Page 69 of Ghost of the Ton

“What do ye say, Jamie, lad?” Ada’s mother said.

“Thank ye, Lady MacLennan.”

“Good lad. The minister’s brought ye up right. Ye’d better run along now in case he’s wondering where ye are. If he asks, tell him ye’ve been helping the laird and he’s to come to me if he disnae believe ye.”

“Aye, Mrs. MacLennan.”

The boy reached toward Mia, offering the flowers. When Mia took them, he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“That’s enough of that, lad,” Allan said. “Ye dinnae go mauling the lady of—”

“It’s all right,” Mia said, embracing the little boy. “Today’s been an ordeal for you, hasn’t it, young man?”

Jamie nodded his head against Mia’s body.

“Poor wee soul,” Ada’s mother said. Then she lowered her voice. “His ma was taken when he came into the world. But he’s a good boy for his da, aren’t ye, Jamie?”

“I’m going to be minister when I grow up to be a man.”

Mia smiled, then suppressed a yawn.

“I think ye should all leave”—Hamish glanced at Mia—“Lady MacLennan in peace now. She’s tired and needs her rest. Mrs. MacLennan, I’ll send Elspeth over to ye after breakfast tomorrow.”

“Come along then, Ada,” Allan said as he lifted the girl into his arms. Then he nodded toward Mia. “It’s a good deed ye did, ma’am. I’ll tell folk hereabouts to come to ye if they’re in need of a doctor.”

“Come along, Jamie, lad—I’ll walk ye home,” Mrs. MacLennan said, and they exited the cottage, leaving Mia alone with her husband.

She rolled up the unused bandages and placed them in the drawer. Then, as she turned, she felt a solid wall against her back. No—not a wall, a living, breathing man. A pair of arms circled her waist and drew her to him, and she felt his muscular body against her back—the broad chest, the taut thighs, and, in between…

…his length, hardening against her back.

Then he dipped his head and she felt his warm breath in her hair. Her skin tightened with want and she suppressed a cry. He splayed out his hand on her stomach and shifted it higher until his fingers reached the underside of her breasts. A ripple threaded through her as she felt her skin tighten, and when she looked down, she blushed at the sight of two little peaks poking needily at the fabric of her gown.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, which reverberated through her bones, and she held her breath, willing his hand to move higher. Then it did, and she let out a low cry as his hand cupped a breast, warm and welcoming, his fingers caressing, squeezing.

“Oh!” A cry escaped her lips and she tilted her head back, offering her throat to him. A thick warmth pulsed in her center and she shifted her legs, the heat rising as she felt the slickness between them.

“Oh, Mia…” he whispered.

Mia…

How she’d longed to hear him say her name!

“Hamish,” she breathed, parting her thighs and pressing herself against his hardness.

He let out a low curse, then released her. Cold rippled across her back and she jerked free, swallowing her shame at her wantonness.

Pockmarked whore, they called her—and here she was, pockmarked and whoring herself to the man who didn’t want her.

“Mia, forgive me, I—”

“It’s Euphramia,” she said, unable to disguise the bitterness in her voice. “Or Miss Lucas—seeing as that’s what I’ll be called soon, and you’ll be glad of it.”

“No, I—”

“Just go!” she cried. “I’m tired.”

“Then get some sleep. I’ll return tomorrow.”