“And I am Gemma,” she replied, lifting her head for another kiss.
Nathan smiled against her lips and she felt him chuckle. She laughed too.
“You knew that already.”
“I suspected that you were the fugitive when I started to suspect you were not Emily.”
He ran a hand down the side of her face, fingers exploring and delving, as though he were mapping its lines. To her neck and down to her shoulder, his soft touch went. Then he drew in a deep breath and pulled away, rolling to one side.
“I do beg your pardon, Miss Stamford. Whatever must you think of me.”
The change in him was like a bucket of cold water thrown over her. Gemma’s hands flew to her bosom, remembering the dream.
What was I doing? What was he doing? What were we both thinking of? Rolling around on the floor like a couple of farmhands!
She sat up just as Nathan also tried to get to his feet. Once again, he lost his footing and Gemma caught his arm. For a moment he stood, head turned towards her hand as though he could see it clearly.
“I am half naked,” he said, in a tone of pure horror.
“Do not fret. I don’t mind,” Gemma replied, intending to put him at ease.
As soon as the words were out of her mouth though, she realized how they had sounded. She colored and was momentarily glad that Nathan was blind and unable to see her embarrassment. Nathan straightened, patting her hand, and smiling a brittle smile.
“Can you see my shirt, perhaps? I threw it away and do not know where it landed.”
Gemma looked around and saw the shirt lying against one wall. She retrieved it and put it into Nathan’s hands. He dressed quickly, tugging it raggedly into his breeches. Then he laughed.
“I will not apologize for being half-naked in front of you. Not here in a private room. But I do apologize for allowing my…worse nature to overcome me. I had no right to touch you like that.”
“Nathan. I’m sorry, Your Grace…” Gemma began.
Nathan laughed again, moving slowly back to his chair and reaching for the decanter. “I am feeling the effect of a touch too much brandy this evening and cannot recall where the glasses may be found. Do you see them?”
Gemma looked around, found a set of glasses under a cotton cloth, and picked up two. Nathan poured a healthy measure into each without any apparent means of knowing how full the glasses were.
“Do not concern yourself with titles, Gemma. If I may call you by your name?”
“Yes, please,” Gemma said, sniffing at the glass suspiciously.
“And I am Nathan. I am sick and tired of being separated from those around me by an invisible barrier. Let us simply be two people. At least for this night.”
He raised his glass and took a swallow. Gemma held her nose and did likewise. Then degenerated into a fit of coughing. Nathan froze with the glass halfway back to the table.
“Oh, dear. Perhaps I should not have offered you a glass of Scotland’s finest. It is something of an acquired taste.”
Gemma spluttered and wheezed. “A taste of what? Charcoal?”
Nathan laughed and so too did Gemma, in between coughing.
“So, will you tell me why those two men are stalking about my castle and planning on stealing my valuables?” he asked.
Gemma felt her hilarity die down. She rolled the glass in her hand, looking at the amber liquid within. “I believe they mean me harm,” she said finally.
The tension in Nathan was palpable. Gemma looked up and could see the whiteness in his knuckles on the glass. Cautiously, she reached out and rested her fingers gently on the outside of his hand, urging him to relax his grip, fearing that the grip would shatter the glass.
“Are you quite serious?” Nathan said in a harsh whisper.
Gemma nodded, then remembered. “Yes. I overheard a conversation.”
