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.

“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?”

“It’s certainly not Twiggenberry.”

Mary’s eyes glimmered with humor. “Hamish, then?”

Elizabeth’s stomach lurched again, but this time it had nothing to do with a cucumber sandwich. “Mary, we should not be having this conversation.”

“Nonsense. I’m a married woman. And you . . .”

Elizabeth glared at her.

“You have . . . experience.”

“You may not tell anyone,” Elizabeth hissed.

“I wouldn’t dare. But you should.”

“What?”

“It’s not a secret one can keep for long. Besides, he deserves to know.”

“He has another woman back in Scotland.” All right, she was foolish to share such information, but it was boiling in her belly.

Mary boggled. “He does not.”

“He does. Ask Bower.”

“Oh dear. That is unfortunate.”

“Do you think?”

Mary tapped her lip. “He doesn’t seem to be in love with another woman.”

“Men are most excellent at hiding their feelings. You will learn that in time.”

Mary smiled brightly. “Jamison hides nothing from me.”

Ah, innocence. What a tragedy it was.

“Shall we try again?” Mary asked, taking her arm.

“Yes, let’s. But no more cucumbers for me.”

Her sister laughed. “I should think not. At least, for a while.”

As they took their seats in the parlor, everyone wanted to know what had happened, and fortunately, Elizabeth was spared this humiliation when the door opened and Anne and Ranald entered and all attention turned to them.

Elizabeth stilled and gaped at her sister. There was a smile on Anne’s face unlike anything she had ever seen. “Hello,” Anne chirped. “You’re back! And oh, Elizabeth, they found you!” She rushed over and enveloped Elizabeth in a huge hug.

Shocked at this uncustomary warmth, Elizabeth was at a loss for words.

“Technically, she was not lost,” Victoria announced as Anne hugged the rest of her sisters and their aunt.

“Really?”

“The Duchess of Moncrieff had hidden her in Cornwall.”

“Cornwall!” Anne cooed. “How lucky for you.”

Elizabeth nodded. “It was lovely.”

“Pity Twiggenberry found her though,” Mary said.

“He tried to kidnap her,” Victoria gushed. “It was so terribly romantic.”

Elizabeth frowned at her sister. “I assure you, it was not.”

“And then,” Victoria continued on with a fiendish glee, “Blackworth tried to violate her.”

Bower frowned and bristled.

“Oh, no worries,” Esmeralda assured him. “Hamish saved her.”

“Did you?” Anne asked, her eyes shining. “How heroic.”

”Elizabeth,” Bower asked, his expression concerned. “Are you all right?” Thank God someone was concerned about her.

“Yes, I am. Thank you very much, Lord Bower.” She shot a speaking look around the room.

“You should probably call him Ranald now,” Anne said on a sigh as she took a seat and selected a cake. Bower sat beside her. Elizabeth noticed they were far too close for propriety. And then, to her bemusement, Bower took Anne’s hand. And Anne allowed it.

Silence settled like a boom. Everyone stared.

Aunt Esmeralda cleared her throat. “I . . . ah . . . What do you mean?”

“Well,” Anne said, her gaze on Bower’s face. “While you were having your adventures . . .”

“We were having an adventure of our own,” Bower finished for her. Then he lifted her hand and kissed it.

Aunt Esmeralda gaped at the couple like a landed cod. “What are you saying?” she asked in a choked voice.

Anne’s smile was brilliant. She skated her gaze around the room. “We were married in Scotland.”

“Married?” Elizabeth breathed. What a shock. What an utter shock. But . . . given Anne’s obvious joy, she could not contain her delight. “Congratulations,” she cried and ran to hug her sister.

“Egads.” Esmeralda put her hand to her forehead and slumped in her chair, but no one noticed because they had all, in a flurry of silk, rushed to Anne’s side.

“This calls for champagne,” Victoria announced, which had the effect of reviving Esmeralda from her swoon.

“You’re too young for alcohol,” she snapped.

Victoria was not suppressed by her ominous tone. “Nonsense. How often does one’s sister get married?”

Esmeralda glared at Mary. “Far too often it would seem. Two within the space of a week, it seems.”

“A couple days,” Anne corrected her.

Esmeralda merely grimaced. Most likely put out that she’d been robbed of not one, but two fancy weddings.

“One would think you’d be delighted, dear aunt,” Mary said. “Two St. Claires down and only two to go.”

For some reason, Elizabeth glanced at Hamish. He was staring at her, which caused a lurch to her stomach, so she looked away.

“About that,” Victoria said, leaving the sentence hovering there like a cloud of coal dust in the summer air.

All eyes snapped to her. She smiled blindingly. “Peter has proposed.”

“Oh good lord, no.” Esmeralda slumped again and this time Elizabeth suspected her faint was for real.

“Does anyone have smelling salts?” Bower asked, but again, no one was paying attention. Like a wave lapping the ocean, the girls swelled to the other side of the room and proceeded to congratulate Victoria with effusive hugs.

“I can’t believe we’re all settled,” Victoria gushed. But then she stilled and added, “Except Elizabeth, of course.”

“Elizabeth will be fine,” Anne said. “She can always come live with us at Bowermadden.”

To which Hamish snorted.

Victoria nodded, but her expression was one of sympathy. “She’s already had one suitor. I’m sure there will be others.”

“Naturally,” Mary agreed with a glint in her eye. “And the Darlington soiree is just the place for her to meet him.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what Mary was about, or her other sisters for that matter, but when she glanced in Hamish’s direction, he didn’t look happy in the least.

Which she could only take as encouragement.