Page 32
“There’s not much to tell,” she said, startlingly aware that it was true. She’d seen so very little of the world and experienced even less. “I grew up at Lyndwood with my father, mother, and sister.”
“Allie, correct?”
“Aye,” she answered.
“And you are close to the Countess of Kenshire?”
“I am.” She relaxed. Sara was an easy subject to discuss. “Our fathers were friends and allies. They fought together for peace. Though they both refused the title of Lord Warden, saying it corrupted too many good men, both Richard and my father spent years ensuring peaceful truce days. Kenshire was the only place he’d allow me to visit when I was a girl.”
“Surely you’ve been elsewhere besides your home and Kenshire.”
She took a bite of bread. Rye, her least favorite. But eating was preferable to answering the question. Gillian hated that she’d been so sheltered. It embarrassed her.
“You haven’t,” he concluded. “And now you venture farther away from home than ever before, to Scotland, with a man you hardly know.”
“Aye,” she said between bites.
“Tell me more of your sister.”
“Allie is lovely, of course. Everyone says so. She’s also sweet and carefree. Though she tends to get herself into trouble, much like Sara’s sister-in-law Emma.”
“And unlike you,” he finished.
“Aye.” He’d said it with such conviction, Gillian didn’t think to deny it. And of course, it was true. Until now.
Graeme made his way to the side table, where the serving girl had left the carafe, and poured them both wine. He handed one mug to her.
“I find it curious,” he said, his expressive eyes matching his tone. “And can’t quite reconcile this proper young lady with the one I encountered in the garden both nights.”
Gillian had never been so mortified in her life. “I don’t know what came over me. I—”
“That was not a criticism, Gillian.”
She stopped talking.
“Just the opposite, in fact.”
“So . . . so you enjoy kissing me?” Had she really just asked that question? Her cheeks heated most uncomfortably.
He replaced the goblet and sat opposite her, the tray between them.
“Very much. But more importantly—” He took a bite of bread. “Did you?”
Should we be discussing this so openly?
He must have sensed her hesitation.
“It’s true, we are strangers. And neither of us intended to be sitting here right now. But we are man and wife. And while we may go our separate ways in most things, as I’ve told you, there is nothing to shy away from in the bedroom.”
While we may go our separate ways in most things . . . What did that mean? Did he intend to abandon her?
“I did, Graeme. Enjoy it, that is.”
“Good, because . . .” He abruptly stood, taking the tray with him. Placing it on the floor, for there was nowhere else to put it, he turned back toward the bed. “I’m of a mind to do it again.”
This time, when he sat next to her, Gillian was not nervous at all. She knew what to expect. However, he didn’t move toward her.
As they sat, the distant noises of the inn below punctuating the silence of the room, Gillian eventually heard other sounds. The crackling of the firewood. Graeme’s steady breathing as he watched her with those brooding, expressive eyes.
