Page 36 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)

T he shelves can go here, and then the counter here, and the showroom will be in this area.”

Drusilla walked through the space as she spoke, Joey taking notes as Harry and Elizabeth followed in her footsteps.

Murdoch had left town two weeks ago, but before then had made good on his promise, signing over the deed to the building she’d chosen.

It wasn’t the largest space they’d visited, but it was the most promising, located on a street that many middle-class families shopped on.

Drusilla wasn’t intending to sell goods to people of her class.

She wanted most people to be able to afford the goods that were sold here, and so she and Joey had puzzled out what would be relatively cheap to produce and also be appealing to a middle-class market.

They’d arrived on aprons, since they could obtain the material from a variety of sources, from torn sailcloth to used bed linens and other worn fabric.

Focusing on the plans kept her from thinking about missing him every minute. As it was, she only thought about him every other minute or so. It felt as if there was an actual space in her heart where he used to be—a muscular, gruff, hairy space that ached whenever she thought about him.

“We can take care of the rest. You should go home,” Joey said in a quiet voice, unlike her usual tone. She’d been treating Drusilla as though she were a precious piece of china since Murdoch and Miss Emily had left.

Murdoch, with Drusilla’s help behind the scenes, had found a well-born, scandal-free widow, a Mrs. Langley, to take on the task of guiding Miss Emily through the rest of the Season, which was only a month.

Murdoch had rented the two women a suite of rooms at the Lambert Hotel, rebuffing Mrs. Smithwick’s every attempt to get them to stay with her.

He had left London for Scotland as soon as all of that was settled, much to Mrs. Smithwick’s chagrin, and from what Drusilla heard, Miss Emily continued to have a cluster of admirers but had yet to accept any offer of marriage, thank goodness.

“Am I that bad?” Drusilla asked in a low voice.

Joey raised her brow. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Drusilla waved her hand. “Never mind. I’ll go.” She handed Joey her measuring tape, then pulled off the garment she wore when here to protect her clothing and handed that to her as well. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Do you want me to take you?” Harry asked.

She shook her head. “No, you can wait here and bring them all back when you’re done. I could use the walk.”

She stepped outside, wishing she could enjoy the rare sight of a sunny afternoon.

“Goodness,” she muttered to herself, “you are being ridiculously morose.” She would normally deplore this kind of behavior. After all, she’d sworn off love ten years ago; there was a reason she’d vowed never to allow herself to feel this way again.

And yet here she was.

“You’re pathetic,” she groused under her breath.

A few people passing by gave her surprised looks, and she tried to make her expression less gloomy.

If only he and Miss Emily hadn’t chosen her house to stand outside and argue in front of.

But then you wouldn’t have gotten to know them.

If only Miss Emily hadn’t been so set on making her debut.

But then you wouldn’t have gotten your building and been able to continue your work.

If only she hadn’t fallen in love with him.

But then—but then you wouldn’t have known you could feel like this again.

Because, she realized with a start, she’d been terrified of allowing herself the depth of feeling she’d had before. And this wasn’t the first flush of infatuation that she’d had with Mr. Wallins, filled with foolish dreams and physical yearnings.

This was an adult love. Filled with realistic hope and, yes, lots of physical yearnings.

She wanted to be with him, to tease him about his accent, his secret kindness, his awkwardness. She wanted to be able to lean on him when she felt vulnerable. She wanted to be smug, knowing that it was unlikely any other man had such an impressive body and—what had he said?—penis prowess?

She wanted him.

But they’d promised each other, long before anything had actually happened, that this was all temporary, and then Mrs. Smithwick had hastened the inevitable end, and now he was back home in Scotland with his sheep and his quiet life and his enormous cock.

God damn it.

There wasn’t a solution to this. It wasn’t reasonable for her to expect any kind of happy ending, not when they’d both been so clear in their intentions. Not when Mrs. Smithwick had also been so clear in her threats.

Miss Emily’s reputation could still be sullied in the remaining few weeks of the Season, after all. Drusilla wouldn’t put it past the other woman to stir up trouble just because, so she needed to be extra cautious.

So she’d just have to hope that the agony would eventually wear down to a dull ache. That would be the most realistic outcome, if not the best.

By now, she’d arrived home, and she walked up the stairs to the front door, surprised to find it slightly ajar.

“Hello?” she called as she pushed it wider.

“Thank God you’re home,” Joey said.

“What is it?”

Miss Emily appeared from behind Joey, an excited expression on her face.

“I’ve run away,” she said. “I’m not going back. I don’t want to be with those people any longer. I want to be here with you, and help with what you’re doing.”

Emily bore the same stubborn expression Drusilla imagined she’d had ten years ago, when she’d made the same decision.

Lord help her.

“Well,” Drusilla said, trying not to blurt out what was uppermost in her mind— What do you mean?

Don’t you realize that this will put your uncle in a bind?

And that you have likely ruined your chances to be in London Society?

Do you want to have my future? Are you prepared for how lonely that can be?

—and instead said, “Let’s have some tea and discuss what will happen next.

Did you, by chance, leave word of where you were going? ”

Miss Emily shook her head. “No, I only told Mrs. Langley that I was going to stay with friends. I didn’t want to get you in trouble. I haven’t, have I?”

She looked so forlorn and worried, Drusilla was reminded Miss Emily was still so young.

“No, dear, I’ll be fine.” She nodded toward Joey. “Can you ask Cook for—?”

“Of course,” Joey said before Drusilla had even finished her sentence. “And some chocolate. I think this moment means chocolate is in order.”

