Page 6 of To My Scot, With Love
“Bairns?” His eyebrows rose, and he shook his head in the negative, a half-smile quirking his lips. “No bairns. Need a missus for that.” He threw her a wink, and she ducked her chin sheepishly.
“A strapping gentleman such as yourself? No missus?” She shot him a skeptical glance from beneath her lashes, her eyebrows creeping up her forehead. “I am shocked.”
The tops of his cheekbones tinted a deep scarlet against his pale skin. He lacked the typical tan he had during the warmer months. And lacked quite a few freckles. She missed them. Which was a completely nonsensical thought.
“Havnae found the right lass yet,” he said gruffly, gaze dropping to where he was kicking a loose stone with the toe of his boot.
She studied him, and he shifted under her scrutiny, like he could feel it even though he wasn’t looking at her. A smile pulled at her lips.Well, I never.
“Why, Mr. Campbell, waiting to marry for love? I’d never have taken you for a romantic.”
The big, burly Scotsman was nothing more than a hard, handsome exterior hiding a center as soft and sweet as a honey cake.
His gaze slowly lifted until it locked with hers. Her pulse stuttered to a stop in her veins. Steel-blue irises turned stormy and glowed with something unreadable. Something tangible.
“Hopeless,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers. “A hopeless romantic.”
Her fingers fisted the fabric of her coat, desperate to hold on to something, ground herself with something. Because the force of that stare was burning through her, incinerating. And the way he spoke, low and soft and just for her—like his words were a confession, had embers sparking to life in her chest.
“It’s admirable,” she whispered. “If you have the opportunity.”
He winged a brow, a silent entreaty to elaborate.
“To wish to marry for love. I think that’s admirable. And enviable.”
His dark brows furrowed nearly imperceptibly, and his lips silently curved around her last word.Enviable.
The heady glimmer that had consumed his blue eyes clouded over, and his gaze flitted back and forth between her eyes. Searching. He wouldn’t know. No one did. Freddy and she were particular about that fact. They were as discreet as possible about their arrangement. Presented a united front. For the children. But…eventually, she would have to tell someone. When she finally built up the courage to take a lover. Her lover would have to know.
And Lydia thought, just maybe, she was ready to take that step. She had thrown herself—not just head-first, but every piece of herself—into being a mother, raising her children. And she hadn’t even entertained the thought of taking a lover before she had fulfilled her obligation to Freddy. But he had his heir and spare, her lovely boys. And he’d also granted her a daughter. A sacrifice she didn’t take lightly because she knew how hard it was for him to be with her in that way.
She glanced at her children, soft giggles and bleats drifting over to them. Felicity cradled a lamb in her lap, holding a bottle as it suckled greedily. Felix sat next to her, a second lamb nestled in his lap, the dashing young groom demonstrating how to feed the small white ball of fluff. The groom smiled at Felix, and her son’s cheeks bloomed crimson, and he ducked his chin.
Lydia wrinkled her nose. She’d never seen Felix blush so thoroughly before. Her attention snapped to Fitzwilliam—who had just toppled over, his overly exuberant lamb having just bounded into him. Fitzwilliam scrambled to his feet and took off after his charge.
She bit back a smile. The children were growing up. Becoming less dependent. Her heart warmed and ached at the same time.
And Lydia…was starting to realize how much she had lost herself while being a mother. As her children grew more independent, she realized she didn’t truly know who she was without them. Who Lydia Jennings was. Perhaps she was ready to find that woman now. The woman hidden inside herself.
She flicked her gaze back to Mr. Campbell.
And that woman had always been utterly enraptured by the man before her.
5
Mal
Och.Hopelesswasright.Admitting he was a hopeless romantic? It’d taken every ounce of self-restraint not to sayhopelessly in love with ye. And she thought it was admirable? Enviable? That he was pining after a woman he could never have, putting his life on hold for no other reason than every other woman wasn’ther. That wasn’t enviable.
What it was, was addle-pated.
“I don’t love him,” Lady Bentley blurted.
Malcolm blinked. Repeatedly. “Pardon?”
She delicately cleared her throat, her gaze dropping to where she twisted her hands together in front of her, and her cheeks bloomed with a soft blush. She inhaled deeply, her entire slight frame lifting, bracing. And then she squeezed her eyes shut tight and said in a rush, “I meant, I am envious of your dreams to marry for love.”
Her eyes fluttered open, but she stared off into the distance, not meeting his gaze. “I… Freddy and I did not marry for love. Our marriage was contractual. As many ton marriages are.”
