I steepled my fingers together.

‘But that’s not all. It turns out Ruth was in love with my grandfather.’

Mitch’s eyes grew. ‘Seriously? Wow!’

‘It wasn’t reciprocated,’ I went on. ‘Kirsty said my grandma and grandpa knew about Ruth’s feelings for him, but my grandfather never encouraged her.’

Mitch’s expression was thoughtful. ‘It certainly explains a lot, doesn’t it? Why she changed her mind about exhibiting the paintings when she found out the name of the artist, and the way she reacted about the whole thing.’

‘It does, for sure.’

Bronte slithered over to me for some TLC. ‘I know this is going to sound bad, but in a way, I can’t wait until Ruth finds out it wasn’t you behind those paintings but my grandma.’ I realised my jaw was tightening at the unfairness of it all. ‘I’m sorry. That must sound so awful and petty.’

Mitch held me to my chair with his tropical sea eyes. ‘No, I get it. We’re all human after all.’

He was right about that and I so wanted this exhibition to happen for Tilda’s sake.

But I didn’t want to make Mitch do anything he didn’t want to. I knew I was beginning to think too much of him for that. ‘Look, Mitch, do you still want to do this? I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.’

Mitch shook his head. ‘Rosie, I volunteered.’ His lips quirked. ‘Well, okay. Ruth assumed I was the artist, and I chose not to correct her. You didn’t bully me into it.’

I cringed at the thought.

‘Don’t look like that,’ he insisted with a devastating smile. ‘Let’s just push on. If Ruth were to find out now, she’d have us both run out of town. More importantly, Tilda’s paintings will just continue to languish in her studio without anyone ever having the privilege of seeing them.’

I knew what he was saying was true.

‘Our goal is to get those paintings seen and that’s what we’re going to do. We’re so close now.’

Mitch stood up and towered over me. ‘I’d better get back. The forecast is looking a bit choppy out at sea, so I’d better be on standby.’

‘Sure. Thanks for coming over.’

With Bronte trailing after us, we headed towards the front door. I reached out my hand to turn the door handle, and Mitch did too. But then he brushed my hand with his fingers. He looked at me and then cupped my hand in his. He gave it a comforting, gentle squeeze. ‘Everything’s going to be okay.’

I struggled to bury a breathy gasp; the sensation of his fingers caressing mine was sending sparks of fire through my body.

Our eyes met.

I admired the generous angle of his mouth. Our hands were still touching.

Then Bronte let out another bark, yanking me back from my churning thoughts.

I tugged my hand away first.

What was I thinking? This was a mistake. I was good at creating all this heart-stopping romance on a page– or at least, I used to be– but making it real, having it in my life, keeping it– it wasn’t to be. What Joe had done, was proof enough.

I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself over a pair of Mediterranean blue eyes.

And yet… this man… He wasn’t Joe.

I swallowed.

Mitch was still looking at me. A myriad of emotions were crossing his face. ‘Rosie…’ He took a step closer. His gorgeous mouth was inches from mine. My heart was screaming for him, while my head was telling me to pull back.

The zinging, charged silence was broken by an abrupt knock on the door. Bronte barked again.

Part of me was relieved at the interruption. The other part was not. ‘I bet it’s Reece,’ I flustered, reaching for the handle. ‘I’ll tell him everything that Kirsty has told me.’

I tugged open the door.

But it wasn’t Reece standing there on the step.

It was a woman.

She had shiny, dark brown hair bouncing past her shoulders, and bold, red lipstick.

A Breton striped blue and white jumper was peeping out from under her fitted woollen coat. She was very striking.

I was about to ask her if I could help or if she was looking for someone, but Mitch’s stunned voice carried over my shoulder. ‘Romilly?’

My head jerked round to look at Mitch. I knew who this woman was; I wouldn’t forget that name.

Mitch’s estranged wife.