Lady Beauchamp's Proposal by Secret Cravings Publishing Read Free Book Online

lump in her
throat and her eyes were suddenly misty. She bit her lip and willed
herself not to cry. It had been a mistake to come here. Perhaps she
was the fool the marquess thought she was.
    She couldn’t stay. Perhaps the tide was
still low enough for her to return to Torhaven. She could beg Mr.
Geddes for a room—she would pay of course. “It’s probably best if I
go then, my lord.” She stood abruptly and the room swayed before
her eyes.
    “Mrs. Eliott…”
    Her name was the last thing she heard before
blackness descended.

Chapter Three
     
     
    “Mrs. Eliott…Christ.”
    Rothsburgh leapt to his feet, but was not
fast enough to catch the crumpling form of the beautiful widow. She
sprawled face down across the rug before him.
    Rosencrantz whined and nuzzled at her head.
Rothsburgh fell to his knees and after shooing away the hound, he
gently turned the woman onto her side. She was out cold.
    He felt for a pulse at her neck—it was
strong—and he noted her breathing was slightly shallow yet steady.
As he had already suspected, she was burning up with fever. Her
smooth, alabaster skin was unnaturally hot beneath his fingers and
there was perspiration across her brow. There was no doubt in his
mind that she had contracted the dreadful ague that had recently
plagued this corner of Aberdeenshire.
    He sighed heavily. She would be decidedly
ill for another three or four days until the fever broke. Then she
would develop a debilitating cough that would last for another week
or more. That meant he would be responsible for her care for at
least another fortnight.
    How ironic, considering that after the death
of his faithless wife only six weeks ago, he had sworn that he
would never let another female who wasn’t family or a clanswoman
under his employ, cross his threshold again.
    Confounded woman. This was the last
thing he needed. He should never have let Mrs. Eliott through the
door in the first place.
    The ague had arrived with devastating impact
in Torhaven about a fortnight ago and most of the staff at Eilean
Tor had succumbed to it as well; in fact the castle’s housekeeper
Mrs. Barrie, the wife of the gameskeeper, had sadly passed
away.
    Rothsburgh thanked all the angels in heaven
that his sister Helena had taken his daughter, Annabelle, to
Edinburgh a month ago, well before the pestilence had arrived. He
was one of the few who had not contracted the illness. God only
knew why.
    He ordered Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to
stay at the edge of the hearthrug, and then crossed the room to
ring for Roberts. He was reluctant to do so; the butler still had a
fearsome cough, as did his wife, the castle’s cook—in fact he had
ordered them to retire early this evening to assist with their
recuperation—but Rothsburgh would need the good man’s help to open
up and ready one of the guest rooms in the wing where his own suite
of rooms was located.
    Roberts appeared in good time and took the
news of the unexpected arrival of Mrs. Eliott in his customary
stride. The man was loyal to a fault and truly unflappable.
    Once he had quit the library, Rothsburgh
returned to Mrs. Eliott—Beth. She had not moved at all. He bent
down and easily lifted her into his arms. He had already noted when
he had first opened the door on her that she was of medium height
and very slender. In fact, she barely weighed anything at all.
Indeed, he suspected that half the weight he carried was sodden
wool.
    Looking down at her, he noticed that her
head had lolled back at an awkward angle, so he adjusted her
position until she was better cradled in his arms with her head
resting against his shoulder. She murmured slightly and her eyelids
fluttered open for a second before she subsided into oblivion
again.
    He couldn’t resist the temptation to study
her face for a moment; even though she was in a feverish,
disheveled state, he was helplessly arrested by her delicate
beauty.
    She had the face of an angel .
    He guessed she was in her early twenties.