“When I thought about ye, I didnae contemplate the times we went fishing, Rebecca. I thought about how yer shift would cling to ye when ye came out of the loch, about how ye’d tuck yer hair behind yer ear before ye did someaught that scared ye. About how blue yer eyes looked in the morning.”
Her skin warmed. “I thought you hated me for what I said to you. For what I did.”
“I did,” he said matter-of-factly. “Ye gave all that to another man.”
And there it was again. “You didn’t think about me that wayuntilI accepted Ian’s proposal, and don’t you dare pretend otherwise.”
He snorted, not at all the reaction she’d expected, and yet more evidence that he’d… matured, that he’d become more self-aware or controlled. “I didnae think of marrying ye before Ian proposed to ye. I’ll agree about that.” He tilted his head a little. “Likely because I just… It didnae ever occur to me that we wouldnae be together. If ye dunnae think I looked at ye from time to time, well, ye werenae paying attention.”
Rebecca swallowed. Perhaps she had noticed. Thatdidn’t make her any more willing to admit that from time to time back then she’d had some very interesting dreams about him where her imagination had filled in the blank spaces made by her lack of actual experience. Or that last night he’d put her imagination to shame.
“If ye keep looking at me like that, I may just forget myself and kiss ye right here in the open,” he murmured, his arm muscles flexing beneath her fingers.
By his way of thinking that would probably serve to make Donnach and his father panic over the idea of losing her. Of losing Sanderson’s, that was, and cause them to reveal all their evil deeds. “You would have to marry me to save me from the resulting scandal,” she pointed out, sending another acquaintance a nod. “I may be a widow, but there are still rules.”
“It would be that simple?” he asked, stopping so quickly she nearly turned into him.
“What?”
“To make ye marry me,” he pressed. “It would be as simple as kissing ye in public?”
Her heart fluttered. “Don’t you dare, Callum,” she whispered tightly, reflecting that a few days ago she would have taken that as a threat. They didn’t seem to be enemies any longer, thank goodness, but “complicated” didn’t even begin to describe… this. Them. The whatever it was that lay between them. “Last night was… a release,” she offered. “I’ve felt alone for a very long time. At the same time I haven’t forgotten why you came back here. Or that some of your plans, such as they are, seem more than dangerous. ‘Danger’ is not on my list of requirements for a husband. Nor is ‘careening toward getting yourself killed.’”
“Hm.”
She scowled up at his profile. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like, lass. Naught’s decided. Dunnae think that means I’ll keep my hands off ye in the meantime.”
Rebecca snorted, not at all averse to that. “You’re a madman.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
At the front steps of Edgley House he let her move ahead of him, standing back as Williams the butler greeted her and held the door. She appreciated his deference. This, more than anywhere else in the world, was her domain. It was the one substantial item that would remain hers once she remarried. In addition, for the moment she owned a large portion of a shipping company and a small house in fashionable Knightsbridge in London. Everyone, herself included, saw this ownership as temporary, as part of an obscenely large dowry that would go to the man of her choosing.
Perhaps that was the true measure of her power. She could choose to whom she gave her wealth. A few weeks ago she’d decided to give it to Donnach Maxwell, the Marquis of Stapp. That made sense, in her world as she’d known it then.
And now everything had upended. Not only because of what Callum had suspected and now begun to prove, but because of the man himself. Ian had married her on the expectation of inheriting her inheritance. He’d died a fortnight before that could happen. At the time she’d thought it ironic. Now, though, because of Callum, she had to wonder if Dunncraigh had taken steps to see that the fleet remained under her control, so she could bequeath it to his son through marriage.
“There was no reason for anyone to murder my father,” she announced, keeping her voice below the butler’s hearing as they reached George Sanderson’s old office and she let them inside. “Once I remarried, myhusband would inherit my father’s share, just as Ian would have.”
“They killed Ian to stop him from talking about something, or from taking action about something he’d discovered,” he returned in the same low voice. “I reckon either they didnae want to risk George figuring out what happened, or they didnae want to wait for him to die in his own good time.”
“That’s awful.”
“Aye, it is.”
“I don’t like being a pawn,” she said more loudly, bending down to unlock her father’s desk with the key she’d brought.
“Then dunnae be one.” Callum sat in the chair and began pulling open drawers, setting the contents onto the smooth mahogany desktop.
She didn’t know what she expected from him—more reverence, an acknowledgment that he was digging through a man’s life—but of course he had other goals in mind. Still, acknowledging that a good man—a man he’d known for a decade and one he knew she’d adored—had died wouldn’t have taken much effort. Only a little compassion. It angered her, as did his flippant response to a dilemma that had been weighing on her for better than a year.
“Of course. That’s the answer,” she snapped, taking a stack of papers and setting them in her lap as she plunked down in the chair facing the desk. “I’ll magically change my sex so I may keep what I own. I’ll have Maggie—Mags—do the same so she may inherit my riches.”
Williams cleared his throat from the doorway. “May I fetch you some tea, my lady? A glass of whisky, my lord?”
“Tea will do for me,” Callum returned. “I’ll nae answer for the lass, or she’ll punch me.”
