To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)
"Of course not. I do not hold her responsible for my brother's death."
"Don't lie to me," Somerhart growled, jaw set with desperate anger. "I could see it clearly on your face when we spoke. You held her in contempt."
"I did. Then. After I met her .. ." His shrug sent pain dancing down his arms.
"So how did she end up half-dead and in your care?"
"She. . . She came to Edinburgh, came to the fair. When I saw her there, we . . ." He could not say the truth, could not tell him that his little sister had propositioned a man. "We arranged to meet. For a week at her cottage."
"For a week." Somerhart placed the glass carefully on the marble top of a table. "So there was no doubt of your intention."
"No. None. I meant to have her."
Collin did not step away when her brother approached, he did not flinch at the sight of his fist. He was ready for the impact. Still, it propelled him backward, flung him off his feet to land with a thump onto the floor. His jaw rang with pain, a vibration that traveled at gleeful speed to his head and set off a sympathetic ache there.
He was dimly surprised that Somerhart did not leap upon him and pummel him into the rug. He only stood over him, fists clenched, panting with suppressed violence.
Collin rubbed his sore face and staggered to his feet, waited for the room to right itself. The dim clink of glass informed him that Somerhart had moved away.
"She is not a whore, you bastard. She is a girl, barely a woman."
"She was a virgin."
Collin watched the man's hand still, watched his jaw jump and clench. "What?" That one word was razor sharp and cut into Collin's conscience with ease.
"She was a virgin."
"Was."
"Aye. By the time I realized, it was too late."
"You mean by the time you penetrated her. My baby sister."
Collin felt it was wiser not to respond to that.
Somerhart's eyes rose from his drink to sweep him with a contemptuous sneer.
"I suppose you expect to marry her now, a woman of high rank, a woman with an income twice yours, I don't doubt."
"I proposed immediately. She refused in like time." "She refused?"
"She says she is not looking for a husband."
"What the hell is she looking for then?"
Collin cleared his throat, not knowing how to answer, but Somerhart stared at him, waiting. "She wants no more than what you have, I suppose. Freedom to do as she wants."
"She's had as much freedom as she's going to get."
"I'd imagine so."
Somerhart's arm jerked in a blur of motion and Collin heard crystal explode against the far wall in a great cacophony of glass and liquid. "God damn it to hell!" the duke growled, his face suddenly savage, brutal with frustration. No, not frustration, Collin realized. Fear.
"She will pull through this." Collin wondered at the certainty in his words. "She must. The scarlet fever is a childhood illness. Surely she's strong enough to withstand it."
"When was she last conscious?"
"Last night. Last night around ten. I woke at midnight and found her as she is now."