Citit - The Scandal Before Christmas by Elizabeth Essex

Author:Elizabeth Essex [Essex, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-12-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

“Oh, Ian!”

Even as the seeping heat of worry savaged his chest, Ian had to smile at her use of his Christian name. Finally. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

She was not to be so easily distracted. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

He might as well tell her all—there was no one else to whom he could speak, or even try to articulate the seething roil of anger and fear within. “He took a fall. From a bloody hunter that my father had scorned him for not being able to ride. A bloody, fractious, monster of a beast that should have been put to bed with a bullet years ago. There was no reason my father should have kept him on, except to taunt Ross. Poor Ross, whom my father knew would do anything to please him. Everything he had ever asked.” Ian flung himself off the bench, and began to pace back and forth in the welcome dark, glad that the night would not truly reveal him in this agitated state.

Anne’s question was full of pity. “What has been done for him?”

“Everything possible, I am assured by my mother, who has gone to care for him. But on the advice of some of the doctors, my father despaired of his ever being whole—of ever walking again. He is especially fraught at the judgment that Ross will no longer be able to sire children.”

Though she said nothing, Ian could hear Anne’s sharp breath of distress.

“Yes.” He could only agree. “Hence his sudden interest in me. And my entry into the state of holy matrimony. And thus you. And the potential fruit, as it were”—he gestured hopelessly to the swathed fertile greenery about them—“of your loins. No. I’ve got it all wrong.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Your womb. My loins.”

She exhaled the breath she had just taken in. “Oh heavens. I think I’m going to need more rum if I’m to contemplate my womb being fruitful.” She took a deep draught from Pinky’s mug.

“I don’t know.” Ian was happy to feel his face stretch into a smile. “If you are come to making jokes, I should think you’ve already had too much rum.”

“I don’t think too much rum is possible, given this news.” She patted her chest to dispel the effects of the strong spirits. “But I am sorry. You were talking seriously, when I interrupted.”

“Not an unwelcome interruption.” Not at all unwelcome. Very welcome in fact. She was welcome. Very welcome.

“Is it a sure thing, that he will not recover?”

“I don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t think anyone knows for sure. I can only hope. And pray. And worry.”

“Yes. Of course.” She shook her head, even though she was agreeing with him.

“God, Anne. I used to envy him, you know? I used to be jealous of all the things I thought Ross had that I had not. The inheritance … the privilege of someday being the viscount. The attention that I thought he received from our parents.

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