“Win me over?” Evie asked shakily. “Is that what this is? The scull, the picnic, the …” She swallowed, unable to name the pleasuring.
“Aye. And I have a long way to go. If at the end, you still don’t love me, well then.” Jamie made himself shrug. “I’ll rush off to Africa and climb mountains or beat my way through jungles.”
“But you won’t simply agree to marry me now and save yourself all the bother?”
Jamie’s temper splintered. “Courting you is not a bloody bother. You’ve convinced yourself you’re not worth the trouble. I damn Atherton for making you believe you had to settle for him. I want you to love me—I’m not after a convenient wife. If that’s all the marriage you want, then to hell with you.”
He jerked up the basket and blanket, which chose that moment to try to tangle itself around his legs, and strode off down the path, wrestling the blanket into submission as he went.
He expected Evie to call him back, beg his pardon, or at least shout at him in return. She said nothing.
Jamie continued to walk, rage boiling through him. He knew Evie had suffered deep hurt, first by the death of her tender, young love, and then by Atherton who hadn’t valued what he’d been damned lucky to find. That hurt colored how she looked at Jamie, and he’d do everything in his power to rip away her pain and make her see him.
Very few people did see him. Jamie stood in his father’s shadow, and always had—said the rest of the world who wasn’t actually Ian or Beth Mackenzie.
Evie had gazed at him with sparkling eyes the first time he’d met her at the Cam and again when she’d barreled into him on Southampton’s pier, unaware he was anyone but himself.
Now her vision had gone hazy, clouded by Atherton’s idiocy.
Bloody Sassenach bastard.
Presently Jamie heard Evie’s boots crunching on rocks on the path behind him, but she said nothing at all.
It was a silent ride back to Newmarket, whereupon Evie shut herself in her bedchamber and rarely spoke to Jamie for the remainder of their stay there.
“Scotland?” Evie regarded Beth blankly after the fourth day at Newmarket. Beth had just announced that the entire family would remove to Kilmorgan in Scotland the very next morning, and Evie should accompany them. “But my mother is to travel to London to escort me home,” she protested.
Evie was surprised how empty she felt when saying the words, perhaps because she was reluctant to face her family and their sympathy. Though she’d vowed to Jamie she’d return home immediately after their wonderful and dismaying outing, she’d realized she was in no hurry to retreat in defeat.
“That is no trouble,” Beth said brightly. “I have written to your mother, and she agrees that a sojourn in Scotland would do you good.”
“Did she?” Evie asked in surprise.
“Indeed, she did. Now, do not worry about your clothes. What we ordered for you in London will be sent on to Kilmorgan, and Eleanor employs a wonderful dressmaker if you need more.”
Beth bustled off, leaving Evie bewildered.
Good heavens. They all wanted her paired with Jamie—even her own mother. Mrs. McKnight would have summoned Evie home if she truly thought Evie should be there.
Evie should be upset by Beth’s insistence, and demand to go home, but she could not bring herself to argue. She wanted to stay, and she knew why.
She wished to remain near Jamie, even if he was furious with her. Evie cursed her tongue for blurting out the proposal, but she’d been in a daze of afterglow, hardly knowing what she was saying. He’d accused her of wanting to use him to soften her hurt, to assuage her fear of being unwanted, and he’d been right.
I don’t want to be your consolation.
Evie couldn’t blame him. She didn’t want that either.
But though Jamie had refused her, Evie didn’t want to be parted from him. How fickle were her emotions?
Evie’s jumbled thoughts were mercifully distracted by the scramble to journey to Scotland. The duke’s private railway carriage was ordered and would be coupled to the train on which Lord Ian once more had booked an entire car. There would be plenty of room for the entire family.
Jamie’s cousin Daniel had arrived with his wife and two children, and so had a tall man who looked very much like Hart. Chief Superintendent Fellows, Beth had introduced him, with his wife, who was Isabella’s sister. With him were two sons, who were in their last years at university, and a daughter who much resembled her mother.
Evie was introduced to so many that she privately began a chart to keep track of them all.
In the confusion of boarding the train and sorting themselves out, Evie found herself in Hart’s private car with Beth and Ian, the duke and duchess, Megan and Belle. What had happened to Jamie, she didn’t know. Before she could excuse herself and move back to the other car, the train started.
“Of course, you are riding with us,” Eleanor said when Evie expressed concern. “It is a long way, and the beds in our little rooms are so much more comfortable than the converted ones in a regular compartment. Such a nice thing for an overnight journey. I always thought Hart terribly decadent to keep his own train car—he does love to show off—but I have adapted quite nicely. It is cozy, so I forgive it its decadence.”
The duchess proved to be correct—Evie’s tiny bedroom was quite comfortable, and she slept soundly, soothed by the movement of the train. It had been the first night since her unforgettable day with Jamie that she’d found solace in sleep.
True to his word, Jamie had shipped the scull to Evie’s home, so she could use it upon her return. He’d done it even though he’d made it clear he was not happy with her.
Another man might have returned the scull from whence it had come to spite her. But Jamie was not mean, Evie had seen, which had become especially apparent since their arrival in Newmarket.
He’d kept Daniel’s nine-year-old son, Dougal, from being duped by a bookmaker, who’d rubbed his hands when he’d seen the grandson of the famous Lord Cameron trying to place his first bet.
Jamie had patiently searched the town for a piano so Megan, who was worried about not playing for too long a stretch, could practice, and made certain that Lord Alec, who always looked fierce about something, kept his fiery temper under control.
Lord Alec himself told Evie an anecdote about Jamie when she’d found herself next to him at one of the family’s chaotic suppers in the Newmarket hotel.
“He got himself kidnapped once,” Alec said, dangling a glass of whisky from his fingers. “In my place. Always has to be the center of attention.”
Chapter 27
“Kidnapped?” Evie asked, eyes widening. She glanced at Jamie, who was engrossed in something Malcolm related with much waving of arms. Jamie seemed perfectly unscarred from such a traumatic event.
Alec leaned toward her, warming to his tale. “Jamie was ten, and I was seven. Men broke into Kilmorgan Castle, hoping to capture the duke’s heir and hold him for ransom, or … who knows?” Alec shrugged. “Jamie jumps up and declares he’s Alec Mackenzie, and they snatched him instead. He did it because he was afraid I was too small to survive them. I was affronted at the time, but he was likely right.”