It was the most opaque reference Malcolm had ever made to the difference in social status between them.
“Would ye like a wee push, Miss Brodure?” He lifted his hands, palms out.
Viola nodded, perhaps a tad over-enthusiastically.
“Well, you missed quite the hubbub in Lady Stewart’s garden today,” she said, head turning as he walked behind her.
“Aye?” The word hummed in her ear as he bent to gently wrap his enormous hands around her waist.
Viola inhaled sharply at the touch. At the sensation of his breath rolling across her neck. Gooseflesh flared to life along her arms.
She could feel every searing point of contact between them—all ten fingertips, the palms of his hands.
Viola swallowed.
He pushed her away from him, the lightest motion.
What had she been saying?
Right.
Lady Stewart’s garden party.
“It was a scene fit for a Punch and Judy show.” Viola’s voice turned breathless. “Lady Stewart had the luncheon set up on the south lawn, not the conservatory, as the day was sunny and lovely.”
“Aye, we’ve had a spell of nice weather lately.” Malcolm’s words whispered over her neck as his hands gave another gentle push. Viola longed to lean back into his touch.
“All was well and good at the outset. Ethan was in fine form, you will be pleased to hear.” Viola looked back at Malcolm. “He regaled us all with tales from his Grand Tour year abroad. Apparently, pickpockets in Rome are particularly vicious.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard that story a number of times. The one with the monkeys and a lemon?”
Another breath across the back of her neck.
Another push.
Focus on the story.
“Yes, precisely,” she continued. “Ethan’s tale, though humorous, was not the pinnacle of hilarity. No, that moment came when Sir Robert Stewart’s prize sheep escaped his pen.”
“Fergus?”
Viola coughed a laugh. “I see Fergus’s reputation precedes him.”
“He has a habit of sticking his nose where it doesnae belong, but as he is a fine Scottish blackface ram and useful for improving all our breeding stock, we put up with him.”
Malcolm pushed her again, his strong palms engulfing her waist and his thumbs pressing into the small of her back.
Viola soared higher, thrilling as the wind tugged at her hair.
“Well, you will perhaps be delighted to know that Fergus has taken a rather strong liking to your Ethan.”
“How’s that?” The broad smile in his voice echoed her own.
“Ethan had just finished enacting the monkey bit of his story—”
“With all the screeching?”
“And flapping of his arms,” Viola giggled. “Perhaps Fergus mistook it for some sort of sheep mating cry, I cannot say. Regardless, one moment Ethan was mid-monkey call and the next, Fergus had tugged him out of his chair by his tailcoat.”
