Blair worked his jaw, but no answer came. She might as well have asked what made him the Earl of Brenmore rather than the Earl of Cheviot, since what she described—a barren, empty plot with nothing more than a title attached to it—was all he had left.
He had never felt so humbled before, not even after his father had died and the weight of Brenmore had sunk over him like a leaden cloak. How was it that this wee slip of an Englishwoman, a lowborn governess with only her own life’s experience to claim for her wisdom, had seen into him so clearly?
With nothing better to say, Blair cleared his throat once more. “Ye speak…most passionately. I commend ye for it—and for yer part in educating Livie to voice her feelings on the matter with fervor as well.”
“Does…does that mean you might reconsider your plan to clear the estate?” Amelia asked, her spine straightening with hope.
Damn and blast. He couldn’t deny that she’d stirred him with her words—more than that. She’d stunned and humbled and awed him. She’d lit a fire deep in the pit of his stomach that no amount of the cautious reasoning he normally relied upon could seem to douse.
Yet some sane part of him still clung to a fragment of rationality. He could not be swayed from the course he believed to be correct.
What she spoke of—planting seeds and not living in fear—was all well and good in theory. It was an idealistic view of the world. But he had to deal in reality, in the harsh facts before him. Just as he had when he’d inherited Brenmore, he felt the weight of his responsibility heavy on his shoulders. The burden was his to bear, and he could not fail.
He hardened himself for what he had to say next. “As I told Livie, the decision has been set in motion,” he murmured, firming his jaw. “It is all but settled already.”
He watched as her bonny face fell, her brows sweeping together. Then a wave of realization crossed her soft brown eyes.
“And I suppose…” She paused to swallow. “I suppose that without any crofters left, there will be no children for me to teach. No need for a schoolhouse.”
Damn it all, he was the worst sort of arse. “Nay,” he gritted out.
Abruptly, she rose. He jerked to his feet as well, though etiquette didn’t demand that he stand for a member of the household staff. The last thing on his mind at the moment was propriety, though.
She turned to leave, but with one swift step, he’d caught her hand to stay her.
“Amelia…”
He could feel her questioning, hurt gaze on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. Instead, he studied the small, elegant hand in his.
As if in a trance, he traced his thumb over each one of her knuckles, slowly memorizing the feel of her soft, warm skin and the delicate bones beneath. He dipped down the seam between her first and second fingers and back up.
Beneath his touch, she trembled. A breath whispered from her lips and her hand melted for a moment in his grasp, sinking into his caresses.
God, how he longed to kiss her. But before he could find the courage, her hand slid from his and she slipped from the study with a rustle of skirts, leaving him alone to grapple with the pounding of his heavy, cold heart and the blazing fire in his blood.
Chapter Nine
Amelia stood in the keep’s double doorway, staring out at the swirling white maelstrom before her. The landscape’s once rugged lines, browned with winter, were now rounded with thick snow that was rapidly growing deeper.
The snow had begun falling three days past—not long after her last conversation with Lord Brenmore. Blair.
Unbidden, her skin prickled, and it had nothing to do with the frigid air swirling in from the open door. The memory of his touch rushed over her, as it had countless times in the last three days. Her body seemed to respond to his on instinct, craving his nearness, craving contact.
Such a longing was dangerous enough. But it was more than that. Her thoughts strained toward him almost constantly, and an ache like a stone sat in her chest ever since he’d told her of his past.
She saw his cold, unyielding exterior for what it was now—armor. He was protecting himself against the pain of losing his family, his estate, his very place in the Highlands.
Amelia knew what it was to lose one’s home. But she had been lucky enough to find a new one here at Glenrose. Blair, on the other hand, seemed determined to remain closed to such a hope. Despite her better judgement, her heart reached out for him. She yearned to ease his pain with gentle words and touches as if he were some wounded, wild animal.
Perhaps she was just a sentimental fool.
She clutched her cloak tight, still poised in the open doorway. She’d intended to walk down to the Timms’s croft to leave instructions for the children in case the storm grew much worse and she wasn’t able to attend their normal lessons.
It seemed it already had. With the snow already approaching a foot deep, there was no way she could reach even the closest croft.
The storm would eventually pass, she reminded herself. She would see Mary and Hamish and the other children soon enough. But this temporary setback only reminded her of what was to come if Blair had his way—no more families left for her to teach. No more lessons beside a tidy fire. And no more hope for a better future for those children.
With a defeated exhale, she eased the door
