“I do,” he whispered, before he could think better of it. “Last night—” Nay, not that again. “I want ye to ken ye have access to anything in this library for as long as ye’re at Oliphant Castle. Longer.” He shook his head, knowing he sounded like a fool. “I mean, for yer writing, yer books.”
Thejoywhich bloomed over her face nearly took out his knees.
“Thank you,” she repeated. “But…”
When she trailed off, and glanced up at the paintings again, he was the one to squeeze her hands. “What?”
“I came here hoping to find one or two paintings I could reproduce for my manuscript. You know, a view of Highland history from the paintbrush of a woman. But…” Sadly, she shook her head and met his eyes, one side of her lips curled wryly, drawing his attention to them.
“But what?” he demanded, knowing his voice was harsh. He couldn’t help it—not with her lips so close, and so goddamnedkissable.
“She deserves better. I know the technology exists, the printing presses exist, to do her paintings justice, to faithfully reproduce them…but I do not own any. When I bought Mr. Grimm’s publishing company, I had no idea I would still mourn what I did not have.” She shrugged. “But tosketchone of Rose’s paintings to reproduce it in my book would be a travesty. Besides, I am not nearly good enough at sketching reproductions.”
“I am.” When her brows twitched in surprise, Lyon didn’t have time to wonder why he was volunteering. “I’m verra good at sketching designs and schematics. I could reproduce artwork for yer book.”
She cocked her head to one side and stepped closer. “You would do that for me?”
I would do anything for ye.
Where had that thought come from? He’d only just met the woman, so why did it feel as though he’d known her forever?
“Aye,” he croaked.
And suddenly her smile bloomed. God Almighty, had he ever thought her plain? Not a beauty? When she smiled like that, he felt it in his chest. He felt it in his bollocks, certainly, his cock stiffening beneath his kilt.
“I will take you up on your offer, Lyon,” she said his name softly, her gaze traveling along the highest shelves. “This is the most wonderful gift anyone has ever given me.”
He didn’t answer. He wasn’t certain he could.
Go,he told himself.Find Keith. Hit something until yer head is clear.
He stayed.
She began to move through the shelves, and he watched her the way he’d been watching her for days now, with the helpless attention of a man who had… Well, frankly, a man who had forgotten there was anything worth looking at in this dark world.
She trailed her fingers along the spines, pulled volumes out and put them back, made those soft sounds of discovery which he told himself he shouldn’t silently catalogue. The little exhale that meant she’d found something unexpected. The hum that meant she was already composing questions. The occasional murmured fragment of a sentence, talking to herself, or to the book, or to no one at all.
He became aware, distantly, that he hadn’t moved in quite some time.
The fire, he thought.
He ought to light it—the room was cold, the winter light through the small window doing nothing to warm thestone. But lighting the fire meantstaying, and he was already pretending he wasn’t doing that.
Still. The room was cold. She’d been sleeping in his old shirts because she hadn’t the clothing for this weather, and the least he could do?—
He crossed to the hearth and began to build the fire.
He was aware of her noticing, and of her not commenting, and found he was grateful for both.
She’d reached the far end of the shelves by the time the fire caught, and he straightened to find her standing on the library ladder, one hand bracing against the highest shelf, the other reaching for a spine just beyond her fingertips. The ladder shifted slightly as she stretched.
Lyon was across the room before he’d made any decision to be.
He stopped behind her, close enough to catch her if the thing gave way, and stood there feeling faintly ridiculous, his hands half-raised and nowhere to go. The ladder was fine. She was fine. She was utterly unconcerned, standing on her toes now, fingers closing around the book she’d been after, and he was hovering behind her like some kind of anxious?—
I want you to kiss me, Lyon.
It was possible his heart had stopped beating in that moment.
