Page 90 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
“Think I can speak for Rowe,” Curtis murmured, “but we’d be damned sorry to never see your hideous face again. All the same, it’s not an easy thing to gamble your heart.”
“There are hazards,” Rowe said. “But consider the rewards.”
A lifetime with Beatrice—her joy, her strength, her appetite for life. He could watch silver overtake the brown of her hair. He could see her across the table every morning and hold her every night. And he could spend every day bringing her the world.
But he would never be her husband.
“Didn’t plan on this,” he growled.
“Things don’t always go according to plan,” Curtis replied with a touch of humor.
There had been many times with Beatrice that they had veered from the known path. It hadn’t always resulted in something immediately pleasurable—but he had still learned something about the world and about himself.
Rowe moved back to Duncan and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m learning that the best course is to go along for the adventure.” He gazed warmly at Curtis, affection bright in his eyes. “Take chances.”
“So easy,” Duncan said with a snort.
“Never said it waseasy,” Rowe murmured, “but it’s worthwhile. It’s not a safe place, this world of ours. We have to do our best to see to ourselves and the people we love. We must be excellent to each other.”
Duncan glanced back and forth between his friends. Doubtless their lives together would have struggles, but they would also have joy and pleasure and, most ofall, love. That could never be ignored or denied, and to hell with anyone who insisted otherwise.
He’d faced death so many times. It was the work of a moment to end a life, which meant that every second one drew breath was precious and not to be undervalued. It didn’t matter if everything followed a careful order. He didn’t have to cling to definitions of what should and should not be, when all that mattered was the truth of his heart.
He had also fought many battles—yet never one for himself.
And he needed to show Beatrice that he would fight for her, too. If she wanted, he’d champion her. He would championthem.
“How eager are you both to get back to London?” he asked his friends. “Because I’ve a mind to make some mischief. Perhaps even break a rule or two, and I could use some help.”
Rowe grinned. “I am intrigued.”
“Been asking McCameron to break the rules for twenty years,” Curtis said, and chuckled. “And, damn, I amreadyfor it.”
Beatrice had changed into her nightgown and gone to bed, but closing her eyes meant revisiting the horrible moment when Duncan had begged her to leave. The pain in his eyes and words continued to slash through her, and if she did sleep, dreaming would offer no solace. The days and nights with him had been the real dream, yet they were gone now. What she’d produce for herself would be shadowy and ephemeral, tantalizing her with what couldn’t be.
After throwing back the bedclothes, she struggled into her clothing, determined to wait out the night. Staying awake wasn’t going to make the morning come any sooner, but the alternative was excruciating.
She wanted so badly to justleavealready so she might put this painful part of her life behind her. Yet it didn’t matter where she was—here, or in London, or on the other side of the planet—she’d carry Duncan with her forever and feel the ache of his loss for the rest of her days.
All she had to read were her rain-swollen copies of books by the Lady of Dubious Quality, and for once she’d no taste for reading about someone else’s erotic exploits. Especially not when she could hear sounds of many people engaged in all manner of sexual activities, even through her closed bedroom door. On some other night, it might have been arousing to simply listen to sensual abandon.
She pulled the curtains open so she could watch the progress of the night sky, urging the sun to appear.
Where was he now? Hopefully, he’d found a safe and comfortable place to pass the night. An image of him in bed, rumpled and delicious, appeared in her mind. He’d never sprawled on the mattress, clearly tooused to constrained sleeping circumstances. As he’d lain beside her, he had been warm and solid, his arm snug around her, holding her through the night and loving her even more thoroughly in the morning.
Groaning, she covered her eyes with her hand.
She would go on living as she had, finding new experiences, but they would be pale echoes without sharing them with him. It had been wonderful to discover the world on her own—and it was so much better having him at her side.
The clock on her mantel chimed four o’clock. Her heart jumped at the sound—dawn was only two hours away. Perhaps she ought to wait downstairs, in case the coachman decided to get an early start. Then again, hearing a long moan of pleasure drift underneath her door, perhaps she should just wait in her room.
She started at the sound of an explosion. The glass in the windows rattled with it.
What could it be?
There—another detonation. Thinking back to Mr. Atherton’s home, she prayed it wasn’t another group of villains attempting to invade Lord Gibb’s house. Looking around her room, she couldn’t find much to use as a weapon, though the fire poker might suffice.
Hand shaking, she grabbed the metal rod. God, if only Duncan was here, he’d know what to do. He’d quickly formulate a remarkable plan that would take the invaders out with blinding speed and devastating effectiveness.
