Page 75 of All Scot and Bothered
“Nay,” he replied with unmistakable gravitas. “It’s an apology in earnest. I am sorry, Cecelia.”
The fine hairs on her body vibrated at the sound of her name, and her next breath felt tight and short.
He leaned back in his chair, regarding her with a solemn intensity. “I had reason to hate yer aunt, before all of this,” he confessed. “Personal reasons, just as strong as any moral objections, and I let them blind me.”
This surprised her enough to take three more drinksbefore returning the bottle to the table. “I might have reason to hate her, too, if she had aught to do with whatever happened to poor Katerina Milovic and those missing girls.” Cecelia bit her lip to keep it from shaking with emotion. “Tell me, what did Henrietta do to you?”
Did she truly want to know?
Ramsay leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table, and Cecelia carefully listened to him, doing her best not to be distracted by a man in such a state of undress.
It was only his forearms, after all. What the devil was the matter with her? Why could she not stop staring? Why did the fine hairs and toned sinew make her fingers twitch with the urge to touch him?
“Years ago, I think Henrietta realized my political ambitions. She coveted my secrets, my soul, for her collection. And when they were not readily found, she sent a professional, one of her employees, to seduce them out of me.” His jaw worked to the side in a fit of gall.
“Did it work?” Cecelia asked anxiously.
He shifted and tilted his head swiftly enough to crack his neck. “I… availed myself of the woman she sent me.”
“You what?” The question escaped her before she could call it back. She hated the feeling in her stomach that accompanied it. A pang—no, pain. Actual physical discomfort at the thought of him with a lover. Was she angry at his hypocrisy?
Or jealous?
“I didna know Matilda was employed by her, not at first,” he explained, misinterpreting her discomfiture. “I courted her for months. I proposed to her.”
If he thought that fact made the situation better, he was sorely mistaken.
“Did she accept?” Cecelia hoped she didn’t reveal her dismay on her expression.
“Aye.” He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. “But the whole affair was short-lived. I came home once to find her rifling through my possessions and personal papers. I confronted her and she confessed her true aim. Begged for my forgiveness.”
“Did she love you?” Cecelia queried.
He snorted and took a swig. “She claimed to.”
“Did… you love her?” She wished she didn’t want to hear the answer so desperately. That she didn’t fear it so much.
“I desired her.” His eyes flicked to hers. “But I can honestly claim I’ve never loved anyone.”
He’d proposed marriage, she wanted to argue. She remembered what he’d said in the Redmayne gardens in regard to love. So whythiswoman, Matilda? What made him desire her enough to do something like that? What sort of beauty had she possessed? What made Cassius Gerard Ramsay fill with enough desire to take a woman to wife?
And… why had Henrietta exploited him thus?
Cecelia blew out a disgusted breath, disturbing her ringlets before burying her face in her hands and wiping at the tired eyes beneath her spectacles. “I’m starting to wonder if I’ve any relations of whom I can be proud.” Were they all gamblers, blackmailers, and zealots? Or worse?
“’Tis a thing we have in common,” he murmured. “My brother and I have a tainted legacy as well.”
She peeked at him through her fingers, curiosity igniting beneath the dismay. “You said your mother broke both of your fathers…” She trailed off, as if picking her way carefully through a patch made of emotional thorns, unsure of where the path led next.
“Aye and a good many other men.” His tone was singed with bitterness.
“Are you one of those men?”
“Do I appear to be broken to ye?” He held his hands out for her inspection. Of course, he was admittedly impressive, all heavy muscle fortified with Scottish bones and iron will.
But what of his heart?
“I’d hate to meet whatever was capable of breaking a man such as you,” she admitted.
