Page 8 of To My Scot, With Love
He swallowed hard. He’d love to say her name. He knew how sweet it would taste, curling that ‘L’ on his tongue. And to hear her say his name? He stomped out that thought, doused it like cold water on the hearth. Because just the thought brought a sharp, painful joy bursting through his chest.
“You are more than an employee, more than a servant, to this estate, Mr. Campbell. To me. To those children.” She gestured to her bairns, snuggling with the lambs. “So, in private company…like right now. I would give you leave to call me Lydia,” she said hesitantly. “And if you would grant me the privilege of calling you—”
“Aye.” Damn it.Ye bloody dobber.But he wanted to hear his name coming from her lips. And she was the superior here. She, a countess, and he, a mere groom. She could call him blethering bampot, and he’d never deny her. “Ye can call me Malcolm, my lady, if you so wish it. But I’m not so sure it is right for me to reciprocate the liberty.”
Her seafoam irises dimmed slightly, the curve of her lips holding a tinge of sadness. “I suppose I will make do with that.” She held his gaze, her eyes darkening to a stormy sea. “Malcolm.”
His heart rammed against his ribcage. Shite. Now that he’d heard it once, he never wanted to stop hearing it. He wanted to ask her to say it again. He opened his mouth—
“Mama! Come here, come here! You must cuddle these lambs. So sweet!”
Their heads snapped in the direction of Lady Felicity’s voice.
Lady Bentley lifted her hand in a wave. “I’ll be right over, darlings!” Her gaze darted back to his, and she gifted him a half-smile, a small, bashful one. One that had him feeling things he really shouldn’t.
Who are ye kidding, Mal. Every single one of yer feelings about her are ones ye shouldnae be having.
“As always, it has been a pleasure. Malcolm.”
And she walked off to join her children.
And he stood there, no longer a hopeless romantic.
But a hopeful one.
He truly was a blethering bampot. Because she was still married. Still a countess.
Still unattainable.
6
Lydia
Lydiafannedthepagesof the novel in her lap from where she sat on her favorite worn chaise in the manor’s library. Her eyes blurred watching the pages of the book. The one she had blindly picked up. She had needed something for her hands to do as her thoughts scattered like leaves in a gust of wind. And just like those leaves, she couldn’t grab hold of a single one.
But she did know one thing. Every thought was abouthim. Not that that was new. She bit her cheek. He wouldn’t call her Lydia. Probably feared the potential consequences. His position—livelihood. She hated the power imbalance her position created. Lord, she hated everything that the situation created. She was a married woman. She knew some men had no compunction cuckolding another man. But Lydia had absolutely zero doubts in her mind that Mr. Campbell—Malcolm—wasn’t one of those men.
She must find a way to explain her situation and get him to understand. If he was even interested in her. Which she thought he was. No one had ever looked at her the way he did. That had to mean something. Her lids fell shut. But the only way to know for sure was to put it all on the line. Offer herself up, body and soul, for the taking. For the rejection. She flopped back on the chaise and threw an arm over her eyes. And that was terrifying.
“Is something amiss, Lyddie?”
Her eyes popped open, and her gaze immediately went to the library doorway. Where her husband and best friend stood.
“Hullo, Freddy,” she said, sending him a quick small smile.
He made his way around the settees in the middle of the library and stopped before her. “I wanted to let you know I am planning another trip to London. I plan to leave in the next day or so and stay for a fortnight. I’d like to spend Valentine’s Day with Hannah.”
Lydia’s chest grew heavy. Freddy’s love for Hannah was…beautiful. And Lydia wanted a piece of that. Badly. She tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat. The thick envy and choking emptiness. She had done so well without it. Without that kind of love. She had her babies, her lovely children. And Freddy was a joyous partner, supportive, quick with a jest, keeping the family on their toes with new fun competitions and games. But she kept having moments more and more often now where she felt…adrift. Lonely.
The cushion she sat on sank and then Freddy’s finger gently tilted her chin up until their stares met. “Why so glum, Lyddie?”
She flipped the book over in her hands absently. “I’m feeling a bit lonely is all.” Her words came out tight, rough with the emotion sneaking up on her.
He pushed a tendril of her hair away from her face, his amber brows knitting. “I know you’ve denied my assistance in the past… But perhaps it is time to start looking for someone who can keep you company. The last thing I want for you is to be lonely, Lydia. The children…they’re getting older. I know they’ve kept you busy—and happy—but they won’t be living with us forever. You deserve to find someone to make you happy. I want more than anything for you to find something like what I have with Hannah.”
Piercing slate-blue eyes flashed in her mind, and something swooped low in her belly. A feeling not unlike the one she experienced when perched atop a great height.
“I think I’d like that, too.” She cleared her throat, infusing strength into her voice. “I’m ready for that now.”
