Chapter Eleven
Hamish caught his breath at the stiffening in his cock.
Devil’s ballocks—had the lass not stepped back, he’d have been in danger of kissing her, of claiming those lips.
Why had he not noticed them before, in all their moist, pink sweetness?
Because ye were staring at her scars and griping about yer loss of fortune.
Brave lass, she hid her distress well, but her eyes—those wide, expressive hazel eyes—were now bright with moisture.
During their exchange, they had flashed with spirit, myriad green and brown hues with a shimmer of dark gold.
Framed with dark lashes, they were extraordinarily beautiful.
Not in the conventional way of lasses, but in the determination in their gaze and the undercurrent of steel.
Not once had she dissolved into tears or thrown the tantrum expected of ladies who did not get their own way—the Honorable Aurora being no exception, as Hamish had discovered not long after their first introduction when she complained about a smudge of mud on her gown.
In contrast, Euphramia had acted with a quiet dignity that set her far above the Honorable Aurora. And, come to that, above any other woman of his acquaintance, save, perhaps, his mother.
What a pity, then, that their marriage must come to an end. But she wanted it dissolved as much as he—didn’t she?
She lifted her hand, stared at the pockmarked skin as if in disbelief.
Hot needles of guilt stabbed at him as he recalled her words.
Her quiet request as to whether he feared the touch of her skin might curse him was not voiced as an admonishment, or a plea.
It was a simple statement, based, no doubt, on the opinion of the world around her.
And she didn’t voice anything that he’d not heard.
Or said himself. Murdoch had referred to her last night as a filthy, pox-ridden Sassenach.
And though Hamish had admonished his friend for his words, doubtless the lass had heard worse, and would do so again.
Would he have borne it with the same fortitude?
“Lass,” he said quietly, “I must beg forgiveness for—”
“It matters not,” she said, her tone businesslike. “And now, if you require nothing more from me, I’ll speak to Mrs. Bron about the arrangements.”
“Arrangements?”
“To find somewhere else to live. With your permission, of course.”
“Ye have it.”
She nodded, then moved toward the door. But he had no wish for her to leave still believing him to be the very worst of men.
“Lass.”
She turned and regarded him with her clear gaze. “Yes?”
He gestured toward her. “Did ye suffer much?”
“Only at first,” she said. “But when I resigned myself to…” She smiled. “It’s not of import. What matters is that I survived. I intend to make the best of that.”
“Ye do?”
She nodded. “For one thing, I am no longer in danger if I treat others infected with smallpox.”
“How so?”
“Because I am immune.”
He raised his eyebrows in inquiry. She smiled, and his stomach tightened at the expression in her eyes.
The faintest glimmer of joy rendered them more beautiful than any he had ever seen—certainly in sharp contrast to the spiteful expression of expectation and entitlement in the Honorable Aurora’s eyes.
Perhaps in interrupting his marriage to Aurora, the Almighty had spared Hamish a lifetime of trouble.
“For many diseases,” Euphramia said, “those who recover are at less, and sometimes no, risk of being infected again.”
“I dinnae understand.”
“It’s like training for a battle, or a fight.”
“A fight?”
She curled her lip in amusement. “Surely you’ve indulged in fights? Though I have no doubt, given that at your current size you could fell twenty warriors without so much as a scratch, you must have sustained injuries while learning how to beat another man to the ground with your fists.”
The beast lurking at the back of his mind let out a low growl of satisfaction. So…she’d observed his physique and concluded it to be superior to at least twenty other men.
She continued, “Having survived smallpox, my body is now capable of defense against further infection.”
“And ye know this, how?”
“Through Dr. McIver’s tutelage. He was willing to sponsor my application to train, but it was denied me.”
“How so?”
“Had I been born a boy, I would have been permitted to study medicine. But Papa—may God rest his soul—could never forgive me for being a girl.”
His heart ached at the pain in her eyes, which she tried to hide with a smile. Poor lass. From the moment she’d entered the world, she was a disappointment to the men who owned her. First her father, and now her husband…
Then her smile resumed. “I oughtn’t be ungrateful. Papa was no different to any father who’s not blessed with a son.”
“Aye,” Hamish couldn’t help saying, recalling his own father’s disappointment when Iona was born. Da had wanted a second son and had blamed Ma for her inability to give him one, cursing his lot on his deathbed for leaving Glenblath bereft of what it needed.
How different Hamish’s father had been compared to the brave, kind lass standing before him now, who, on her deathbed, had given him everything she had.
And look how ye’ve repaid her!
“I would like to think that when I’m a father, I…” Hamish trailed off with shame. Perhaps, if Fate had dealt him a different hand, the woman standing before him could have given him children.
Her cheeks reddened and, for the first time, she looked as if she might burst into tears.
“I shouldn’t have spoken with such disrespect toward my father,” she said, her voice tight. “He only wished that I’d been born a boy. At least he didn’t wish that I were dead.”
Her arrow hit home. But he welcomed it.
Then she shook her head. “Forgive me, Lord MacLennan, I spoke out of turn. Rest assured that I’ll not trespass on your life here any more than is absolutely necessary. I’m truly sorry for the turn of events and the impact it’s had on you.”
She withdrew to the door. As she touched the handle, he called out after her.
“Euphramia.”
She stiffened at his use of her name and turned.
But what could he say to her? That he was the worst of all cads? That, despite his feelings now, he couldn’t deny that he had not only wished that she had died, but he had voiced that wish to others? What purpose would that serve, other than to destroy her more than he had already done?
“I’m sorry for what has befallen ye, lass.”
A wholly inadequate speech to convey his regret. It was as well that they were to part, for she deserved a better man than him.
“There’s no need for apology,” she said, “not if, after we’ve concluded our business, we both end up with what we want.
Perhaps, rather than regret what has befallen us or what we have said and done, we should forget the past and look to the future and to our dearest wish—even if our wishes are not the same. ”
Before he could respond, she exited the chamber, leaving him with his conscience.