All the emotions in her former home had been muted, faded. Mustn’t get too excited. Mustn’t let anyone see you’re upset. Even when she and her father celebrated a scientific success, it was with a firm handshake and smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. When her mother had been taken from the house, all the life had gone with her.
Sinclair’s emotions acted like wine upon her. His joy seeped into her, warming her through. She hadn’t realized how cold she’d felt until she stood next to his fire.
Sin dug his palm into his eye, his laughter tapering off. “I’ll catch the wee, naughty badger for you,mo ghrâdh. Dunnae fear.”
Banquo slunk up to her and nudged her fingers with his snout. She rubbed behind his ear. “Do you realize that your brogue becomes more pronounced the more affected you are?” Like he wore his own mask, but powerful emotions knocked it down.
He sobered. “I hadn’t noticed.” Picking up a broken stick, he chucked it into the field, the dogs racing after it. Winnifred saw they were behind Kenmore. A small river that led to the lake was only a slight distance away. “Growing up in England, it seemed easier fitting in if I hid my accent. Made it easier to forget this place, and my duties to it.” He gave her a deprecating smile. “Easier to fit in with the crowd, too.”
She raised her eyebrows. Her husband stood a head above most men. Was as broad across as a bull, and his long, silky, auburn hair was unlike any other peers’. “A man like you could never fit in.”
Heat sparked in his eyes, the deep, piercing blue so unlike her own faded periwinkle ones. “Aye, that is so.” He stepped close, his body a shield against the breeze that lifted her hair. “Do ye like what you see, wife?”
Her cheeks heated, and she clasped her hands together in front of her. “Your form is pleasing.” Complimenting her husband couldn’t be taken amiss, could it?
He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb along her lower lip before sliding around to grip the nape of her neck. “Pleasing. I’m glad. I very much want to please you,mo ghrâdh.” His lips hovered an inch from hers, his breath ghosting over her mouth.
Her nipples tingled, pulled tight, and her gaze flipped between his eyes. Was he speaking of their intimacies? Perhaps in the bedroom such talk wasn’t improper, but in a field in the light of day, it seemed …thrilling…. inappropriate.
If she leaned forward, pressed her aching body to his, what would the consequences be? Was this wantonness roiling through her inherited from her mother? Would it lead to the same place?
Her body cooled, and she stepped back.
Sin squeezed her neck once, his eyes narrowing, before dropping his hand with a sigh.
He looked to the tunnel. “Someday, I’m going to understand you. You can allow yourself pleasure.”
No, men could be free with their pleasures. Women had to take care.
She cleared her throat, needing to change the subject. “What is you call me? Mo something?”
“Mo ghrâdh. My love.”
Her back tensed. That hadn’t changed the subject in the direction she’d wanted.
Horatio trotted up, the stick crookedly held in his mouth. Winnifred tugged it free and threw it as far as she could. “What is the tunnel for? Did your ancestors use if for smuggling? Or a tactic to sneak up on invaders?”
He arched one burnished brow. “Nothing so interesting. It was used to carry goods that were transported by the river into the castle. There was nothing secret about it.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders dropped.
Sinclair held out his arm, and she took it, turning with him to stroll around the castle to the front door. “It has gone forgotten for many a year now. But if there is a dangerous badger threatening Kenmore, I suppose it needs attention paid to it.”
He was teasing, trying to lighten the mood. And she was grateful for it. But she had never learnt the art of play. She didn’t know how to tease him back. “I have a list, a small one, of other improvements I believe Kenmore needs. If my saying so isn’t too forward, that is.”
He rubbed the back of his head. “With you, nothing is too forward.”
Chapter Ten
A scratch sounded at the door and both he and Winnifred looked up from their respective books. His, a treatise on Scottish history; hers, the King James bible, although her glance frequently drifted toThe Timesthat he’d left on the settee beside her.
“Yes?”
A footman poked his head through. “Milord, Mr. Gavin Fraser is here to see you.”
Sin stood from his armchair. “Send him in, send him in.” He hurried forward, arm outstretched to greet the man. “Gavin. It’s good to see you.”
“I was sorry to have missed you when you were making your rounds the other day.” Gavin rolled up his cap and shoved in the pocket of his jacket. “I was in Glasgow looking for a seed supplier.”
