Page 97 of Ghost of the Ton

“I will.”

She offered her hand, and he stared at it for a heartbeat, then shook it—as if they had just engaged in a business transaction. Then he withdrew his hand and almost fled out of the parlor, mumbling his apology as he let himself outside, closing the front door behind him.

Mia approached the door, then paused as she heard a long, low groan.

Was he in pain? She shifted to the window and drew back the curtain, peering outside, and saw him silhouetted against the moonlit reflections in the river, his body hunched. She caught movement, his arm at his groin, moving back and forth in a repetitive motion that increased in pace until he let out a hoarse cry and bent over. He remained still for a while before righting himself and wiping his hand on his plaid. Then he lifted his head and glanced toward the cottage.

Ashamed at the prospect of being caught witnessing such an…intimate activity, Mia shrank back, her cheeks on fire.

By the time she’d composed herself and looked out of the window again, he was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The following week, Mia attended the school again and, with the teacher’s permission, described the process of the smallpox vaccination. A letter had arrived from a Dr. Nimmo in Glasgow that morning, expressing his delight at being able to grant a favor to his friend and colleague Dr. McIver and administer the vaccine. In fact, in his letter the doctor said that he would be more than willing to supervise while you administer it yourself, given Dr. McIver’s assurances that you’re a capable young woman with bright prospects of becoming a doctor. Her pride at such praise of her abilities buoyed her joy, and she’d almost skipped to the school.

Joy had been absent since Hamish escorted her home a week ago. The glow of pleasure at his touch had lasted only moments after he’d left, dissolving into the ashes of shame.

On her return to Riverview Cottage, Mia paused as she caught sight of a flash of red hair between the trees.

Was it him?

Her cheeks warmed with a cocktail of desire and shame. But what did she have to feel shame for? She’d taken nothing but a small scrap of pleasure at the touch of his hand that had left her intact in body, if not in mind. She was still a respectable woman—a maiden—with the prospect of becoming a doctor, facilitated by a true friend and his colleague. Let him feel shame for having taken advantage of her need, and for the base act he’d committed outside her window…

She caught her breath at the memory—the grunts of pleasure that he’d taken at his own hand because he would not take pleasure from her. Then she chastised herself. Why would he take pleasure from the wife he didn’t want?

The path turned a corner, and Mia’s visitor came into view. But it wasn’t the man she called husband. Instead, she saw the pale face and vivid green eyes of Hamish’s sister.

Surely Iona hadn’t been responsible for ransacking the cottage before? But why else would she be here with such guilt in her eyes?

The young woman clasped her hands together and her gaze darted about as if, like a deer on the moor, she sensed a predator.

“Iona, how pleasant you’re come to visit,” Mia said with a smile. “Is there anything you need?”

The girl frowned and tilted her head to one side, as if she were trying to make Mia out.

“I’m not here to visit ye,” she said at last.

“Nevertheless, I find you near my door,” Mia replied. “Perhaps you wandered here by mistake. I’m always getting lost about the place, as it’s so expansive.”

“What a foolish thing to say!” Iona said. “I never get lost. I’ve lived here all my life. Ye keep getting lost because ye’re an outsider.”

“That I am,” Mia said. “But often when I’m deep in contemplation, my mind can drift into the unknown, and before I realize it, I’m no longer on the path I intended.” She approached the front door, her back to the girl. “You’re welcome to something to eat. I’ve some bread and cheese—enough to share.”

“I dinnae want anything from ye.”

“You must suit yourself, of course. The cheese was a gift from Mrs. McBride—but the bread I baked myself, so you may wish to refuse that.”

Leaving the front door open, Mia entered the parlor and braced herself for evidence of tampering. But the room was untouched, the shelves neatly stacked and her unfinished mending on the table in the same attitude she’d left it that morning. She took her basket into the kitchen then inspected the rest of the cottage, but there were no signs of interference. When she returned to the parlor, she saw Iona standing in the center of the room, her gaze wandering over the shelves and their contents.

Mia motioned to a chair, but the girl made no move to sit, so Mia took the tinderbox from the mantelshelf and set about lighting the fire she’d laid that morning. When the first flames began to curl around the logs, she turned and saw that Iona had taken a chair and was rocking back and forth, her eyes gleaming in the firelight.

“Do ye think I did it?” she said, gesturing to the shelves.

Mia raised her eyebrows.

“B-breaking yer things,” Iona added. “Hamish threatened to beat me. But not out of any liking for ye.”

Mia exited the parlor to fill a pot with water, then returned and suspended it over the fire, aware of the girl’s gaze on her. Then she set about preparing her luncheon, placing the food on the table together with two plates and two cups.