Page 76 of For a Scot's Heart Only
She stopped their progress, desperate.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
He tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear. Sotender and thoughtful. Something a lover would do. “I’ll take the risk, if you’re the prize.”
Her knees puddled.Drat the man!If Mr. West was a marauding pirate, he’d just scaled her walls and won the day.
Somehow, this left her both miserable and happy—an exhausting combination.
“Mr. West...”
“Thomas,” he corrected gingerly.
Which was an arrow, striking her heart. She didn’t deserve his kindness.
There was a bench conveniently facing the espaliered trees. She nudged them toward it. Once on the wooden seat, she melted into him. Rattled. And weak. Her courage evaporating. Thomas wrapped his arm around her back as though he understood. He’d give her the time she needed to unwind her fears. They sat, holding each other for the longest time. Their breathing matched; their bodies fit. Pure heaven.
Her eyes fluttered shut. Was it possible he knew how to unwind a woman’s heart? Holding her and waiting? Birds chirped and in the distance she heard voices, possibly from the village. But Thomas drew her in. His warmth and the contentment of being held by him.
In this state, words began to pour out of her.
Small bits came first. The Uprising, the league, and their four-year hunt for the lost Jacobite gold. Her diction sharpened, a fast-slicing sword when she spoke of the countess and her violent watchdog, Mr. Wortley. Those parts were surprisingly easy. Other parts, not so much.
She eventually reached back to her childhood in Edinburgh. Her mother’s infidelities, her father’s indifference, and the joys and sorrows of raising her sister, Margaret. All bittersweet memories. Thomas was very good at shepherding her through each one—especially disappointment’s deep, deep scars.
He stroked her hair gently and said a word she’d not been able to utter. “Abandonment... it is a hard thing to survive.”
She sucked in a needle-sharp breath, ready to defend her mother, but Thomas anticipated her.
“It doesn’t matter if abandonment comes by death or by decision,” he said comfortingly, “those left behind feel the same.”
She burrowed her cheek into his coat. “But I loved her so much.”
How fragile her voice was. Thomas hugged her closer and kissed the crown of her head.
“Sometimes we love people who at heart are good, yet they make awful decisions.”
Love.How staunchly her sea wolf defended it.
Bemused, she removed her gloves and showed him the most damning part of her.
The little scars on her hands.
“When I was twelve, my mother stayed home a long while. One day she asked me to deliver a midday luncheon to my father’s shop on High Street. For some reason I asked my father about his work. That was the day he began to teach me silversmithing. Nothing serious, of course, because I was a girl.” She sat up, wanting to look him in the eye. “But I became good at it. Very good.” She splayed athis is importanthand on Thomas’s chest. “I melted a portion of theJacobite treasure and turned them into guineas and half guineas. All done in the back of my shop on White Cross Street.”
Anvil hardness crept into his eyes. “Counterfeiting.”
She squirmed. A harsh word,counterfeiting.
“Passing too many French coins in London would draw attention to us. The league needed English money to occasionally... purchase information.”
She winced. This honesty business wasn’t putting her in a good light. Hooking an elbow on the back of the bench, Thomas considered the far wall.
“Let me see if I have this right. I’m enthralled by a counterfeiting Jacobite housebreaker who bribes people.”
“Well, I’m not quite a counterfeiter.”
“Either one is or one isn’t,” he said.
