Page 85 of The MacGregor's Lady
“Within the hour. This child will wake up just in time to ensure Ian and I have no peace until at least the middle of the night.”
“And yet, you want more children exactly like him.”
Augusta’s smile was soft, female, and a trifle naughty. “Ian says it’s our duty to see to the succession, at least until Asher marries and he and his countess can take up the job themselves.”
A question hung in the air, like a knife suspended over Hannah’s composure. Thank a merciful God, her lapse with Asher had been timed such that conception was unlikely.
“Do you think Asher will ever practice medicine again?” She tossed the question out as a means of changing the topic.
“It isn’t likely. Belted earls must tend to other obligations. Would you like to hold the baby? He’s ever so dear when he’s sleeping.”
Hannah reached for the child without thinking. Augusta had never offered before, and Hannah had never presumed to ask. Across the narrow railcar, Ian peered up from his cards and exchanged a glance with Augusta. They communicated much in an instant, about the baby, about train travel, maybe even about plans for later in the evening.
As Hannah hugged the baby gently, she added to the list of jabs and pinches suffered by her heart: she and Asher would not exchange such potent glances while others looked on without being able to translate the nuances.
She and Asher would not spend the shank of an evening murmuring to each other of the day’s events in a peaceful darkness.
She and Asher would not use that license, and it was—all of it—her fault.
***
To cram his entire family together in a few train cars had struck Asher as a brilliant inspiration. With siblings, in-laws, children, and a cat underfoot, there was little likelihood he and Hannah would have to deal with each other directly.
He had forgotten though, or ignored, that such proximity meant they’d all be living on top of each other for two days. Watching Hannah cuddle the sleeping baby had nigh unmanned him, and he had a sense she wasn’t faring much better than he.
And now, here she was, standing on the platform between the ladies’ sleeping car and the parlor car, wearing her night robe, slippers, and a tentative smile.
Manners.When all else failed, a fellow who’d been stupid enough to dash out and procure a marriage license still had his manners. “I beg your pardon, Hannah. I didn’t know you were out here.”
“Nor I you.”
For an instant, swaying along with the locomotive’s rhythm, they said nothing.
Bloodygoddamnedmanners, MacGregor.“Are you looking forward to reaching Edinburgh?”
“Of course. It’s said to be a lovely city, though I was in no mood to appreciate it when I first arrived.”
“It’s an old city, dating back to before the Romans.” He slipped off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. “I’ll enjoy showing it off to you.”
Assuming she didn’t take ship for Boston the very next day. The thought nearly brought him to his knees.
“This coat is marvelously warm. How long will we be staying?”
HowlongcanIgetyoutostay?“At least a couple of weeks, though I’d like you to see Balfour, too, assuming you’re willing to tarry that long?”
She turned so she faced the north country rolling past under the moonlight. “I feel like I’m not goingtowardanything. I feel like I’m racketing about, like one of those round cheeses that’s rolled down a steep hill for sport.”
A fine analogy. She was leaving, and because she was leaving, she’d permitted him rare and precious liberties.
But she wasn’t gone yet. He positioned himself behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. “Do you miss your aunt?”
She relaxed against him, letting him balance for them both. “Miss her? Are you teasing me? When she declared her stomach too delicate to journey north with us, I wanted to dance one of your reels.”
“I expect Mr. Trundle did too, discreetly of course. May I kiss you, Hannah?”
If a man was to suffer the torments of the damned, then they ought to at least be the more enjoyable torments. Not the torment of watching her cuddle Ian’s dratted infant, or the torment of knowing she was leaving.
Leaving.
