Somewhere along the way, they had stopped moving.
They stared at one another, their breaths filling the air.
Alarm bells clamored in his mind.
It would be so easy to kiss her. To release her hand, grasp her neck, and pull her mouth to his—an action he had done hundreds of times. His senses anticipated it, how her chest would rise to meet his, how she would taste.
But he knew himself. As he had intuited earlier, once he began kissing her, he wasn’t sure he would ever cease. He would tumble them both onto the enormous bed in the next room.
And shewouldsuccumb to the wildfire of their mutual desire. He may not have much practical experience in these matters, but he could feel her yearning in the pliable sway of her body and see it in the inky black of her blown pupils.
He wouldn’t permit their unruly lusts to rob her of Malton Hill and her dreams for her home. He loved her too well.
With a forced smile, he dropped his hands and stepped back with a small bow.
“Ye be an accomplished dancer yourself, lass. I imagine ye have sore feet after every ball, given the clamor of gentlemen who vie to stand up with ye.”
Isla blinked, as if his words landed like a splash of cold water.
Tavish supposed he had intended them as such.
“Yes,” she said, blinking again. And then, with a wee shake of her head, she turned for a seat before the fire.
Tavish told himself he was glad the spell had been broken.
For the remainder of their time here at Cairnfell, his mandate remained simple—
Do not touch Isla.
That way lay madness.
28
Isla could feel herself changing.
Day by day, she found it a bit more difficult to hold onto the dream of Malton Hill. Her happiness here with Tavish at Cairnfell rivaled the happiness she experienced at Malton Hill.
Moreover, a terrible truth had been gently taking form in her mind. She hadn’t buried her love for her husband, or even abandoned it. She had simply replaced it—exchanging Tavish for Malton Hill in her affections. And now faced with them both, she could no more forgo either of them without losing a vital part of her soul.
How was that possible? And as ever, what was she to do?
On their sixth day at Cairnfell, Lady Mariah managed to slip them a lovely dinner of braised beef with roasted potatoes when she delivered the post. Though Isla appreciated Tavish’s ability to create a meal with the most rudimentary ingredients, a proper dinner seated at the table was a welcome change. The weather had turned chilly with rain lashing the windows and wind guttering the fire in the hearth, making the hearty meal even more welcome.
“Any word from Captain Ross about your plans for Pennsylvania?” Isla asked, spooning potatoes onto her plate, eyes darting to the stack of letters Lady Mariah had brought. Tavish had read them, a frown between his brows.
“Nothing specific.” Tavish poured himself a glass of red wine. “We’re still trying to locate a third investor.”
Isla knew that concerns for his future weighed heavy.
“Why did you leave the army?” she asked. “Many men make a living out of it. The wages are not so terrible, particularly for an officer such as yourself.”
He took a bite of beef, chewing slowly.
Isla tried not to stare with only middling success. His eye had finally healed from Colonel Archer’s battering, the skin once more smooth and golden. Sometimes, she wished she could watch Tavish for hours—tracing the lines of his body, cataloging the smooth skin at the nape of his neck or the shadowed hollow beneath his bottom lip . . . all the places she longed to press a kiss.
He was her husband. All of that lovely maleness was hers and hers alone.
For now.
