It was not the soft hand of a gentleman. His palm was worn in places and those white scars stood out as stark sentinels.
It seemed to be a pact, his hand.
Take it,he urged.Let us reach our goals together.
She paused . . .
. . . and then slid her hand across his.
His skin was warm and his callouses rough underneath her palm.
The action should not have been momentous.
It should not have sent gooseflesh flying to attention along her spine nor skittering sparks up her arm that detonated in her chest like fizzing fireworks on Guy Fawke’s Night.
But . . . gracious heavens.
Lottie looked into his steely, dragon gaze and saw . . . turmoil.
As if he, too, had felt something similar and found it just as astonishing and perilous.
Lottie didn’t quite snatch her hand back, but the wish was there, no matter how demurely she removed her fingers from his.
And as soon as he turned his head to pick upA Vindication, she rubbed her palm against the wool of her skirt, as if desperate to expunge the feel of him.
It was no use, of course—the touch of his skin on hers lingered, a humming thrum of sensation.
Such nonsense.
Lottie was not this kind of woman—prone to fits of vapors or the excesses of sensibility.
And yet, hours later as she lay in her bed, the feel of his hand in hers still burned.
13
The following morning, the post brought Alex a flurry of replies.
Heavens, he knew the Royal Mail could be efficient when one was this close to London, but even so . . .
He was impressed that his letters could arrive and a reply be sent back in so short a time.
Would an update from McNeal on his patients arrive as quickly? Would Catriona send additional clothing swiftly, too?
Alex certainly hoped so. He itched to read how his patients were fairing. And he wished to wear more than a shirt and banyan while doing so.
He opened the first letter from Andrew.
You mean to tell me that this madness with Lord Lockheade is you? You are the long-lost heir that Ferndown is trying to attaint?! And you didn’t think that I, one of your closest friends (and soon to be fellow Peer in Lords), would care to know this?
Truly, Alex, I should be furious with you. And maybe part of me is hurt that you didn’t feel you could tell me. But it would be a wee bit hypocritical, as I do understand your reluctance. I kept my own heritage from you all for years, so I can hardly castigate you now. Though I was never granted a chance to choose whether or not to inherit, I struggled to want to sit in Lords, to be surrounded by English condescension.
There is much I wish to say on this subject, but I will forebear for the now. We shall speak of this at length when we next see one another. I sincerely hope you will be well enough to meet with us in London in March. Kieran should be returned by then, and I hope to have more to report regarding the notices in the paper and the concerns of the Judge Admiral in Aberdeen.
Until then, I wish you a speedy recovery. You are in the best of medical hands (i.e., your own). I would simply urge you to not abandon entirely the idea of accepting the title of Lord Lockheade. But know this, no matter your decision, I will support you in it.
Alex set down the letter, a tightness banding his chest. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.
He should have anticipated Andrew’s kindness. How could he have assumed that his friend would react in anger or hurt?
