Page 53 of Who’s That Earl

“My trunks are already packed,” she spoke across him, averting the temptation to hear what his next word would have been. Stay. Stay as my guest. Stay as my—His what? Though curiosity ate at her, it was better not to know. She had long been, and would remain, independent. How could she be Thomas’s anything? “My ticket is purchased. I’m leaving as soon as our business here is done.”

Before he could reply, or even react, Athena and Aphrodite burst in, their shrill yaps echoing in the vaulted hall. They raced toward her, skittering and skidding a bit on the stone floor, jumping up against her skirts when they reached her to demand pats and praise.

As she knelt to run shaking hands over their wriggling bodies, she came face-to-face with Thomas’s legs, encased in scarred brown leather and patched buckskin. She let her gaze rise no higher than his knees. The dogs had brushed right past him—in fact, Aphrodite had likely slipped between his feet. Even now they were scrabbling over the toes of his boots, paying him absolutely no mind.

Her first thought was that they understood, somehow, that Thomas was in charge at Dunnock now and must not be barked at or growled at any longer. Her second thought, more ridiculous still, was that they could sense, in their doggy way, a change in their mistress’s feelings for the new master.

Good heavens. If she were going to accord some meaning to the dogs’ behavior, she ought to have done it when Thomas first arrived. Oh, how they’d tried to protect her that night, the sweet, silly things. But in the end all the snapping and growling had done little good. She had still ended up in danger. In danger of believing she needed Thomas Sutherland, Lord Magnus. In danger of giving up part of herself. In danger of falling in love.

Abruptly, she rose, dusting off her hands. Over Thomas’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Mrs. Murdoch under the arch of the doorway, looking on the verge of tears. “Dougan says the cart is ready when you are, ma’am. Esme’s gone on ahead t’ hold your seat.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Murdoch.” Her arms and legs ached with the effort of not running to the woman, yearning to be enfolded in a motherly embrace. “Thank you for the kind attention you have shown me at Dunnock.”

“You’ll meet Mr. Ratliff in Edinburgh, I ken?”

Jane darted a glance at Thomas. “That is the plan, yes.”

“Verra good, ma’am.” Her head hanging uncharacteristically low, Agnes turned to go, then paused. “May I take the liberty of saying you’ll be missed?”

“Of course, Mrs. Murdoch. And I shall miss you.”

Nothing more was said until the clip-clip of Agnes’s brisk footsteps disappeared down the corridor. Jane snapped her fingers to bring the dogs to her side. She would say her goodbyes to Dougan and Esme and to the Abernathys when she reached the village. Which left only one other goodbye to say.

But when she turned toward Thomas, he spoke first.

“What would have been your answer if I’d proposed to you, all those years ago?”

The reply came to her lips without hesitation. “I would have said yes.” Surprise and pain mingled in his expression, driving her to explain. “The girl I was then dreamed all the ordinary dreams—love, marriage, children. It just so happens that I dreamed an extraordinary one, too, one that surely would have languished if I hadn’t been pushed from the nest—”

“Ripped from your home and rejected by your family, you mean.” The heat in his voice was unmistakable.

“I’ll not deny that the experience taught me some hard lessons,” she conceded. “But knowledge is often acquired with difficulty. Because of what happened that night, I learned things I would not otherwise have known. I discovered I had the strength to stand on my own. And I realized the importance of leaving on my own terms.”

Finally, his strong, broad shoulders curved, as if bending reluctantly to her will. “I’ve never been one for taking orders, lass, so I’ve no intention to begin giving them. If you wish to go, I’ll not stop you. You’ll make your own choices, like any Robin Ratliff heroine. But,” he added, “let me take you to Edinburgh. I canna abide the notion of you traveling alone.”

“I thought you understood,” she replied crisply. “I want to be alone.”

He flinched, then tried to disguise the movement with a shake of his head. “Alone is dangerous.”

“No,” she countered. “Alone is safe.”

But alone was not the same as loneliness, as she well knew. Loneliness was a piece of paper held above a flame, just out of reach of that tongue of fire. For the longest time, the heat touched nothing, caused no damage. Then, in the blink of an eye, a black spot appeared in the paper, then a hole, and finally, all was ash.

He laid his hand lightly over hers. “Please remember, if there’s trouble or—or anything else, you’ve only to bid me come to you, and I will.”

I shan’t call for you.

The words were right there, waiting to be said. She should say them, if only to make them real to herself. Instead, she stretched onto her toes and kissed him, the merest brush of her lips across his. Ending just as they had begun.

Then she withdrew her hand from his and whispered, “Goodbye, Thomas.”

Chapter 20

From the earl’s chambers on the northeast corner of Dunnock Castle, Thomas watched the breeze ripple the dark surface of the loch, much as he’d once watched a warmer wind curl the blue Caribbean into foamy waves. Spring was still little more than a promise on the distant horizon of time, but he’d spent the day planning for it nonetheless, making sure his tenants had what they needed until the frozen ground thawed and the sky, at last, began to show more blue than gray.

Much remained to be done. He’d not yet sold his commission, though he’d borrowed against its value to pay for some much-needed repairs. He’d not found a replacement for Watson, whom he had unceremoniously dismissed in a letter for poor management of the estate’s income. He’d not appointed a new clergyman, either, though he’d written to an old school friend in Glasgow about the post.

With a grimace, he stretched, trying to ease the tightness in muscles unaccustomed to the work of bending over a desk all day. He needed action. Perhaps not the sort that involves invaders crossing the water, he acknowledged to himself, turning away from the window. But, surely, he could be allowed to lend a hand when a roof was being thatched or a fence rebuilt? Not waved off or reminded in doubtful, deferential tones that Lord Magnus’s work lay elsewhere. Couldn’t they understand the muddle he was in? This earl business was worse than he’d feared.