“Good thought,” Drusilla replied. She put her arm around Miss Emily and guided her down the hallway, narrowly avoiding stepping on one of the Tinas. “Let’s go sit for a bit. I am sure your head is in a whirl. I know mine is.”

“T hey’ll be ready for the shearing soon, Murdy,” Ferguson said.

Murdoch looked up from the accounts book he was working on. It was nearing four o’clock, judging by the light outside, and he’d spent at least two hours trying to reconcile the balance sheet. Which refused to be reconciled, for some reason.

It seemed as though his brain had been working at half speed since he’d come back.

“Good. You don’t even need me here, do you?

” he said, only half teasing. Ferguson was his steward, a man he’d met two decades ago at school.

The two had become friends, and Murdoch had hired him when Murdoch had inherited his title.

Like him, Ferguson was keenly interested in agriculture and farming techniques, and the two of them had spent many long evenings debating the best soil for a variety of crops.

“But then I wouldn’t see anybody for days. When you’re here, at least I get to see the hopeful young ladies from the village paying calls with their eggs and their flowers and baked goods. Though I’d be happy not to have to eat Miss Galloway’s oatcake surprise again.”

Murdoch felt his face heat. Since he’d returned, the visits from unmarried women had increased, as though they scented his recent...activity.

He wished he could tell them that there was only one person he wanted to be active with, and she was hundreds of miles away, and an English lady to boot, so they should just stay home with their offerings.

He’d tried throwing himself into work, but that only succeeded to a certain extent.

Many times he found himself stopping in the middle of doing something because he’d been struck by a memory: of her, of trading quips with Miss Joey, of watching Emily with pride as she danced, of Tina or Other Tina jumping up onto his lap to be petted.

He’d found not just a lover, not just a woman he’d fallen in love with, but a family.

“What’s going on, Murdy?”

Ferguson sounded concerned. Murdoch looked over at him, then rose from his desk and went to sit in the chair opposite his friend.

He reached behind himself to grab a bottle of whisky and two glasses, then handed one glass to Ferguson and poured drafts for both of them. Ferguson watched, both eyebrows raised.

“It’s a bit early, wouldn’t you say?”

Murdoch tossed his drink back in one swallow. The liquid burned on the way down, the heat trailing through his chest. “You don’t have to join me if you don’t want to.”

“And risk missing out on your drunken confession? Not a chance.” Ferguson drained his glass, then held it out for a refill.

Murdoch poured him some more, then refilled his own glass.

“Let me guess,” Ferguson said. “It’s a woman.”

“Got it in one,” Murdoch replied.

“And here I thought you’d never be like the rest of us mere mortals,” Ferguson replied, tilting his head back to drink the whisky in one swallow.

“I’m a mortal,” Murdoch said, sounding belligerent.

“Sure, if you mean being handsome, titled, tall, strong, intelligent, and inured to ladies’ charms being mortal,” Ferguson said with a grin.

“This must be one remarkable woman to fell the mighty Earl of Cragmore. Have you told her how you feel? Or did you, and she rejected you?” He shook his head.

“No, I find that impossible. You probably didn’t tell her how you feel, you awkward oaf. ”

Murdoch winced at how correct Ferguson was. But he couldn’t have told her the truth—that wasn’t part of their bargain. And then the last part of his friend’s words hit him.

“Hey, just a moment ago I was some sort of god, not an oaf,” Murdoch objected. He tilted his head in thought. “Though my niece said I was a Scottish oaf, so maybe there’s some truth there.”

Ferguson burst into laughter, then held his glass out. Murdoch obliged by filling it up again.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Nothing.” Murdoch spoke in a glum tone. “There’s nothing I can do. She lives there; I am here. She made it clear she doesn’t want anything permanent. I broke our bargain by developing feelings for her, I just have to—”

“Just have to suffer?” Ferguson gave Murdoch an exasperated look.

“There are other things to do than be a martyr, you know.” He finished his glass, then waved Murdoch away when he would have refilled it.

“You can use your intellect and your ability to speak and actually tell her how you feel,” he said in a deliberately condescending tone, making Murdoch scowl.

“You can write her a letter with the same information if you don’t want to make the trip to London. ”

“But—” Murdoch began.

“But nothing,” Ferguson said, cutting him off.

“The worst thing that happens is she rejects you entirely. So then you know she wants nothing to do with you, and you’re back here nursing your broken heart.

Which is different from how you are now how?

You’re here being miserable without knowing if you could change things. That way at least you would know.”

Murdoch stared at Ferguson for a few long minutes.

“Is it that simple?” he said at last.

“If you’re not an idiot, it is,” his friend replied with a shrug.

Murdoch chuckled, then startled as the door to his house was flung open. The two friends stared at each other as Murdoch’s housekeeper burst in bearing a letter.

“Urgent news from London, my lord.”

Murdoch felt his heart swell. Was it possibly Drusilla contacting him? He got up from his chair to take the paper, opening it quickly, his eyes scanning the page.

“Well?” Ferguson said. “Is it her?”

Murdoch raised his gaze to meet his friend’s. “It’s from Mrs. Langley, the woman I hired to assist Emily in her debut. She says she’s gone, and Mrs. Langley doesn’t know where. Emily said she was going to stay with friends, but Mrs. Langley says that isn’t true, and she can’t find her anywhere.”

He dropped the letter on the floor as he instinctively began to review what he would need: his wallet, additional funds, his hat, a change of clothes, and his shaving items, since he’d kept up his grooming since leaving London.

“I’m coming with you,” Ferguson said.