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He shrugged. “Knowing my wife, it could be anything. If they do not come back in a few minutes, I shall go look for them.”

Paris pulled his chair closer to William. He had been so involved in Caladora all evening that he had barely said a word to the earl. William caught his friend moving closer but focused on his food.

“So you decided to speak to me?” he asked casually, devouring his helping of herbed squab.

“As a last resort, yes,” Paris replied, nursing a cup of wine in his hands. “Where in the hell did they go?”

“I have no idea,” William replied. “Probably to pump Caladora for information.”

“What sort of information?” Paris’ eyes narrowed.

“Oh, you know,” William shrugged. “How she wants her wedding surcoat to look and what sort of flowers she would like in the chapel; those kinds of things.”

William waited for an uproar and was mildly surprised when none was forthcoming. He glanced over at Paris, wiping his hands on a napkin, and was confronted with an expression he had never seen before on the man. It startled him; he knew exactly what it meant.

“Oh…no,” he said with amused horror. “Do not tell me….”

Paris, who had been staring quite thoughtfully off into space, suddenly looked at William and cocked his eyebrow. “Do not tell you what?”

William shook his head slowly. “Do not feed me that innocent line. I have seen that expression before; on me when I look at my wife. What are you thinking?”

Paris prepared to retort but suddenly lost his train of thought. “Oh, hell, I do not know,” he suddenly chuckled. “You know, that was exactly what you said to me the first time I asked you what you were feeling for Jordan. Remember?”

William nodded, sipping his wine. “I remember.”

Paris laughed again. “At times I think I am going insane,” he said. “My God, I have only known the woman three days and I do not know which way is up anymore.”

William smiled broadly. “I know exactly, and I do mean exactly, how you feel. Terrifying and wonderful at the same time.”

Paris’ smile suddenly faded. “I am not suited for marriage, William.”

“If you do not marry her, someone else will. Can you live with that thought?” William asked gently.

Paris’ eyes scanned the room, his mind mulling over the question. He took another drink of wine. “Nay.”

William nodded, satisfied. “Strange that we would fall in love with Scots. A country we have spent a good deal of our adult life fighting.” It was more an observation. “Tell me, what qualities do you find most appealing in Lady Caladora?”

“Other than her obvious beauty, there are many appealing things,” Paris said, somewhat quieter. “She reminds me a lot of Jordan in certain ways. But your wife has a certain strength to her that Lady Caladora lacks. She is more timid, more delicate. Your wife would do well on her own, but Caladora is very dependent. Now that she has lost her parents and brothers, she feels quite lost.” He brushed at his boot absently as it rested up on the table. “She has a heart and mind as open as the heavens and I find that very appealing. And every time she looks at me I feel like a giddy lad with his first crush.”

As amused and touched as Paris had been when William’s feelings for Jordan developed, it was now William’s turn to feel the same.

“And you want to protect her,” he read his friend’s mind. “She is a sweet, fragile, warm woman and you feel towards her as you have felt towards none other.”

Paris nodded faintly, still not meeting William’s eye. “All of the Scott women must be witches. They have captured all of us under their spell.”

William sat back in his chair, watching the goings on of the room in companionable silence with Paris. They understood each other perfectly.

Seated at a table to their right was Roan and his cousin, Andrew. William watched the two men for a few moments until Andrew caught his glance and raised his cup to him in silent homage. William nodded back vaguely.

“You do not like him,” Paris commented.

“He leered at my wife,” William mumbled.

Paris smiled. “We all leer at your wife, William. There is nothing wrong with a man appreciating a beautiful woman.”

“Not that man,” William studied his wine.

Paris frowned, amused. “What is it about him that threatens you so? For three days you have been quite cold to the man who rode to your aid.”