But they vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. Without a further word, he turned and strode off into the shadows.
Only then did she remember what else she’d wanted to know.
Arabella.
The woman his men said he’d charmed.
“Who is Arabella?” her lips formed the unspoken question.
Three silent words to taunt her.
A name to temper the fluttery excitement his touch and his dimples had left behind.
Who is Arabella?This time her heart asked.
And more importantly, why was she so desperate to know?
Chapter 12
Abraw English knight.
Lady Caterine’s words swirled around Sir Marmaduke as he strode through Dunlaidir’s great hall. Sweet praise to flatter him, a simply stated comment bursting with possibilities and hope.
The same kind of elation a drowning man must feel when tossed a rope.
Braw, she’d said.
Marmaduke’s heart swelled.
No maid had called him thus since he’d been blighted by his scar.
Slowing his steps, he considered abandoning his plan to seek out her ill-humored stepson and attempt to cure the young man’s aches. He frowned, tamping down the urge to return to the high table, fetch his new lady, haul her into his arms, and see to tending his own woes.
And hers.
But while her words beckoned, the expression she’d worn after he’d kissed her wrist had him quickening his step. Wonder and bewilderment had filled her sapphire eyes and the memory of both rode hard on his shoulders.
Her wonder made him want to tear away the cool restraint she kept wrapped around herself and awaken her womanhood with as many soul-stealing kisses as it cost him.
The bewilderment signaled the need to woo her gently. Caterine Keith’s passion would require finesse, skill, and infinite patience.
So he strode on, searching the shadows for James and calling on every shred of his iron will to ignore the conflicting desires trailing in his wake.
Her dog, the snarling beastie, followed him as well, nipping at his heels until he whirled around and gave the mite a ferocious look of his own.
The wee creature froze, his snapping jaws halted as surely as if Marmaduke had emptied a bucket of ice water on him. For a beat, the little dog peered up at him, stunned surprise in his round eyes before he tore off across the rushes, his short legs pumping faster than if a pack of rabid hell-hounds chased after him.
Soundly repelled by one fierce look.
A fearsome scowl from the ravaged face of a man once rumored to be amongst the most handsome of England’s chivalry.
Marmaduke almost laughed and would have, did his accursed vanity not choose that moment to plunge cold shards of bitterness into his heart.
…forget so soon
How you and I, the world away,
Once lay and watched the moon?
