Scandal with a Sinful Scot(31)

He gave a short bark of cynical laughter, then frowned. “I’m still stubborn. I like to believe that growing older and wiser has made me less selfish. And the curse? I’ll not lie, it’s still there. I believe there is merit to its existence. But I’ve decided that it will no longer rule my life. I’ve told you this, Abbie. I love you too much to set you aside again. It would destroy me more than any damnable ancient curse.” He smoothed her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “How to make you believe it? You will have to trust me. Trust, Abbie. It is holding you back. You love me, but the trust is not there. Not one hundred percent. And until it is, there can be nothing permanent between us.”

A lone tear trailed down her cheek. “I do so want to trust you. There is such a hollow feeling inside me and it’s been there for years.”

He kissed her forehead. “Since I hurt you.”

Abbie nodded, sniffling. “When I saw you in Standon, I was breathless. Stunned. Thrilled. I had to see you again. Talk to you. Touch you. All the feelings I had hidden away roared to life, and without properly thinking it through, I journeyed here. For I had to know: Was what we shared all those years ago real or merely a youthful, reckless folly? And beyond my own desires, you needed to be told of Megan. Bitterness was not a sufficient reason to keep her existence from you.”

“Allow me to declare once again: You are bold and courageous for coming here. Because you are correct. My stubborn self refused to seek you out, even though you’ve haunted me, especially in my dreams. But here we are, my love, flaws and all. Acknowledging our mistakes, our frailties, and our faults. Where do we go from here? You spoke of a fresh start. I would advise both of us to embrace it.”

Abbie leaned against his chest. “And someday live at Wollstonecraft Hall?”

“It is large enough to accommodate us. The men of Wollstonecraft Hall are a strange sort, all living together as we do, but we are a solid, supportive family, and they would welcome you and Megan warmly.”

“They have already,” she whispered.

“There. All that remains is for us to decide what to do next. Marriage is the logical step, but I will not rush you. I promise.”

Garrett made it sound so easy. Being here, after what they had shared, it would be tempting to agree to anything he proposed. Which made it all the more imperative that she remain cautious. Abbie also had to think of Megan. Her daughter already had her life upended, and though she appeared to be adjusting a little, she needed more time. Truthfully, Abbie did as well. “Since I’ve already decided on the Monday departure date, I should follow through. If it were only myself to consider, but Megan—”

“I have a suggestion. I would like you both to accompany me in the early spring to Scotland. A few weeks at most. Discuss it with Megan. I understand that you have concerns about her schooling, but we will make it up somehow. Think about it. Will you?”

Abbie gave him a stern look. “You must cease interrupting me, Garrett. I don’t like it.”

“I stand admonished. And you’re right. I will endeavor to not do it again.”

His words were sincerely meant, and she smiled in response. “Thank you. I will discuss the journey with Megan. We’ve never been to Scotland, and we would like to be there to support you in dealing with your grandfather’s burial and estate. I can’t see her saying no, but there is a chance she may prefer not to go.”

Garrett took her hand. “I believe she is warming toward me.”

“How could she not? But in the interim, we will return to Standon, as there is much to consider.”

He kissed her hand, a sly smile curling about his sensual lips. “I’ve been thinking; if we do decide to marry—and I am not pressuring you, mind—your house in Standon could be donated to the sanatorium, as a place for family to stay when visiting patients. Or, when I set up the foundation, young physicians fresh from university can reside there as they study under Dr. Bevan. If he is amenable to the scheme. Ultimately, it is your property, your decision. I would never presume to interfere. Ever. I am a progressive Wollstonecraft, after all.”

No pressure? Good heavens. “My, you have been making plans.”

“Merely seeing my way clear to that fresh start. A new path to follow.”

“I will not be led about like one of your prize horses. I make my own decisions concerning my life, as I always have.” Abbie told him this in a matter-of-fact tone, not angry, but firm.

“Absolutely. As I said, your decision. Always.”

She cupped his cheek. “I will discuss all this with Megan once we return to Standon. We will plan from there. I have much to mull over. As you say, there is no rush.” She kissed him gently on the lips. “For now, we will make the most of the time remaining, especially the nights.”

Garrett pulled her close and began kissing and caressing her, Abbie understood that the trust between them was fragile. As far as marriage, she could not think about it now, for deep down in her soul she was frightened witless that he would hurt her again. More proof she hadn’t been thinking clearly when she impulsively made this journey. The love? It was growing stronger than ever. But would it be enough to carry them forward?

