"As much as you'd expect from any Scotsman. A sense of decency."
"Well, I believe you've just insulted my countrymen, but you're an improvement over her English lover, by any measure."
"He wasn't her lover," Collin spat.
"No," the man smiled humorlessly at Collin's ire. "He was something to her, but not her lover, it seems. Again, I appreciate her safekeeping. I will notify you of her health."
Collin drew himself up, tried to release the muscles of his jaw enough to speak. "You can't think I mean to drop her at your doorstep and flee. I'll not leave before she's well again."
"No?" The eyes flashed with something less than icy for the barest moment. "Fine. I'll allow you to stay until she's well. But you will not reside under my roof. There's an inn—"
"I know it."
"Right. I'd forgotten you'd been to my home before. You know the way out."
And with that, he stalked from the room, and left Collin alone with a heart hollowed out by fear.
The note did not change over the full minute that he stared.
The fever has broken.
Five days. Five days she'd been suffering, delirious and wracked with pain. Collin pressed his hands against hot eyes. Thank God. Thank God she was not dead.
"Is it.. ." The hesitant voice of the innkeeper's wife barely penetrated the rushing in his ears. "Is it bad news, then?"
"No." He swallowed the raw edge of his relief. "No. Her fever broke. I must go."
A rush of boots over the wood floor. Their boy gone to saddle Samson, no doubt. Collin rubbed hard at his face and pushed back from the table. Opening his eyes, he found himself the recipient of the first kind look he'd gotten from the plump woman who brought his ale and tended his laundry.
"Will you break your fast before you go?"
"No."
Collin bounded up the stairs. He changed his worn clothes and shaved with cold water, rushed through his washing. He would not come to her sickroom stinking of smoke and whisky, would not give the duke an excuse to kick him out.
Finally presentable, he stalked downstairs and out the door to ride for Somerhart. He'd only been allowed to see her twice, both times with her brother standing sentinel, watching every move. So he'd held her limp hand and whispered in Gaelic, speaking of her body and her soul, commanding her to heal herself. Somerhart's eyes had glinted when she soothed under Collin's touch, his icy gaze turning from angry to measuring.
She had even whispered his name once, so softly that he still did not know if he'd imagined it. That murmur had lifted his heart with hope. . . And then she'd begun thrashing and trembling on the pillows and her brother had jerked his head toward the door with a withering glare, and he had not seen her again.
A groom stood waiting for him at the front steps, a shadow of blue against the glaring white facade of the house. The moment Collin's foot touched the ground, he was assailed with anxiety. Was she awake? Would her eyes widen in horror at the sight of him among her family? She might not even know what had happened, might not know that their secret lay exposed.
Collin gave a polite greeting to the butler, instead of rushing past him as he had done before. The man was cool. . . Cooler than he was to anyone else, Collin could not say.
"His Grace awaits you in the library," the man intoned, taking his hat before he turned to lead the way.
Collin stared at the balcony above and did not curse. The library first. Fine. Alexandra was out of danger. He could stand to wait a moment.
When the library doors opened, when he saw Somerhart standing in the window, fear spiked his blood. Something was wrong. The always impeccable man was disheveled, his face tired and creased with worry.
"What is it?"
Somerhart blinked at him, hand tight around the handle of a porcelain cup. His frown was blank, as if he couldn't quite place this strange man in his home.
Collin's chest twisted. "She's worse."
"No. No. She's resting. She's better. I, on the other hand, am exhausted."
Collin's shoulders slumped with relief, his knees too, forcing him to collapse into the nearest chair.
"I must look even worse than I feel."
"Can I see her then?"
"I just left her. She's just fallen asleep."
Dryness burned his eyes. They felt large, swollen till they pressed against their lids, scraping the flesh. Collin rubbed them carefully, heard the whoosh of her brother dropping into a chair close by.
"She nearly died last night. I nearly lost her."
"But the fever has broken?"
"Yes. At three this morning. She finally quieted and her skin cooled. I thought she had died, you see. I thought she was dead and growing cold with it. But it was only the fever breaking."
The pain in Collin's eyes eased, and when he opened them he realized they were wet. Somerhart's face twisted, as if he too would weep, but his eyes were dry. Dry and sunken.
"You may ask for her hand, if that's what you plan to do. But I will not force her to anything. She is alive and that's my only care. She may do what she wishes. She may move to town and wear her breeches to balls and have my blessing."
"I would not want a wife who didn't come willingly."
"Well, good luck to you then."
Collin stared at the duke's hand, at his fingers looped carelessly in the handle of a teacup. The cup was empty. Collin felt almost as empty inside. He wouldn't be at ease until he saw for himself that she was out of danger. Leaning forward to rise, he was stopped by a sudden, sharp glance from Somerhart's bloodshot eyes.
"You had best be sure you can make her happy if you mean to marry her. I will kill you if you break her."
Collin nodded. "She would not settle for anything less than happiness."
The duke seemed to measure him, seemed to try to draw something out of him with his gaze. Whatever he found must have been enough, because he leaned back with a nod. "Well, do your best then. I wouldn't start measuring for a new jacket just yet though."
"No. But I am at an advantage. She is weak and not in her right mind."
Somerhart's rusty laughter followed him from the room.
Chapter 14
Do not let Collin fool you with his scowls and curses. I have never seen him enamored before, so I can only guess that this is the cause of his current mood.
