Page 131 of The Highlander Is All That

Lady Helena laughed. “Of course he would. He was desperate.”

Elizabeth blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently he had debts coming due and needed your dowry.”

“But . . . What about his ten thousand a year?”

The countess sniffed. “According to James, he’s been gambling heavily for years. So much so, he lost the principal. There is no ten thousand a year.”

“That bastard.”

They both turned and stared at Miss Claire, who looked far too innocent for such vulgarity. And then they both broke out in peals of laughter.

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was a relief knowing Elizabeth was safe and sound. Once the horror of seeing her beneath Blackworth faded—though it did take some time—Hamish was able to relax. Turning him and Twiggenberry over to the magistrate helped. The duke and the earl arrived in time to demand satisfaction so there was no doubt the matter would be handled to the fullest extent of the law.

But even though he was once again with Elizabeth, he wasn’t. There was something of an abyss between them.

Hamish wasn’t quite certain how to breach it.

They spent a week in Clovelly while their party explored the town and enjoyed their holiday, but it was no holiday for Hamish.

There was absolutely no opportunity for him to speak with Elizabeth alone, as she was constantly surrounded by her friends. And on the journey back to London, the ladies all rode together in the same carriage, ostensibly to plan a soiree at the Darlington’s London estate.

Hamish couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that he and Elizabeth had grown distant. He wasn’t sure if it was her annoyance over the widow Dunn or his worry over displeasing the Duke of Caithness by pursuing his cousin, but it was clear that she took pains to avoid speaking to him, being alone with him . . . looking at him.

It was crushing, but he reminded himself it did not matter.

All that mattered was that she was safe.

When they arrived back at Sinclair House, Lady Esmeralda invited the entire party in for tea, but the Countess of Darlington insisted she needed to finish preparations for the soiree, which was tomorrow evening, and as the Duchess of Moncrieff was cohosting, she needed to go as well.

So it was the St. Claires, Hamish, and Jamison who filed into the parlor.

Henley—psychic as he seemed to be—was ready with a tea tray, though he frowned at poor Jamison as he rolled it into the room. The erstwhile footman, who had been sitting next to his bride, sprang to his feet and looked confused, as though he wasn’t sure what he should be doing.

“Oh, sit,” Esmeralda barked, and he did so, though there was a sheen of sweat on his brow.

Mary took his hand and smiled. “You’ll get used to it,” she said.

“I doubt that,” he muttered.

“My lady.” Henley bowed to Lady Esmeralda. “Lord Bower and Lady Anne have returned from Scotland.”

“Oh, famous,” Victoria said, clapping her hands.

“Do tell them we are in the parlor, please.”

Henley nodded and quit the room.

“I do hope Anne is feeling better,” Mary said, pouring Jamison a cup of tea. He held it as though it were a snake ready to bite.

“Was she so very ill?” Elizabeth asked, and naturally, Hamish’s attention snapped to her. But then, had he really been paying attention to anyone else? He hated the fact that she seemed pale and withdrawn. She seemed to have been drained of her ebullient spirit. He couldn’t help thinking she was still in shock over Blackworth’s violence.

Had that horror wounded her so deeply she would never welcome a man’s touch again? The thought devastated him, in more ways than one. Mostly because he loved her so much it hurt, and he could not bear to see her in pain.

It irritated the hell out of him that he couldn’t comfort her. That somehow, he’d lost the right.