Page 70 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
He curled and uncurled his fists in discomfort at the girl’s praise, and his modesty touched Beatrice deeply. Such a gentle man hidden within the warrior. She adored them both.
She suddenly realized something—what she felt for Duncan went beyond lust.
Fear clutched at her, edged and cold. It had taken years to emerge from mourning, which had lashed her to Edward even after his death. She relished being her own person, yet the longer she spent with Duncan, the more she questioned her instinctive desires.
Flee? Or ask him for more?
“You want to catch the mail coach, isn’t that so?” Lou asked. “I’ve use of my family’s wagon. Afraid I can’t take you all the way there, but I can give you both a ride to the river ferry, and that will keep you on the right track.”
A server appeared with plates of coddled eggs, toast, and streaky bacon, and poured fresh cups of tea. She must have been at the assembly last night because she winked before moving on to another table of guests.
“That will suit us fine,” Duncan said. “Thank you.”
Lou reached across the table to lay her hand across his. “Once again, thankyoufor what you’ve both given Beaumont.”
Beatrice smiled into her teacup when Duncanblushed. For all that he’d been delightfully filthy last night, saying the most delectable things to her, he was still a modest man. The contrasts in him were a perpetual source of delight.
“I wish you could arrange for secret assemblies every week.” Lou sighed. “I’d give anything to dance again. Heaven knows I won’t have the chance to become a true dancer in this mossy corner of the country.”
“You could go to London,” Beatrice suggested gently. “Follow your dream and perhaps dance in a proper theater.”
The girl’s face brightened, but then her expression fell. “Couldn’t. I’ve no blunt, and if I went into service, I’d have no time to dance. And where would I live? I don’t know a soul there.”
“Miss,” Duncan said as the server walked past. “Have you pen and paper?”
“Just a moment.” The woman bustled around and finally produced a piece of paper and a writing implement. She set them in front of Duncan, who wrote on them before sliding the sheet across the table to Lou.
“There’s a name on there,” he said. “A friend of mine in London who hires builders for a construction enterprise. I’ve written the address of his place of work. Call on him when you get to the city, and give him my name. He’ll fix you up with work and a place to stay.”
Lou stared at Duncan, her eyes wide. “Truly? You would do such a thing for me?”
His cheeks reddened even more. “You’ll have employment and a roof. The dancing part is up to you.”
The girl leapt up, darted around the table, and threw her arms around Duncan’s shoulders.
“Impossible to thank you enough,” she said, her voice thick. Tears streaked down her face. “You’ve given me a way to seek my dreams.”
He grunted, but his jaw was tight, as though he pushed back his own response.
Beatrice touched her fingers to her cheeks and was unsurprised to find them damp. At the same time, she silently cursed him for being so bloody wonderful.
“I’ll let you eat your breakfast.” Lou let go of Duncan and skipped back to her seat.
As they finished their meal, Lou peppered Beatrice and Duncan with questions about London. Clearly, she was excited to begin her own journey, and Beatrice could only hope that she wasn’t disappointed with some of the more difficult realities of what it meant to live in a huge city. She herself had little experience with those realities, but it was impossible to dwell in London without seeing the contrasts of the high and low.
Where there was hardship, there was also beauty and joy.
Finally, after the last bite of toasted bread and sip of tea, it was time to go. Lou went to hitch up the wagon, and then they were off.
There was enough room on the driver’s bench to accommodate all three of them, so they spent the ridetalking more of London—especially its theaters. Lou was especially fascinated by the idea that the playwright Viscountess Marwood had been a commoner, but she plied Duncan with countless questions about the dancers that took the stage between burletta performances.
Beatrice could not decide whether she was tired of this itinerant existence or if she dreaded being stationary again. It did feel right, though, to travel with Duncan. He seemed made for life on the road, and she could hardly remember what it had been like to encounter him in the Duke of Rotherby’s refined study.
Soon, they reached a swiftly moving river. A small ferry moved from one bank to another, anchored by a rope that attached to the boat through iron rings fastened to its side. The ferryman angled the ferry into the current, letting its motion propel the flat-bottomed vessel.
“This is it,” Lou announced, nodding toward the water. “Take the road on the other side to the next coaching inn.”
More thanks were exchanged before Duncan and Beatrice climbed down from the wagon. They waved goodbye to Lou as the girl turned back toward home.