And imagine how excited I was to learn that you are a scandalous woman. What better neighbor could I hope for? Please consider accepting Collin's proposal, whether he has made it or not. We are sadly in need of interesting women here in my part of the Lowlands. And, of course, Collin would make as fine a husband as a man can. Faint praise, I suppose, but I feel certain you are well aware of his best qualities.
Alex tucked the letter back under her pillow with a crooked smile. What a character Jeannie Kirkland was, and what a perfect friend she would be.
Collin had not proposed yet, not again, at any rate, but she was rigid with the knowledge that he would He would certainly not be lurking about her brother's home if he did not intend to do the honorable thing.
Yes, Mr. Blackburn, please come in. Shall we leave you two alone for a spot of bed play, then?
Alex smothered a giggle. This was not the time for lightness. She had to focus. She'd been utterly unprepared for his visit this morning, as no one had seen fit to inform her that he'd not only stayed in town but had actually been admitted to Somerhart itself. Nobody had mentioned one word about him, actually, and she'd been afraid to ask. Then his voice had rumbled just outside her door, answered by a maid's low murmur, and Alex had burrowed into her pillow like a squirrel seeking cover. Why her first inclination had been to hide, she couldn't guess, but hide she did, pulling the covers up to her nose and her braid over her cheek.
That bit of cowardice made her glad now, for even after an hour she couldn't begin to think what to say to him. An apology, certainly. There was no possible pleasant scenario she could conjure of his welcome to her home. At best, he'd been shamed by his own conscience, at worst her brother had done him violence.
And now he would have to propose again, and a refusal would not come so easy this time. There was Collin to think of, his pride and honor, and the shame he would suffer to be known as a debaucher of women, something so truly at odds with his character that it hurt her chest to think of it.
Her brother must be considered too. He could not help but be ashamed of her now. She'd lied to him, sullied the Huntington honor in selfish disregard of his feelings. She could've claimed naivete as a defense the first time; now she had no excuse but her own slatternly nature. So there were two men who would suffer for her refusal of Collin's offer.
And she herself, would she suffer? She thought of Collin's presence in her room, of the scent and shape that was his alone, of the shiver that took her skin even as he stood in the doorway. And when he'd smoothed his fingers over her cheek, when he'd leaned in close and whispered a prayer of gratitude over her head . . . Oh, she'd almost thrown her arms around him and wept in happiness that he was hers. So, yes. Yes, she would be injured too, if she sent him away, possibly more than anyone. She loved him. She loved him, and how could she not?
But she was a pragmatic girl, or so Collin had told her. He did not love her and might never love her. And what of her freedom? What of her precious independence?
Alex reached for her tea and nearly spilled it with the clumsy lurch. My God, she was weak as a newborn foal. And probably looked something like one too.
The cup cracked sharp against the saucer when she set it down to grab the tiny bell beside it. Danielle flew in from the dressing room before she'd even finished the first peal.
"Mademoiselle?" Her deep curtsy dizzied Alex's tired eyes.
"Oh, would you please stop that? It's my brother who's angry with you, not I."
"Your brother pays my wage."
"Well, I will pay it myself if your security would be improved. You'll not be dismissed. I don't even have to argue for you. Hart knows that I placed you in an untenable position."
"He did not seem so understanding yesterday."
"He was only worried for me."
"And so were we all." She gathered brush and ribbon and jerked the bell pull in passing. "It was a close thing, you know. His Grace had lost hope."
"Well, the problem I pose cannot be gotten rid of so easily, I'm afraid. And you did not tell me that Collin had been here."
"I did not know myself. No one is speaking to me."
"I am sorry, Danielle. Things did not go as I'd planned."
"It's fine. I did enjoy my week, though it was not worth risking your very life."
"Mine was." She settled against the pillows with a sigh, enjoying both her memories and the soothing whisper of the brush over her hair. A quick peek revealed her maid's sparkling look.
"That good, was he?"
"Oh, you have no idea. I did not, at the very least."
"Will you marry him then?"
Alex's happiness trailed away, the loss punctuated by a snarl the maid caught with the brush. "I am considering it." She thought of his hands slicking over her naked skin. "I am sorely tempted. What do you think?"
"I think if Scottish footmen look like your Mr. Blackburn I would be content to move north."
"Ha."
"And I think that if a man can tempt you to marriage, then you'd be wise to marry him. You've never been tempted before, not that I can recall."
"No." She thought of Collin again. Of him older, hair graying. Thought of him cradling a tiny child in those muscled arms. Her heart warmed, melted a little, the heat of it dripping down to pool in her belly. "He's a good man. He would be a good father, a good husband." She thought of his dignity and honor. "I don't think he'd be unfaithful."
"And you love him, do you not?"
A smile trembled over her lips. "He is easy to love."
"That is the best kind of man."
"Have you ever been in love, Danielle?"
Her maid's pert nose wrinkled. "Definitely not."
"Not even a little?"
"Hmph," she sniffed, nose now raised in the air. "And who am I to fall in love with a pale English boy? I loved my father and I was rather fond of that chef your brother hired just before we left London, but he kissed like a farmer despite his airs."
"Like a farmer?" Alex laughed. "Whatever does that mean?"
"He kissed like a man who must hurry back to the fields, not a man who has time to savor."
"Ah."
"And your Scotsman? How does he kiss?" Alex closed her eyes, imagined his mouth falling to hers.
"He kisses like . . . He kisses like a man who knows what he wants and will never have it again." She bit her lip, body already tight with the memory of pleasure.
