“What’s caused yer mirth?”
“You!” She laughed.
Maybe she had been paying attention to him.
His forehead creased. “What have I done?”
It was so loud that she had to speak into his ear, and every time she did, she nudged him downwards by his shoulder, and each time, her breasts pressed against him.
“You have such an odd personality. Do you know you have such an expressive face?”
“I didnae ken this.” He watched her lips.
“I find you so entertaining to watch. Your face betrays everything you’re thinking.”
“Nae everything, I hope?”
She nudged him once more, and in a voice she used only when she was begging him not to stop, she breathed, “Everything.”
Searing heat shot through him. When she pulled away, she was grinning like she did not just make an attempt on his life.
He thought back to the few salacious encounters when he had been sure he had hidden his desire so as not to scare her. All those times, had they been written all over his face?
Then why hadn’t she come to him during the caber toss when he had invited her so openly to their hidden spot? He had watched her leave, and images of what he had intended to do flashed through his mind in vivid colors and sounds. He had rounded the corner, expecting to sneak her momentarily into his chambers, just to be met with an empty space.
He had waited and waited, thinking of ways to punish her, fantasizing about how she would beg for him, but she never showed. When he rejoined the crowd, she had taken her seat and was intently watching another man.
Sir Horace drew her attention. A few words were exchanged, which drew her lips downwards. He then rose and turned to Ruaridh.
“My Laird, I fear I have to retire now. My old bones can only handle so much joviality for one day.”
Ruaridh nodded at him, and Violet escorted him to the exit with a gloomy expression. She seemed loath to let him leave.
From the start of the banquet, they had been joined at the hip, which was unlike them. Last Ruaridh knew, Violet harbored a silent animosity for her father over her upbringing, and he greatly disapproved of her choices and independence. Now, they seemed amiable.
Did nothing stand in the way of their marriage anymore?
Ruaridh had to find out.
“Your relationship with your father seems greatly improved,” he noted once she had returned, barely keeping his eagerness out of his voice.
“We… talked today.”
Hesitation? That was not a good sign.
His throat went dry, so he took a swig from his mug. The bitter liquid seared sensitive flesh, and he had to take a moment to compose himself.
“Did that fix everything?”
“Not everything,” she replied somberly, “but most.”
Most was good. Most could include their relationship.
“Does he approve of us now?”
God, he felt foolish.
Yes, his intention was to inquire about her father’s stance, but the subject required tact that he did not employ. Firstly, he should have been more sensitive and shown a little elation at the progression of their friendship, then he should have been more inquisitive about the outcome of the conversation, and only then broached the subject he intended. Now, he just sounded selfish.
