How to Catch a Sinful Marquess - Amy Rose Bennett Page 0,65

to his chest, and he covered his face with his hands as he sobbed, “Oh, God . . . I can’t. I won’t . . .”

Oh, dear heaven above. Olivia had no idea what to do. Should she wake Hamish? The nightmare that held him in its grip must be horrendous. Her own vision blurred as tears filled her eyes. What on earth had happened to this man? Did he dream about the time he was injured at Waterloo? Or of all the terrible things he must have witnessed during battle?

“Must die . . .”

The carriage bounced over a particularly deep rut in the road, and Hamish lurched to the side, bumping his head against the carriage door. He cried out, but the jolt was enough to wake him.

He shook his head, and although he’d just come to, his groggy gaze sought out Olivia. “Sweet Jesus. Are you and the bairn all right?” His face was paler than his cambric shirt as he pushed himself up and then collapsed onto the opposite seat. Chest heaving as though he’d run a mile, he rasped, “Please tell me you’re both all right.” His gaze, wild and desperate, locked with hers.

“Yes, we’re f-fine.” Olivia wasn’t quite sure if that was actually the case. Her heart was racing, and Tilda was still trembling in her arms. But she didn’t want to alarm Hamish when he was so clearly rattled already.

Hamish dragged a shaking hand down his face, then pushed his tangled hair back from a sweat-sheened brow. “I can’t believe I fell asleep,” he said, his voice laced with deep remorse. “I’m so, so sorry, lass. Such a stupid thing to do.”

He rapped on the carriage roof above his head, attracting the attention of the driver. “Pull up,” he called. “At once.”

The carriage immediately slowed, and as soon as it drew to a halt, Hamish threw open the door and bolted from the cab. The sound of violent retching reached Olivia’s ears.

“I was right, Lady Livvie,” whispered Tilda. “He does have a sore belly.”

“Yes,” agreed Olivia. She gave Tilda a gentle squeeze. “I think I should go and help him. Would you stay here in the carriage while I do?”

Tilda nodded and climbed off her lap. “Yes, Lady Livvie,” she said solemnly. “And when you come back, let’s tell Lord Sleat a story to make him feel better.”

Olivia smiled. “I like that idea very much.”

She retrieved two flasks from the basket stowed beneath Hamish’s seat—a leather one containing water and a pewter one of whisky—then clambered down from the carriage. Hamish stood beneath an oak tree at the side of the road, hunched over with his hands on his thighs. He was breathing heavily, but the fit of vomiting appeared to have passed. Hudson waited nearby, concern creasing his brow.

When the valet looked up and saw her approaching, he gave her a small nod and then retreated to a discreet distance. Olivia cast him a grateful smile in return.

“Hamish?” she murmured. She hovered a few feet away, unsure how any offer of assistance would be received.

He straightened and leaned a shaking hand against the oak’s trunk. “I’ll be all right. No need to worry.”

“I . . . I fished out the flasks of water and whisky,” she said, taking another few steps forward.

Hamish wiped his forearm across his brow before turning to face her. “Thank you. I must confess, I wouldn’t mind a sip or two of water.” He took the leather flask and, after rinsing out his mouth, swallowed a long draft.

“How’s wee Tilda?” he asked as he handed back the water.

“She’s concerned you have a bell . . . bellyache,” replied Olivia. “And she’d like to tell you a story when you return—”

But Hamish shook his head. “No, I don’t think that would be a good idea. I need fresh air. Hudson can sit with you and Tilda. I’ll sit up with the driver.”

“Oh . . .” Olivia blinked in surprise. “Well, if you’re sure . . .”

“I am.” Hamish’s voice had a steel-like edge to it. “We’ll be in Glasgow in an hour or so. And by tomorrow, I’ll have secured another carriage. This won’t happen again.”

“Hamish, it . . . it really wasn’t a prob—”

He took a step closer and grasped her arm. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t argue with me. Please . . .” His tone softened as he added, “I feel bad enough already that you had to witness that . . . Just do as I