Page 54 of Scandal with a Sinful Scot

This coupling was not quick; he thrust into her for interminable moments, each seared in his memory. His heart and soul. Lost on some higher plane of passion, he was aware that Abbie had reached her peak twice and was building on a third. Still he pumped into her, completely absorbed. When at last they reached their climax together, it became the most perfect and awe-inspiring moment of his young life. Nothing going forward could equal this bliss.

Love. He acknowledged it. It poured through him like molten gold, and he allowed it to saturate him. But only for those few moments they were still joined, clasping each other, breathing hard. When that passed, he would reflect on it no more, nor would he accept the turbulent emotions for what they actually were. He would remain stalwart in his conviction of loving no woman. The curse must be at the forefront of his decisions. And if it meant turning away from this glorious young lady, then he would do it.

Until then…love. How powerful. How breathtakingly perfect.

The memory was soon replaced by Garrett standing in the middle of a frozen wasteland. A chill climbed up his spine, and his breath expelled in an icy fog. Damn it all, he was cold. When he had turned Abbie away at the end of her long-ago summer visit, this is where he’d resided ever since. In a barren, cold state.

At least he no longer carried his severed arm about. However, he could not will his injured arm to work. He was wearing the garments he’d worn on their ride. Ah. This is a dream. A metaphor for my life.

A lone wolf howled in the distance, the sound mournful and lonely. It grew ever closer, until the beast stood before him. The creature was huge, its ice blue eyes staring at him hungrily. Garrett dare not move. Wolves were rare in England. He’d never seen one except in paintings or picture books. The beast growled, its teeth long and sharp. With blinding clarity, he understood what this animal represented—a wolf was on the Wollstonecraft seal. The name itself meant “wolf stone.”

The curse. The wolf symbolized the curse.

It had returned with a vengeance and had come to consume him. Tear him to shreds. The wolf ran toward him, teeth bared. Blast it, he must fight, stand his ground. How could he with only one functioning arm and no weapon? The beast vaulted toward him, knocking him to the ground, ready to tear out his throat.

“No!”

* * * *

Abbie tried to keep Garrett’s good arm from thrashing about, but he was too strong, even in his weakened state. “When will the fever break, Dr. Faraday?”

The young man stared at Garrett, his brows furrowed. It had been close to twenty-four hours since they’d encased Garrett in a cocoon of tarps and chunks of ice. The room was frosty, as the windows were wide open, allowing the late January air to pour in. Abbie wore her wool cloak and still felt chilled. “I believe the crisis will be later tonight. The wound does not appear to be infected; however, there could be inflammation within. I will order more willow bark tea.”

“Abbie, come to the main parlor. Alberta and Jonas are here. We have tea and sandwiches. You must eat,” Julian said in a kind tone.

“I will stay with him,” Faraday stated. “Go. You must keep up your strength.”

Truly, she was hungry, as well as exhausted. Reluctantly, she stood, and gazed at a feverish, perspiring, and shivering Garrett.

Julian took her arm and escorted her from the room. “He will recover. He is too stubborn not to.”

Abbie gave Julian a shaky smile as they stepped into the main parlor. She’d never been in this room. It was huge, at least the size of a small ballroom. There did not appear to be gas lighting, as candelabras surrounded the perimeter, causing the gold wallpaper to shimmer. The polished parquet floor and high ceilings also gave the appearance of a ballroom.

“In the early days of my grandfather, this room saw many a country dance, and a couple of formal balls. Lately it has been used as a gathering place. At Christmas, we entertain the tenants and neighbors, hire an orchestra, and even indulge in a waltz or two. Father is not one for elaborate entertainments.”

“It is stunning.” Abbie stared up at the tiled ceiling. As with other rooms in Wollstonecraft Hall, a certain welcoming warmth and coziness beckoned despite its formal appearance.

Kind and sympathetic faces turned to her. Riordan and his wife, Sabrina. Abbie had been surprised to learn that Sabrina’s former lady’s maid, Miss Mary Tuttle, lived with the couple as a family member. And, Sabrina revealed, Mary had caught Oliver’s eye. Mary had stayed behind in Carrbury to look after Sabrina’s kitten and attend to Riordan’s schoolroom, with assistance from his oldest student, who was training to be a schoolmistress.

Alberta and Jonas smiled warmly. Megan left Jonas’s side and rushed toward her, hugging Abbie tight. “There is a late supper laid out on the sideboard. I informed the cook of your favorites,” Megan said.

“Thank you, my dear.” Her daughter escorted her to the vast array of food on display. Roast chicken, sliced hard-cooked eggs, lettuce, cheese, butter rolls—much like a picnic in January. Abbie did not stand on ceremony; she loaded her plate and took a seat at the long table in the center of the room. Everyone fell in line, selected food, and joined her.

Biting into the butterflake roll, Abbie nearly moaned aloud. Melt-in-your-mouth delicious. How could she enjoy a meal with Garrett upstairs fighting an infection? Perhaps even fighting for his life? She halted, and Alberta laid a comforting hand on her arm.

“It is perfectly fine to enjoy a meal,” her friend soothed.

“Yes,” Abbie murmured in response. She continued to eat, but not with the same enthusiasm.

“Where was Garrett shot? I mean, where outside?” Jonas asked as he buttered his roll.

“Not far from Wolf Stone Woods. Why, lad?” the earl asked.

Jonas’s nervous gaze darted around the table. “I…heard something.”

Everyone ceased eating. “What did you hear?” Alberta asked.

“Well, on the day Garrett was shot, I was in the woods. I wanted to feed the rabbits. I know I’m not supposed to leave the property, Bert, without telling you. I’m sorry.” Jonas looked down, contrite. “It’s why I didn’t say anything.”