Page 42 of Never a Duchess
Lillian should object, but the duke had a point.
“And if she finds herself ruined?” Adam goaded amid the babe’s piercing wails. “What then?”
“Ruined is preferable to dead.”
Adam inhaled sharply. “Then let me be frank. Do you agree to marry her if she finds herself in an unfortunate predicament?”
Merciful Mary!
Lillian was about to throw her hands up in protest, but Dounreay said, “I’ll nae marry a woman who doesnae love me. And Miss Ware has nae desire to marry or live in the Highlands. It would be impossible for me to live anywhere else.” The duke surprised everyone when he changed the subject and said to Eliza, “Might I take the bairn?”
Eliza stood dumbstruck.
Yet the kind gesture had heat coiling low in Lillian’s belly.
Dounreay shrugged out of his coat and handed it to her. The warm garment carried his potent male scent, coupled with a hint of bergamot. It took every effort not to bury her nose in the material, hug it tightly and sigh.
He grabbed the plaid blanket off the chair and took Alexander into his muscular arms. “Have nae fear,” he said in his soft Scottish burr. “I’m taking the bairn outside.”
They watched him open the terrace doors and slip out into the garden. He held Alexander against his shoulder, the blanket draped around the boy like he was a child of the Highlands. Heir to a clan.
Lillian found herself drawn to the double doors where she merely watched Dounreay, her palm pressed to the glass pane, as he held the child up so the breeze cooled his cheeks. He broke into a Scottish ballad, a gentle tune that might lull the fraught babe to sleep.
For some inexplicable reason, tears welled.
Her chest grew tight, her limbs heavy.
The intense inner ache became unbearable.
What sort of witchcraft was this?
Sensing a presence behind her, she turned to see Adam standing at her shoulder, equally mesmerised by the unfolding scene.
“I’ve always liked Dounreay,” he said almost to himself.
She had always liked Dounreay, too. Hence why she had fought the attraction with every fibre of her being.
“He’s more dangerous than I imagined,” she admitted aloud for the first time. “He makes me feel things, emotions I would rather keep buried.”
“Emotions relating to Mother?”
“To Mother, to Mr Bloom, to all those who pretended to have an affection for me which proved false. To those who abandoned me when I needed them most.”
“I’m sorry if you count me amongst those who neglected you, Lillian. But I struggled for a time too. Know I care for you deeply, as did Mother.” Adam’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, strong, reassuring. “And regardless of what you thought you felt at the time, you did not love Mr Bloom.”
“No, but his attention filled the hole for a while.”
“Nothing fills the hole left by Mother’s passing. But love helps you navigate the void. Love helps the blood flood the heart’s chambers, urging you to live again.”
Though reluctant to tear her gaze from Dounreay, she faced her brother. “You suffered terribly and survived. Perhaps there is hope for me.”
“Of course there’s hope for you.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and kissed her forehead. “You should have told me about the abduction, about the investigation, about Dounreay’s involvement.”
“I know.” For the first time in forever, she had felt excited, useful, desired. “I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want to lose your respect. I don’t want to lose you, Adam, yet I fear rebelliousness is in my blood.”
He smiled, though his watery brown eyes reflected something of their shared pain. “You could never lose my love or respect, Lillian. Tell me, tell me what you need. Tell me how I can help you. I shall do anything you ask.”
He couldn’t help her. This was something she needed to work through on her own. “I need you to trust me. To give me the freedom to deal with my problems.” The insecurities she had never worked through. “You know I need never marry. My inheritance will support me well into my dotage. And though I shall do my utmost to avoid the gossipmongers’ nets, I must learn to listen to my heart, Adam.”
