Page 119 of The Scottish Duke
She smiled at him, such a lovely expression that it froze the moment. He would always remember her smile, the day, the place, and the hard thumping beat of his heart.
Mist rose up behind her, framing her face. She was even more beautiful now than she’d been a year ago. More enchanting because he’d been shown her mind, her heart, all those qualities that made her Lorna and therefore special.
“And then you turned into a prig,” she said, startling him.
“You called me a prancing mouse that night.”
“I was dreadfully hurt by your words. You’re lucky I didn’t think of something else revolting to say. A prancing mouse isn’t that bad, actually.”
“It was a unique insult.”
“What are you going to do about Mary?”
“Send her away,” he said. “She’s been offered the use of the London house as well as the other properties and always turned them down. I’m afraid the time has come for me to choose where she’s going to live. Anywhere but Blackhall.”
Her silence concerned him.
He stood and held out his hand. Instead of giving it she handed Robbie to him. He wasn’t as adept holding his son as she was, but they managed well enough.
“What are you thinking?” he asked as they began to walk.
He genuinely wanted to know, a fact that would have startled him before he’d come to appreciate Lorna’s mind, her way of thinking, and her streak of pragmatism.
“I think it’s unfair that someone should be rewarded for being evil,” she said.
He stopped in the middle of the path and regarded her.
“If she goes off to live in a village somewhere, no one will condemn her,” she began. “They’ll probably think they have someone of stature living there. After all, her father was an earl and her sister married a duke. I doubt the local minister will charge her with being a slattern and befouling the air of the village simply by living there.”
It was his turn to remain silent.
“Yet she tried to kill someone. At the very least, she tried to hurt someone. Even Matthews had to pay the price for destroying... what did you call it, my apothecary?”
“It seemed an apt term.”
“I like it,” she said. “Matthews lost his position. What price does she have to pay for her monstrous actions?”
“I never gave her cause to feel anything but sisterly affection for me.”
“You don’t have to give a woman cause,” she said, smiling up at him. “All you have to do is glance at them.”
Her expression had his heart thumping in his chest.
Something had happened to him. Did she have an herbal remedy for him? Was there something he could ingest or rub on his chest? Some medicament that would cure what he had?
Did he want to be cured?
He wasn’t going to name it. He didn’t want to slap a label over it. He knew, all too well, what he was feeling, and he couldn’t banish it or manage it.
He’d never been at the mercy of his emotions before, but now he was.
Need could be regulated. Cravings could be mastered. Except this one.
He craved seeing Lorna like he sometimes wanted a few of cook’s raisin scones or the peat smokiness of a good whiskey. No, more than that. She was a lungful of fresh air, a glass of sparkling water. She was sunshine and growing flowers, laughter and hope. She was all those things necessary to his life and important in it.
When had that happened?
The force of what he felt was petrifying.
