“Beautiful, isn’t it,” she said.
Adam’s eyes stayed fixed on the lake. “More so than I ever imagined.”
Esme pressed her lips together. “Surely you have lakes in Scotland?”
“Lochs,” he corrected, with the glint of a smile. “Aye, we do. But I was not talking merely of the lake. Your home is beautiful, Esme. You are fortunate indeed.”
She glanced at the soft crust of mud beneath her feet, and the dark staining on her slippers. Standing on such unsteady ground made her anxious. And this was not a conversation that required any additional anxiety.
Seized by impulse, she reached down and tugged the ruined slippers from her feet. She sighed happily as her toes sank into the mud, wriggling them for purchase and feeling far steadier.
Adam’s eyebrows had disappeared beneath his thatch of hair. “What are you doing?”
“Paddling,” she said, deciding in that moment to walk closer to the shore. She squealed as cold water closed over her feet, but the chill was invigorating. “Come and join me.” she called over her shoulder.
“Are you touched in the head, lass?” His voice rose higher than she had ever heard it. “Your gown will be ruined.”
“I have spent far too long caring about gowns and ribbons,” she declared. “In the future, I shall follow Frida’s example and wear braccae should the mood take me.”
She heard him exhale, then felt him come to stand beside her.
“Your boots will be ruined,” she quipped.
“They can stand more than a bit of water,” he retorted.
He was so close; she was sure her arm would brush against his if she only leaned a little to the left.
But she could not pluck up the courage to do so.
“I am glad you are here, Adam,” she said in a rush.
Now she felt the force of his gaze turn fully toward her. “Are you certain of that?”
“Of course.” A small wave caught her unawares and she flung out her hand. But when she encountered the iron hardness of Adam’s chest, she pulled it back as if she had been scorched. “Why would you say otherwise?” Her voice showed her hurt.
Adam turned his gaze back to the swans, elegantly swimming in the center of the lake. “When we were at Ember Hall, there were times we seemed almost to be equals,” he said, honesty rippling through his words. “But now I see the real Esme de Neville.”
“Nay.” Without allowing herself to hesitate, she took his hand. As soon as his fingers linked with hers, she knew she was doing the right thing. “You already knew the real Esme de Neville.”
“This is too much,” he said, his voice strangely small. “Crispin was right about one thing. I am worth naught.”
“Do not say that.” Tears brimmed at her eyes, but she felt more angry than sad. “How dare you say that?”
Adam smiled, but this time it did not meet his eyes. “One thing I am sure of is my courage, milady.”
Esme swallowed and tightened her grip on his hand. “Courage is a quality most admired by my family. Courage, honesty, and a belief in true love.” Her voice quavered. “Do you believe in true love, Adam?”
So much time passed she began to fear he would not answer. Her limbs started to shake, though whether that was due to cold or trepidation, she could not say.
“I believe that I am in love with you, Esme,” he said hoarsely.
She felt weak with relief. “As I am in love with you.” Her knees were all but knocking together now. Adam put his strong arms about her and half carried, half dragged her back to the shore.
“This love makes you do strange things.” He rubbed her hands together and blew on them. “I do not even have a cloak to wrap about your shoulders.”
“You can wrap your arms about my shoulders,” she dared suggest, closing her eyes with joy when he did just that. Snuggled against his warm body, she felt happy and safe, once again. “If you love me, and I love you, then there is no more to discuss.”
“Esme.” He uttered her name like a prayer. One hand cupped the back of her head, whilst the other stroked the length of her spine. “I am the son of a farmer.”
