His gaze shifted downward, amusement lifting the corner of his mouth. “Ye ken how adorable ye look in my robe? Yer hands up the sleeves like a wee bairn in her papa’s shirt? Except yer no wee bairn and I’m no’ yer papa.”
For all that look caused heat to pool between her legs, Prim held firm, tapping her toe. “You’ll not distract me, Jamie. Stop brooding and talk to me.”
“Why must you pester me on this?”
“Because I care about you.”
His nostrils flared at the admission, his eyes on fire. Good Lord, with such a large family, was a confession of caring so rare? Or was that it’d come from her? What nonsense.
“For all that you’re trying to see to my happiness, I want to do the same for you,” she told him. “You’re wallowing in some misery I don’t understand.”
* * *
James turned away, raking his fingers into his hair. There’d be no escaping Prim, though. He’d never known a woman so tenacious, or insightful. Even Maggie. She’d sensed in him what no one had for decades, and dared to call him to the carpet for it.
“Perhaps I don’t speak of it because I don’t understand it either.”
As if sensing his struggle, Prim retrieved his family photo album from the chair and flipped it open. “Obviously you love them.”
James nodded. “I do.”
“They must love you as well.”
A slow burn surrounded his heart, the ache radiating outward. It had become so familiar to him, James thought it was almost part of him. Sifting through his discarded clothes, he found his trousers and tugged them on before returning to the fireplace. A decanter of Scotch sat on the mantle. He took one of the glasses next to it and filled it, shooting it down before refilling it. He hoisted the bottle in Prim’s direction. A silent question she denied with a shake of her head.
“Jamie?”
“I suppose they do,” he finally replied, taking another swallow and resisting the urge to down the whole bloody thing. “That’s what family does, right?”
She cocked her head, the familiar gesture warming him with unexpected amusement. So solemn, so serious. So endearing.
“You sound like you don’t believe it. Why?”
James shrugged. “I’ve ten siblings. I’m right near the center of the motley crew.”
“Yes, you’ve said that before.”
Pacing to the end of his bed, he dropped down facing her. After a moment, Prim perched on the arm of his chair, still looking expectant.
“Bring me that book.”
Retrieving the book, she brought it to him and James tugged her down beside him. He flipped it open to the first page.
“Francis, Vincent…or Vin, as we call him, and Richard”—he pointed out the three older boys there—“were born in successive years. They were always close.” He flipped farther back in the book to a group of five young men with their arms flung over each other’s shoulders. “This is them and their friends, Jack Merrill, who is now Earl of Haddington and Kitty’s husband, and Jace MacKenzie. There was the five of them together as long as I can remember. Then I came along a couple years later.”
He went back to the front of the book and turned the pages to the largest family portrait, pointing to the lad off to the side of the group. “That’s me. I was three when Colin was born.” His finger skimmed the photo. “Sean was born just ten months after him. They were too young for me to bother with.
“By the time they were old enough to be interesting, they’d formed an exclusive friendship with one another that was only rivaled by that of the twins.”
He pointed to a pair of identical boys glued to one another’s side. They’d always been like that. Inseparable. “The twins, Ian and Tam. Then Connor, Dorian…,” James indicated the baby in his arms and the toddler on his father’s lap, “Fiona followed them. One year after the next. Mother died shortly after that. She’d always wanted a girl.”
“I’m so sorry,” Prim’s sorrowful whisper brushed over his check. She laid her head on his shoulder, hugging his arm. “The death of a parent is hard, especially a mother.”
Of course, she would understand. She was an orphan herself.
“Haven’t you heard enough? I don’t want to bore you.”
“You aren’t.”
