Free Lady Beauchamp's Proposal by Secret Cravings Publishing

like.”
    She nodded. “Yes, I would like that.” She
dropped her gaze to her lap where Lord Rothsburgh still held her
right hand. His long tanned fingers completely covered her own pale
ones, concealing her wedding ring. She felt small, frail and, oh,
so weak in more ways than she cared to admit.
    She determined that the sooner she recovered
and found herself another position the better.
    It seemed she had been doomed to fail at
Eilean Tor before she’d even started.
     
    * * * *
     
    Rothsburgh strode away from the guest room,
cursing himself with every expletive he knew for being such a
tactless blockhead. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern ran at his heels.
At least they didn’t mind foul language. He smiled ruefully as he
entered the library. His dogs were about the only company he was
fit to keep.
    He made straight for the sideboard and
poured himself a double whisky, before pacing to one of the bay
windows that overlooked the North Sea to watch the sun rise. He
couldn’t believe he had managed to shock, wound and embarrass Beth
so badly in such a short space of time.
    Waking up in her bed with a rampant erection
had been the first of his blunders. He prayed that she hadn’t
noticed. But he was certain that she had.
    He grimaced and took a decent sip of the
whisky hoping to dispel his own acute embarrassment. Christ, he
hoped he hadn’t reached for her in his sleep. She must think him
the worst kind of lascivious beast. In fact, he was surprised she
hadn’t screamed blue murder and struck him over the head with the
poker, just for finding him in her bed. It was probably no less
than he deserved though, given that for once he hadn’t been
dreaming of hand to hand combat on the battlefield, but of action
of an entirely different kind—with Beth. God help him, his cock was
already starting to twitch again at the memory.
    Of course, his second mistake had been to
reveal how much of her care he had administered. He should have
realized that she would not react well to the idea of a man—a
complete stranger—caring for her in such a personal way. But let
the devil take him, what else could he have done given the
circumstances?
    He had anticipated that she would have
periods of memory loss. Over the last three days and nights she’d
done little more than toss and turn in a perpetual state of
feverish sleep. There had been one or two times, however, when Beth
had seemed partially aware of her surroundings. He’d obviously been
wrong. When he’d told her that he’d been her main caregiver, she’d
reacted with genuine shock, as if she hadn’t any recollection of
the last few days at all.
    And then he’d gone and mentioned the bloody
war. He’d only meant to reassure her that caring for her had not
been testing or burdensome. Instead, all he’d done was completely
humiliate her and tactlessly remind her of her husband’s death, in
one fell swoop.
    He tossed back the whisky and then poured
himself another. He’d had too many breakfasts like this. But then
what did it matter, if he drank too much or at inappropriate times,
when there was no one to naysay him, when no one cared?
    Turning from the window, he threw himself
into one of the leather wing chairs, and the hounds settled at his
feet. He stared into the dead embers in the grate—he’d often feared
his soul was just as cold and dark. Until Beth had crossed his
doorstep. Somehow she had reignited his long dormant soul and had
set his heart beating again. He might be physically exhausted right
now, but he also felt more alive, more energized than he could
recall feeling for the longest time.
    He must be mad; he barely knew the woman.
The baser, masculine side of him liked to think that it was pure
sexual attraction that had set him afire. Beth was
beautiful—despite the disheveled state in which she had arrived and
her illness ravaged state now, he thought she was one of the
loveliest women he’d ever laid eyes on. He hated to think how
overcome he’d be