Page 77 of Ghost of the Ton

“Brodie…” Evie said, but he shushed her.

“There’s naught to worry about,” he said. “Iona won’t say anything to Murdoch.”

“What if she does?”

Brodie let out a sigh. “She’s a little wild, that’s all—and she’s wild because she’s unhappy. But there’s not a wicked bone in her body. She’s like an animal cornered in a trap, begging to be free, who says more than she means. Isn’t that right, ma’am?”

“Yes,” Mia said. “She’s an unhappy girl. I wonder why?”

“I wish I knew,” Brodie said, a sigh in his voice that betrayed his own emotions.

Yes—nobody could help with whom they fell in love, whether it were a brute, a wild young girl…

…or a husband who wished for an annulment.

Chapter Twenty

As Hamish crossed the courtyard, he caught the echo of a familiar voice.

Her voice.

Last night she’d visited him again in his dreams, whispering words of desire—then she had dissolved into the dawn light while he woke with an erection fit to burst and his hands around his cock. His need for release increased with each passing day. But though their marriage was a mere formality and soon to end, he couldn’t bring himself to touch another woman—not even Maisie, who, with her pliant body and expert hands, tempted a man merely by being within twenty feet of him.

Heaven help him if Euphramia was plaguing his mind during the day also.

Then he heard it again, and she appeared at the edge of the stable yard, carrying a package, Brodie at her side.

Hamish gritted his teeth to temper the pulse of envy as she tilted her head back and laughed. What had that young pup done to merit such a reward?

Then she paused, as if she sensed him, and turned. His manhood surged as she met his gaze and her eyes widened. Devil’s breeches—did she know he had a cockstand as hard as granite beneath his plaid?

“Master Hamish, sir.” Brodie raised his arm in greeting, which was bandaged from wrist to elbow.

“Did ye hurt yerself, lad?” Hamish said.

“Aye, but it’s almost healed.”

“Thanks to ye, I’ll wager,” Hamish said, nodding to Euphramia.

“It was nothing, really,” she said. “I merely—”

“Och, dinnae talk nonsense—beggin’ yer pardon, Yer Ladyship,” Brodie said. “If it weren’t for ye, I might have lost my arm. It’s about time folk around here appreciated what ye could do for them—like ye’ve done for Evie, when no one else will help her.”

She gave a shy smile that only served to harden Hamish’s cock further. He shifted position, willing the surge of desire to subside.

“And there’s Reverend Sutherland—ye’ve cured his cough, and—”

“Brodie, really!” She laughed. “It’s the least I can do before I return to England.”

Must she always remind everyone that she was to leave Glenblath?

Hamish gestured to the package in her hand. “Is that a gift from a grateful patient?” he said, wincing at the resentment in his tone.

“No,” she said, an edge to her voice. “From a beloved friend.”

Jealousy surged, and Hamish glared at Brodie. Then Euphramia held up the package.

“It’s from Dr. McIver.”