Page 84 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
“At the least,” Gibb said after a pause, “abide with us for a time whilst your horse rests.”
Duncan choked back a growl. It made the most sense to linger for an hour or two as the horses were watered and given some respite after the hours on the road. They were borrowed animals, as well, and it would be poor form to return them to Atherton in shoddy condition.
“If there’s a parlor or some corner you can stow me,” he finally said, “that should suit me well enough.”
Gibb nodded and waved for them to follow him inside. As they walked into the foyer, the gentleman kept up a stream of cheerful chatter.
“Guests began arriving yesterday evening, Lady Farris,” he chirped.
“If we were having a competition to see who had the most eventful journey here,” she said, “I would win.”
“It certainly sounds that way!” Gibb chuckled. “Everyone’s currently amusing themselves around the house. Games of billiards and walks in the garden. All of which are available to both of you, of course. Oh, Lady Farris, last night your servants delivered your luggage—somewhat worse for wear, but my maids have seen to your clothing and cleaned and repaired anything that received damage during transit. Your servants told an incredible story of a storm.”
“There was a pack,” she said. “Belonging to the major.”
“Ah, we wondered why one piece of baggage contained a pistol and neckcloths. Mind, we’re open-minded here, but it was a bit unusual for our standard bill of fare. Yes, that pack is also in the room we prepared for you, Lady Farris.”
“Please have it brought down as soon as possible,” she said woodenly, “so the major can leave when he so chooses.”
Duncan willed himself to ice over as solidly and thoroughly as a lake in midwinter, but that didn’t stop a hairline crack of pain to thread through him.
As Gibb continued to guide them through his home, offering anecdotes about the house and its contents, they passed other guests, and again Duncan was surprised by their very ordinariness. They were of varying ages from late twenties to early seventies, sundry body sizes and shapes, some striking or beautiful and some plain-featured, and all perfectly friendly as though theywere greeting people who were there to spend a week merely taking country walks and playing charades, not fucking with abandon.
They passed the billiards room, and Duncan’s stomach sank. Inside the room were several men ranging in age from their thirties to their fifties, and they were, to a one, uncommonly handsome and well-proportioned. One looked at Duncan with interest, but the other men straightened when they saw Beatrice. Someone in their ranks would be her next lover.
No scenario could make any part of this situation bearable.
“I’ll make introductions later,” Gibb nattered on. “It’s fortunate you arrived when you did, because our grand gala is only hours away. I like to pride myself as a host and believe that every day under my roof is a delightful one, but you assuredly do not want to miss the first gala. It perfectly sets the tenor of the week. Ah, here we are. The Roman Room.”
Gibb opened a door, revealing a parlor adorned with classical-style furnishings and artwork. He gestured for Beatrice and Duncan to go inside, and when they did, Gibb announced from the threshold, “I’ll have tea and refreshments brought to you. After the arduous journey you’ve both had, surely you’ll want something to revive you. Major, an honor to meet you.”
And then Gibb was gone, shutting the door behind him, leaving Duncan alone with Beatrice.
Chapter 20
All the words that came to mind seemed too small and feeble to bear the weight of Beatrice’s unhappiness. She could only dwell in the silence that stretched between her and Duncan.
With ramrod-straight spine and hands clasped behind his back, he stood at a window that looked out on the eastern side of the house. The view was of a hedge-lined path, and a couple strolled down it. They appeared to notice that they were being observed, so they waved at Duncan, who gave a clipped nod in response.
The couple continued on their walk, the woman saying something to the man that made him chuckle. They looked very much like a husband and wife who had spent much of their lives together. And yet they each were broad-minded enough to attend Lord Gibb’s house party as a duo.
Beatrice’s throat tightened, to think that this man and woman had reached such closeness—they wantedwhat the other wanted and gave and took with equal measure.
Duncan turned away from the window.
Her heart seized to see how tightly he clenched his jaw and how his eyes flashed with pain. The hell of it was, there could be no way for either of them to emerge from this unscathed. All the choices led to someone being terribly damaged.
“I don’t know how to say goodbye to you,” she said, her throat raw.
“Was thinking the same thing.”
His eyes shimmered, and she realized that he was on the verge of weeping. And while there was nothing wrong with tears, the fact thatthissituationmade this impossibly courageous and resilient man cry was torture.
She went to him because she couldn’t stand the gulf between them. As she stroked her fingers down his face, his whiskers abraded her fingers, and she leaned into the sensation.
“You are everything good in a person,” she whispered. “You are strong and caring and you make me laugh and appreciate me as I am. I will hold you in my heart always.”
“And I’ll do the same.” He captured her hand in his and pressed a kiss into her palm.
