Page 34 of Scandal with a Sinful Scot

She stared up into his worried eyes; the pain was plain to see. “He is doing as well as can be expected, my lord. Allow me to explain about the sanatorium. My late husband started the clinic years ago, and when he passed his friend and colleague, Dr. Gethin Bevan, decided to continue his work. They had been friends since their boyhoods in Wales, attended Cambridge together, and decided on Standon, of all places, because of the privacy and peace such a community could afford.” She smiled. “Also for the fact the Knights Hospitallers lived and worked in the area in the fourteenth century. My husband wished to carry on the tradition of helping others in need.”

“Very worthy; I admire him for it. And Dr. Bevan.”

“The point I am making is both were made members of good standing in the College of Physicians. Well qualified and professional. Dr. Bevan believes as fervently as my late husband in the facets of addiction and how to treat it humanely. For they believe it is a disease, not a result of weakness or a bad habit.” She laid her gloved hand on Tensbridge’s arm. “I was there during the first few days of Aidan’s treatment, my lord. Since Elwyn passed I often volunteer, and have learned much about the condition.”

“Tell me everything. Hold nothing back.”

Abbie did as he asked, relating the symptoms of withdrawal: the nightmares, the tremors, and the sickness. As she described his physical condition, the pain in the viscount’s eyes increased. “The good news, my lord, is that he’s through the worst of it. Now comes the difficult part, recovery and staying sober. He will need fresh air, exercise, and a proper diet. Those aspects alone will take months. He will also have to come to terms with everything that has happened. Learn to respect himself once again. Dr. Bevan and his daughter, Cristyn, will ensure he receives thorough and compassionate care.”

The viscount laid his hand on top of hers and squeezed. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for telling me this. It has helped. Please call me Tensbridge, I cannot abide all this ‘my lord’ business.”

“Of course I will.” She smiled warmly.

“Also, thank you for introducing us to Megan. I look forward to getting to know you both better. You are a welcome addition to the family.”

“How very kind, I…” The words died in her throat, for Garrett had walked into the room. He wore a red kilt, sash, and an accompanying black dinner jacket and vest, along with matching hose and black shoes. His long hair was tied back, revealing his handsome face to perfection. A smile crept across her lips as he headed toward her. It was as if he stepped out of a Scottish castle. He took her breath away.

Garrett took her gloved hand and kissed it. “Good evening, lassie.”

She laughed at his sensual Scottish burr as warmth moved through her. He looked every inch a Highlander. How utterly appealing—and arousing.

“Quite the entrance, Brother.” Julian slapped him on the back. “Excuse me as I see to our other guests.”

Neither she nor Garrett acknowledged his departure, for he still held her hand as they stared in each other’s eyes. “The tartan is Mackinnon, my mother’s clan,” he said as he kissed her hand once more before releasing it.

“How handsome you look in it.” She leaned in and whispered, “I would love it if some evening you wore the kilt and nothing else.”

Garrett moaned softly. “Naughty woman. You’re tempting me to show you how much your words have…excited me.”

She dare not look down. Instead she glanced about the room to find that they had become figures of interest to everyone else. So much for keeping their mutual attraction concealed.

Garrett murmured, “For you? I will wear the kilt and nothing else.” Louder he said, “Shall we join the others?”

He held out his arm and she took it as they walked toward the group. Megan was frowning, and Abbie fought not to roll her eyes in response. What now? As drinks were served—Megan was given sparkling cider—polite conversation broke out and Abbie took the opportunity to pull Megan aside. “What is wrong?” she whispered to her daughter.

“Nothing, Mama,” she replied in a flat, emotionless voice.

She knew her daughter too well. “You did not like the way we were looking at each other, did you?” Megan’s lips pursed in response. “I have every right to live my life the way I wish, as you have pointed out to me more than once. Your papa is gone, my dear. I mourn him still. But I will not deny having feelings for another man. Have I asked you to deny yours for Jonas? As inappropriate as they are at this time of your life.”

Megan blinked. “No, Mama.”

“Perhaps you believe my attraction to Garrett is inappropriate.”

Megan shrugged, then gave a slight nod.

“I will not be rushing into anything. I will remain circumspect in my dealings with Garrett, as we have much to discuss. But I also will not deny that I still harbor deep feelings for him. Nor will I deny that I am somewhat frightened by those intense emotions.” Abbie paused. Should she be bearing her soul to her daughter like this?

Yes. She had to make Megan understand that relationships between men and women were fraught with myriad complications such as overwhelming passion and crippling doubt. “This is all part and parcel of falling for a man who brings his own fears and desires into the mix. It can be entirely messy and exhilarating. Bear with me as I come to terms with this uncertain situation. Be patient if I act impulsively or out of character. Allow me the courtesy to live my life as I see fit.” She took her daughter’s hand and spoke in a soft tone. “Garrett is a good man. Permit yourself to like him. Even a little bit. He is not replacing your papa; he never could. I know it as well as he. But life does march on, despite the fact that we miss those no longer with us.”

Megan bit her lower lip. “I understand. I will try, really I will.”

“Good girl. Now let us join the others.”

By the time they were shown to the dining room Megan’s mood had improved. Abbie now understood that she and Garrett were walking a fine line, their renewed relationship fragile. Any manner of outside forces could break it to bits, and it worried her. But staring at him across the table caused her heart to beat faster. Was this moving too quickly? When she was in his arms, it felt as if they were not moving fast enough.

After everyone was seated, the footmen brought a tureen of soup and other delicacies. The table was impeccable, with white linen cloth, napkins, three gold candelabras, elegant white china with gold trim, and more utensils and glasses than Abbie knew what to do with.

“We decided not to be too formal,” the earl stated. “We are going with five courses instead of ten.” He winked teasingly. “Since there is no lady of the house, I approve all the menus. We will start with an onion and potato soup, then a salmon mousse, a chateaubriand of beef, asparagus casserole, roasted carrots, and assorted cheeses and pickles. Dessert will be a raspberry trifle and assorted biscuits. How does that suit, Megan?”