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Chapter Ten
Amelia’s heart jumped and sent fire to her every vessel, causing the redness to start to rise up her neck again.Damn him!
Amelia lowered the book from in front of her eyes, and cast her gaze upon Jamie, leaning against the other end of the mantle, dressed and clean now in a fresh shirt and waistcoat, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world, a genuine smile upon his lips…perfect lips.
Realization hit her: He had asked a question. “Uh, yes. I am, quite a lover actually.” Her eyes widened, and she coughed. “Lover of reading, that is. You are lucky to have such a library.” She held up the book, a nervous giggle escaped her lips, and she coughed again.
Jamie didn’t take the bait. He sat down in the armchair on the other side of the fire and put his feet up on the ottoman. With his movements, Amelia was sent a whiff of fresh rosemary, peppermint, and clean man, making her core begin to simmer once again. Jamie said, “I confess tae enjoy a bit o’ reading, meself, even books by English authors.” He smiled.
So, he hadn’t seen her, and he wasn’t going to taunt her. A rush of relief cooled her veins, and each of her muscles let go in response. It almost made her feel dizzy, she was so happy that he hadn’t noticed. Her voice in reaction to this relief came out overly excited.
“And you like poetry too!”
He turned to her, his eyebrow lifted in question. “How do ye know?”
She smiled, the relief continuing to buoy her spirits. “I heard you at the clan dinner. You quoted James Thomson. I admit he’s not my favorite, but I do enjoy his work.”
“Aye? Well who is yer favorite then? Some Englishman I suppose.” He smiled, hoping she would take it as a light tease.
“Yes. Thomas Gray is my favorite. He’s not written many poems, but I have the book he’s published. It was a gift from my father.”
“I see. I’ve read a bit a Thomas Gray, but I can’t consider meself an afficionado.” The French word sounded wonderfully exotic on his Scottish tongue.
Jamie then stood to open a small cabinet next to the fire. He pulled out a bottle of wine and two cups.
“Wine, lass?” He turned to her, his eyebrow up in question again, his sudden change in disposition confusing and offputting to Amelia.
“‘Tis only half past 4 in the afternoon,” she replied.
He shut the cabinet door with his booted foot, still holding two glasses in his left hand. “Aye, but we here in the Highlands donnae like tae keep tae the restrictive ways of London England, lass. Me da used tae keep wine and whiskey in each gathering room in the winter, so each guest could partake, and stave off the bone-chilling cold.”
He sat down, pouring himself a cupful. “‘Tis yer choice if ye’d like a drink or not, of course.” He sat back in his chair, staring at the fire, sipping the wine. Amelia got a view of his profile and wondered curiously at the new face she saw. Where was the man who’d taunted and teased? She almost missed it.
Amelia felt the image of him standing before the fireplace, shirtless, with beautifully shining skin creep back into her mind, and she blurted out, “Yes! Yes, I will have some wine.”
Jamie laughed and poured her a cup and passed it to her. Amelia leaned up slightly to grab it from him, and their fingers touched for a brief moment. She closed her eyes, praying he didn’t feel the heat building up in her body.
She hoped the wine would calm her nerves and stop that annoying ache that threatened to throb endlessly. What was it?
“I’ve seen ye about the castle and the grounds, writing in a notebook. May I ask what it is ye write?” He turned those green eyes on her, looking genuinely interested.
She took a sip of wine and swallowed slowly, afraid to move under his gaze. She turned to the fire, so that she could answer intelligently.
“Well, I like to write poems. And Scotland’s landscape is so inspiring, I’ve been trying my hand at writing a few poems about it. But, they’re not quite turning out as I’d like. Even though I speak French, Latin, and German, I can’t seem to pick up the language of the land. It eludes me.”
“Ach, du sprichst Deutsch? Sehr impressiv. Wieso hast du Deutsch gelernt?” (You speak German? Very impressive. Why did you learn German?) Jamie said with a wry smile.
Amelia eyes widened, and she couldn’t help but let a smile peek out from the corners of her mouth. “None in my circle can speak it except my father. He always wanted me to learn as much as I could, he was quite modern in that respect.” Amelia took another sip of wine, feeling the tingly warmth crawl up her legs into her stomach. The nerves from earlier slowly released their throbbing tension, but the throb in her middle remained.
“Aye, ‘tis a pity that women don’t get the chances we do. I hope to see it changed in the future. Your father sounds like he was a good man.” Jamie drank his wine and looked at Amelia.
Not wanting to give away the truth of her situation, Amelia simply agreed. “Uh, yes. He was.”
She took another big gulp of the wine, loving the relaxation and confidence it gave her.
“Who was that woman? At the party? She nearly attacked you after we returned from your workroom.”
Jamie stared at her for a while, a bit of that devilish grin returning.
