Page 61 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
“It will be,” he said firmly. It had to be, because that’s what he was supposed to do. Otherwise, he didn’t know what else could fill the vastness within him.
She was quiet, contemplative. “The way you spoke about married life... Is that something you’d like for yourself?”
“It was,” he said flatly.
“Not anymore?” she asked, her voice as soft as eiderdown.
He could evade her question or ignore it. Yet... he found himself speaking. “I was engaged to be married. When I’d returned after Bonaparte was sent to Elba, Susannah accepted my suit. Then the Hundred Days happened, and she said she’d gladly wait for me. Only she didn’t.”
He wanted to halt the flow of words, but now that they poured from him it was like draining a suppurating wound, and he could not stop. “She ended it. Three days before Waterloo, in truth. Not quite howI wanted to prepare myself for the biggest battle of my life, but her letter came and I read it and”—he shrugged, though the movement felt as though his bones ground together—“she apologized and was terribly, terribly sorry, but she’d found someone else.”
“My God.” Beatrice pressed her hand against her mouth.
“She’d gone and married one of my fellow officers—another younger son, only Gaines’s elder brother died, making Gaines the heir to a viscountcy.”
It was odd... he’d been certain that telling Beatrice about Susannah would be an agony and mortifying. And in a way, it was. Yet there was something liberating about it, like discarding a part of himself that he no longer needed.
Beatrice straightened, and her face was dark with anger. “She jilted you for her chance to become a viscountess. That horrible—”
“No.” He held up his hand, though he appreciated her outrage on his behalf and the gratification in realizing that his own anger and sadness at what happened had been justifiable. “I can’t blame her for securing her future, when I had so little to offer.”
“But...” Beatrice clenched and unclenched her hands. “That she could hurt you like that, when you were offfighting, and could havedied...In no way did you merit being deserted for... for what?... The opportunity to have a country estate? Having someone call hermy lady? God.” Her voice turned hard. “If Iever cross this Susannah’s path, I’ll slap her face so hard her teeth will fly across the room.”
“Thank you for being so vicious on my behalf.” He didn’t relish seeing her descend into violence, but there was something primally satisfying in her righteous anger.
Horror crossed her face. “Now my comment to you at the ruin and why it seemed to injure you so greatly makes terrible sense. Hell, if there is blame to go around, then I deserve my share for unwittingly salting your wounds. I am so very sorry.”
“You needn’t apologize for something that wasn’t your fault. I am fine now. Truly.” There was an ache when he thought of Susannah, and yet, even now, he felt it ebbing away. Perhaps it might not ever fully disappear, but it would hurt less and less. Eventually, what he’d recall was the memory of the pain rather than the pain itself.
She stood and moved around the fire, then sank down to sit beside him and laced her fingers with his. “She did you a great wrong. You deserved better. And I know that you’ll find yourself a lovely woman who values you for who you are, not what you can give her.”
He looked down at their intertwined hands. Hers were slimmer than his, and smaller, and yet he’d no doubt that between the two of them, hers were equally powerful—or more so.
The ache for more pressed within him. They couldbe so much to each other if she wanted it. Yet even now, she said nothing about their brief affair enduring beyond this trip, or becoming something permanent, something official and sanctified.
Take what you can get and be satisfied with that. He could not get greedy and grab everything for himself.
When he spoke, his voice was a rasp. “Recall how you wanted to give me something that made me happy?” At her nod, he gruffly said, “You’ve just done it.”
Chapter 14
It turned out that sleeping in the out-of-doors was extremely pleasant—when one had a solid, warm Scotsman holding you all night.
By silent mutual agreement, she and Duncan had merely slept in each other’s arms. With their environment beyond their control, it seemed the safer choice than sex. She had missed the feel of him energetically pleasuring her. Yet having his embrace snug and secure around her, with his lips close to the nape of her neck so she could feel his exhalations against her skin, had been as intimate as sex. More so, because he’d trusted her enough to reveal his heartbreak.
As she sat beside the remains of last night’s fire, finishing her portion of the foraged blackberries, she watched him disassembling their camp with his usual brisk efficiency. One could tell, merely by looking at him, that he was a skilled former soldier, except that didn’t take into account the fact that he possessed agentle, caring soul, and that he yearned for a lifelong companion.
Her heart squeezed at the thought. She couldn’t be the one to give him that companionship, not in the way he wanted. Having endured the misery of marriage already, she would not again.
“That’s the last of it,” Duncan said, carefully scraping his boot across the fire’s ashes.
She stood and shook out her skirts. “What is our plan?”
“The brook where I retrieved our water should lead us to either a village or a mill, or at the least a croft.”
“We can enjoy the scenery along the way. Oh, but wait,” she said as he hefted his pack and her valise.
He paused, head tilted slightly in question.
