“I dinnae know.” He answered truthfully.
He didn’t know.
He could not imagine taking on the marquisate.
But he also could not fathom idly ignoring so much suffering.
He swallowed back the acidic taste of panic rising in his throat.
He simply wanted his practice in Edinburgh. The snip of scissors in gauze. The smell of camphor. The squall of a newborn babe. The soothing familiarity of things heknewhow to do.
Not ruling a marquisate and its tens of thousands of people all looking to him for support. Not sitting in Lords and helping to rule the British Empire.
The panic rose higher, cutting more sharply.
He lurched forward another step.
“Alex.” Lottie touched his elbow. “Lean on me.”
He paused to look at her, his chest heaving from the effort of swinging his body up the track. At least, that was what he told himself.
“You don’t have to do this alone.” Her blue eyes blazed in earnestness.
Her words stole his breath.
Had she been reading his mind then?
You don’t have to do this alone.
How he longed to believe her.
“Lean on me. Let me help,” she continued, her gaze steady and warm. The sun peeked through the clouds, once more bathing her in golden light.
Would that I could have a lifetime with this woman.
The thought blasted into his head and left just as quickly.
But Alex was rocked in its wake.
No.
No. No. No.
He did not wish to marry Lady Charlotte Whitaker.
Thatwas the correct thought.
He turned away from her, taking a lurching step forward. “Lass, ye dinnae have—”
“No.” She grabbed his arm, stopping him. “I will not permityou, of all people, to decline my help. You’re being needlessly stubborn.”
Without another word, she lifted his free arm and draped it over her shoulders, wrapping her arm firmly around his waist.
A feeling of rightness pulled and stretched his rib cage.
Of course,he would find himself hobbling up a muddy country lane, his arm around her.
Of course,he had been hurtling toward her from that first encounter years ago.
