To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)

"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."