The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(74)

“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 He hated the fact that she seemed pale and withdrawn.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.

“I daresay she was quite ill,” Mary said.

“Hopefully she will be well enough to go to the Darlington soiree,” Esmeralda said. “James has some friends who would be excellent prospects for her.”

Victoria laughed. “When will you come to realize that Anne does not want to marry?”

“She never has,” Elizabeth said.

“Nonsense,” their aunt barked. “Every woman wants to marry.”

“I doubt that is true,” Mary said, but Esmeralda wasn’t interested in a debate on this topic. She stolidly turned the topic to the coming events of the season. As she nattered on, Hamish found his attention wandering to Elizabeth and, to his surprise, she was looking at him as well. There was a longing expression on her face.

A shot of excitement blazed through him.

Did he have a chance to win her back after all?

A fragile hope rose . . . then withered as she collected herself and rearranged her features into a mien of extreme disinterest.

Damn it all.

Damn it all anyway.

He could not live like this, in this miserable purgatory. He knew he would have to find a way to speak with her. He would have to find a way to make her understand. To beg for her forgiveness for his foolishness.

He had to.

Because life without her was a misery.

*

Oh, but Elizabeth was miserable.

For one thing, her morning illness had come back and increased over the past week, which had kept her from enjoying the company as they explored Clovelly. The ride back to London in the stuffy coach had been exceedingly uncomfortable.

The only consolation she’d had was knowing Helena understood her distress because the countess was suffering as well. Therefore, when one of them needed the carriage to stop, it stopped. Naturally, it took longer than it should have to make the journey, but they hardly cared.

Unfortunately, now that she was home, in the parlor with a cup of tea, it wasn’t easier.

For one thing, it was torment seeing Hamish right there across the room, yet so far away. She’d made herself a vow to confront him once and for all, to find out the truth about his feelings for herself and the widow Dunn, but despite her determination, she hesitated.

She was afraid to hear the answer.

Especially now that she was carrying his child.

Would he run screaming?

Given what she knew about men, it was highly probable.

Yes, at some point, she would find a private moment to speak with him—and have him break her heart once and for all—but, thankfully, that moment was not now.

With a sigh, she reached over and helped herself to a cucumber sandwich, one of her favorites. But when she took a bite, a slightly bitter, salty melon flavor filled her mouth. It tasted nothing like a cucumber sandwich should—or ever had—and her bile rose.

She realized at once that she was about to expunge the sandwich, and everything else she had eaten, and she bolted from the room to the water closet down the hall and beneath the stairs where she violently emptied her stomach and—she suspected—other portions of her body.

As she recovered, she realized that someone was beside her, holding back her hair as she bent over the basin.

“Are you all right?”

Ah, Mary. Her sister handed her a glass of water, and she swished out her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said as she stood. She set her hand on her stomach. “I haven’t been feeling well.”

“Strange,” Mary said. Her smile was munificent. “Neither have I been.”

Elizabeth blinked. “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean?”

“Please.” Elizabeth blew out a sigh. She had no patience for this. Not at the moment. “Don’t speak in riddles.”

“It’s hardly a riddle,” Mary said, wrapping her arm around Elizabeth. “I’m with child. And, I suspect, so are you.”

Elizabeth stared at her sister in horror. Oh no. How had she known?

“Darling. It’s right there in your eyes,” Mary said on a laugh. “Does he know?”

Her hackles rose. “He?” He who?

Mary rolled her eyes. “The father, of course. I am assuming it is not Twiggenberry?”

The prospect made her ill. “Good God, no!”

“No, he doesn’t know, or no, it’s not Twiggenberry?”