Gracious.
Electricity crackled between them. The very air vibrating with a buoyant sort of wonder.
In that look, she saw it—
Heknew.
He knew she had been racing to see him.
And . . .
Nowsheknew.
He had been waiting for her.
He had hoped she would come.
Jubilation thrummed in her chest.
Slowing her pace, Viola stopped a few feet in front of him, a helpless, giddy smile on her face.
He gazed back at her for a long moment before a quiet grin stretched wide, stacking up wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
It was quite like a sunrise, luminous and full of promise.
His eyes darted over her person—noting her missing bonnet, her absent gloves, her laboring lungs—surely understanding precisely how eager she had been to meet him.
Viola should have been chagrined, at the very least.
But instead, all she felt was freedom. That she was,at last, alive and truly living.
“What brings you along the lane today, Miss Brodure?” he asked, that grin still tugging at his mouth and rendering it endearingly lopsided.
“I m-missed Beowoof,” she replied, trying to slow her breathing.
That same electricity bounced between them, snapping, growing in portent.
He did not ask the obvious question:Are ye sure it wasn’t myself ye missed?
And she did not give the clear answer:Of course it was you.
“Ye should catch your breath before I walk ye back up the lane.” He motioned toward the swing beside them. “I should hate for ye to exacerbate your asthma.”
Tucking her skirts beneath her, Viola sat on the swing, glad of the reprieve for her lungs. Beowoof sniffed the grass at her feet. Bending, she gave him a brief scratch behind his left ear.
“I trust ye have had a lovely day.” Malcolm leaned his shoulder into the birch once more, arms folded across his chest.
Beowoof loped off into the woods, sniffing through the leafy underbrush.
Viola grabbed onto the ropes holding the swing, her arms outstretched.
“As well as could be expected.” She kicked her feet, setting the swing to a gentle glide. The resulting breeze whispered over her skin. “Lady Stewart held a garden luncheon.”
“I’ve heard tales of her gatherings.”
“But you do not attend them?”
He shrugged. “In the past, I was never invited to such affairs. One of the many prices I willingly paid when I married Aileen. Since her passing, I have been occasionally invited to genteel gatherings but havenae developed a habit of going.”
