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He knocked on the door of her parlour, steeling himself.
‘Enter.’
She was seated in the embrasure, holding a book and the afternoon light was so bright about her that he could not make out her expression. It made this easier.
‘Mrs Langdale.’
‘Your Grace.’ Her voice was as flat as the first day they met, but now he knew how unnatural it was. He cleared his throat and launched into his speech.
‘What happened earlier was completely my fault. I never should have taken such advantage of your vulnerability. I did not even thank you properly for your show of bravery on Jamie’s behalf, however misguided. He has already been punished for disappearing, but tomorrow I will make it clear to him his behaviour could have resulted in tragedy.’
‘Oh, but you cannot tell him!’ Her outward calm vanished in a flash. She surged to her feet, her eyes wide and shocked, and the book thumped to the floor.
‘Naturally I must punish him for putting you in harm’s way, however unintentionally. He should learn that his actions have consequences.’
‘No! You cannot use my foolishness as an excuse to discipline him! He is far too young to worry a person’s life hangs in the balance of his actions. He could never have guessed I would make such a mistake simply because of his coat and shoes. He is not heedless.’
‘No? Then what the devil would you call it when he throws a tantrum and sends the whole castle into a panic the day we are trying to prepare for the one event a year where we have to expose ourselves to half the Highlands?’
‘Fear. He knows what is happening. He knows his world is changing and it frightens him. He is hardly more than a babe. Please. Please, Benneit. I am begging you.’
Her hands were clasped in front of her, her lips parted and her cheeks warm with colour and he wanted... He looked past her.
‘Oh, very well. I won’t tell him. I dare say you think the punishment I imposed on him already is inhuman enough,’ he said drily. ‘How will the lad survive without his beloved jam tarts until tomorrow? But next time try to think before you throw yourself into the waves or from the cliffs, will you? I shall see you downstairs for dinner.’
He left her parlour before the frustration licking at him like fire at a witch’s skirts engulfed him and made him do something or say something even more foolish. His nerves and his will were frayed to breaking and the temptation to continue their interrupted embrace was like a swarm of maddened bees inside him.
He paused halfway down the stairs, realising he had not even apologised for his outrageous behaviour on the path. He was damned if he was going back to her to do so. His life was complicated enough as it was—the last thing he needed was the pint-sized pixie needling his conscience, subverting his libido and taking complete control of almost every aspect of his life.
Why had he ever suggested she stay a month? Another week of this...
Dear God, he would be a gibbering wreck by the end of it. Now that he knew what she looked like underneath her grey armour, now that he had tasted her...his hands and body could feel her even now...
‘Daingead,’ he cursed as he made his way to his bedchamber. In a few hours he would be welcoming the woman he was to marry and he was as hard and hot as an oak in a forest fire for another woman. Not even at the height of his infatuation with Bella had he felt so torn, so utterly at the mercy of something he did not even understand.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘What?’ Beth exclaimed and then flushed at her very unservile exclamation. ‘But, Mrs Langdale, you must go to the ball! What of your beautiful dress?’
‘I have the headache. From the cold water,’ Jo said with dignity. She had been forced to tell Beth what had happened, at least part of it, to explain her salty, dishevelled and dressless state. Beth had muttered something about Jamie’s tantrums, but had said nothing else as she had ordered up a hot bath and had set about redeeming Jo’s hair from its salty tangle.
Beth planted her fists on her hips and surveyed Jo, her dark eyes like coals from the pits of hell.
‘I’ve not slaved an hour over your hair for you to sit in your room and sulk because the laird gave you the scold you deserved, lass! There’s been enough tantrums at Lochmore today!’
