She felt possessive. His body—herbody—was bare for everyone to see. A scowl marred her face as she watched the ladies’ eyes follow him. They were ogling at him, not knowing that he was hers.
“Violet, are ye all right? Ye look weird,” Keira said innocently.
Violet immediately looked away from the ladies and found three pairs of eyes watching her.
Sienna clapped her hands over her mouth, but her eyes were alight, and her shoulders quaked. God! She had been so obvious. Even Grannie Ava was laughing.
“That’s called possessiveness,” Grannie Ava explained, patting Keira’s hand before casting a glance at Violet.
The ground could have swallowed her up, and she would have been grateful.
Keira frowned. “What is she possessive over?”
The three women shared a look and started laughing.
Violet buried her face in her lap. She was deeply embarrassed, but she also felt some twisted sense of solidarity. They were all aware of her feelings for Ruaridh, and they were treated as a natural—though mirth-inducing—phenomenon and not some taboo emotion that reduced a woman’s value.
“They can only look. Ye get to touch,” Sienna told her quietly, after their laughter faded into smiles. “Daenae worry, dear Violet. The Laird is yers and only yers.”
Indeed.
Violet felt her throat go dry, worried someone else knew about their trysts, then she remembered they were engaged, and Sienna was hinting at marital activities.
She offered a small smile despite the frantic beat of her heart, her face warming. She had to remind herself that she was no longer in an English drawing room and that formerly taboo topics weren’t forbidden here.
Sienna wouldn’t ruin her social life if she found out Violet had spent many a night—and some afternoons—in compromising positions with a man who was not her husband. She had just recently bragged about how she enjoyed gawking at half-nude men. Of course, she wouldn’t care.
But Scottish ways were not so ingrained in Violet that she would confide in her about explicit details of the afternoon—even if Sienna herself was forthcoming about her love life—but she might let a tale of a kiss or two slip.
As Ruaridh walked away, Violet silently implored him to look at, to glance only once. Then, as if her prayers were answered, he stopped and turned around.
She could not put a name to the emotion she felt when they locked eyes, but she could describe how she felt. It started in her ribs, a painful pounding, then a silent humming, then a dip in her stomach as if she’d missed a step in the dark. Heat climbed her neck and snaked in circles on her cheeks.
He did not only look at her. He smiled, a heartwarming smile directed at her and only her, not caring who saw. It made up for his absence.
She suddenly did not feel so much worry. She smiled back and waved.
Her desire was not curbed; it only grew. It felt as if he was asking for her, calling her to their secret spot, and she wanted to move. She was drawn in, mystified by him.
“Violet, he’s looking at ye!” Sienna cried, tapping her shoulder.
“Indeed,” Violet answered.
His eyes darkened, and he gave her a nod that sent heat all the way to her toes. She felt her nipples harden painfully against her bodice, and the friction caused the ache between her thighs to grow.
She bit her lip to remind herself she was in no place to be thinking such thoughts.
Why did he have to be so bloody handsome?
When he turned away, she knew she had been wrong. They would have their reunion, and it would be passionate, but it won’t be so soon. She resolved to watch him for now.
He moved to stand by the men waiting for their turn. Only then did she spot her father across the field, standing alone. He was facing her direction, but did not seem to realize she could see him. He would have approached if he did. He suddenly turned away and moved in the direction of the castle.
She seemed to be the only one who had noticed.
She excused herself, leaving behind mocking laughter when Keira innocently announced that she would miss her father’s turn.
She followed her father away from the noise and chaos into a small alcove, where she found him seated, his head buried in his arms. His whole body quaked as if he were fighting spasms of pain, and dread filled her.