* * * *

Aidan Wollstonecraft opened one eye and looked about, taking in his surroundings. It was as if he were staring down a dark tunnel. Considering the dimness and the fact that all was blurry, he could not see much of anything at all. He’d been in and out of a haze for who knows how long, with strange people hovering around him. Often he wondered if he’d conjured them in his dreams, especially the attractive young lady with the kind voice and gentle touch. Thankfully, she felt real enough. But most of his dreams had been disturbing, revealing flashes of appallingly depraved scenarios that couldn’t possibly be real. Or were they?

One event haunted him more than others. A vague memory replayed in his mind: Aidan offering himself for money in order to purchase opium. Surely, he had not sank to such depths. He had often resorted to thievery when funds ran low since he’d stopped collecting his quarterly payment. It hadn’t seemed right to use his father’s money for his vices, though last month he’d been desperate enough to consider it. Aidan had even stood outside the bank, debating whether or not to collect it.

Another recurring reminiscence tied in with selling himself for coin: In his dream there had been a brute of a man with a lustful gleam in his eye. Aidan banished the image. It was only a nightmare. It had not happened. But hell, it seemed real enough. Dismissing the disturbing thoughts, he rubbed his forehead as a sharp pain throbbed behind his eyes. If only he could focus and see things clearly, literally and figuratively.

With a great deal of effort he tried to sit up, but he discovered that his right wrist was bound to the bed rail. What in the hell? Aidan gazed about the room, which still lay in shadow. More hazy images, though he could focus on a glass of water sitting on the table by his bed. Grunting with the effort and hampered by his restraint, he tentatively reached for the glass. It slipped from his hand and fell to the floor with a resounding crash.

The door opened, and someone entered. “Oh, you’re awake.” A female voice.

“Sorry…glass…” His voice was rough and gravelly, his mouth dry.

“It’s all right. Silas, could you please clean this up, then fetch Mr. Black a fresh glass of water.”

“Right away, Miss Bevan.”

Mr. Black? Aidan’s fuzzy and fevered brain began to doubt his own existence until he recalled that his brother, Riordan, used Black, their Irish mother’s maiden name, when he’d accepted the schoolmaster position. Fine, he would go along with the facade. An image of Garrett carrying him from a carriage filled his mind. “My…uncle…” Blast it, why couldn’t he string more than two words together?

Miss Bevan moved to his right side and unfastened the leather strap binding his wrist. “Allow me to bring you up-to-date: Your Uncle Garrett and another man, Edwin Seward, brought you here from London approximately three weeks past. You were deathly ill from the effects of an opium addiction. My father, Dr. Gethin Bevan, is the physician who runs this sanatorium. My name is Cristyn Bevan. I’m his assistant and am training to be a nurse. You are in Standon, Herefordshire. Today is Thursday, January twenty-second. I will fill in more details when you are better able to process the information.”

Aidan rubbed his wrist as he watched Miss Bevan move efficiently about the room. Perhaps it was wise that she not enlighten him too much; he was having a hard enough time following what she’d just said. Garrett brought him from London. How mortifying. Flashes of sin and vice filled his mind and he shook them away. Bad enough that they haunted his dreams; he did not need them invading his lucid state. Not that he felt altogether coherent.

Taking hold of the heavy drapes, she pushed them aside and blinding sun filled the room, causing Aidan to wince in pain. “I believe we shall endeavor to sit you upright in a chair today, and see that you partake in a meal.”

The thought of food caused his stomach to lurch. Who could think about food when every bone in his body throbbed and his head pounded? His angel of mercy returned to his bedside and smiled. With the draperies open and the room illuminated he could see her more or less clearly for the first time, and she was not some blurry figure hovering about his subconscious. God, she was beautiful. Her hair was as black as his, her skin as luminescent as the finest string of pearls. But it was her eyes that caught his attention. An indescribable shade of blue-violet that he’d never seen before. How easily he could get lost in them. Apparently, he was still an unrepentant rake if attracted to a woman in this sorrowful physical state. Cristyn. What a lovely name. “You’re shockingly malnourished. We must see that you eat, but we’ll start slow and build your appetite. Ah, here is Silas. Assist me in placing Mr. Black in the chair.”