A pause.
“As to that, there might be another explanation,” Marianne said.
“Such as?” Other than the obvious, Emma couldn’t think of a single one.
“There have been a few whispers. About Strathaven’s proclivities.” Peachy color stained Marianne’s high cheekbones. “You see, dear, sometimes the relationship between a man and a woman can take… unusual forms.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t suppose you do.” Marianne sighed. “I should hate to spoil your lovely innocence. Suffice it to say that, in hurting his lover, Strathaven may not have actually been hurting her. Do you see what I mean?”
“No.” That explanation was as clear as the mud on London’s streets.
“Good lord, this is more difficult than I thought,” Marianne muttered.
They were interrupted by a knock. Mr. Pitt appeared. “Good morning, madam,” he said with a bow. “Mrs. McLeod wishes to see if you and Miss Emma are receiving at present.”
Emma’s unease grew. Mrs. McLeod wanted to see her? It was too early for a social call.
Marianne waved her hand. “Send her in. And do bring some tea—the Ceylon, I think.” When the butler departed, she said, “We’ll continue this conversation later, Emma.”
As Marianne rose to greet their guest, Emma hung back shyly. In the presence of the older ladies, she felt like an awkward miss. Her sister-in-law was a celebrated beauty,and Annabel McLeod, with her fiery tresses and smoldering violet eyes, possessed an aura of sensual femininity.
What would it be like to possess such mystique?Emma wondered.
She saw herself as a sister, daughter, even a mother of sorts, but as a... woman? A wife? Mundane and forthright, she’d never attracted much male attention. Never inspired passion in any man except, on occasion, over her cooking (the one marriage proposal she’d received, from the village vicar, had been motivated by his ardor for her Sunday supper). In truth, back in Chudleigh Crest, she’d had a reputation for being a bit of a termagant, and it hadn’t boosted her allure.
Was she supposed to stay silent when the butcher tried to sell her an overpriced cut of meat? Was she to just accept the thatcher’s word that the flimsy excuse of a roof he’d put on would hold up against the elements? Her strong will had been forged by years of taking care of her family, her determination a trait that had helped her cope with poverty, illness, and loss.
Nonetheless, she’d begun to suspect that her managing nature might preclude her from falling in love. As she’d told Ambrose, she had yet to meet a man who made her want to relinquish her independence. Who tempted her to give up control over her own future.
Out of nowhere, Strathaven’s face appeared in her mind’s eye, his slashing cheekbones and gleaming jade eyes. Her belly quivered at the memory of his lean physique, so close to hers that she’d felt the heat emanating from him, his spicy male scent infusing her senses...
Her heart raced.That’s just… fear. You were afraid of him and rightly so.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Annabel?” Marianne said when they’d all seated themselves.
Mrs. McLeod’s gaze settled on Emma. “I won’t beat around the bush. It’s about Strathaven.”
Though the declaration came as no surprise, Emma tensed, her hands clenching in her lap.
“Mr. McLeod doesn’t know I’m here,” the lady went on, swishing her russet skirts into place. “He’s quite irritated with his brother at the moment.”
“I can’t blame him. From what Ambrose told me, the meeting between them didn’t go well,” Marianne murmured.
Mrs. McLeod sighed, shaking her head. “Men can be such foolish creatures.”
“On that, we cannot agree more.”
The ladies shared a smile before Mrs. McLeod turned to Emma. “It’s always been that way between McLeod and his older brother,” she explained. “Since I’ve known them, they can’t be in a room together for more than a few minutes before they’re at each other’s throats.”
“Strathaven started it,” Emma said. “He was rude. Mr. McLeod was only trying to help.”
“Yes, well, that’s why I’m here. Once my husband’s temper wears off, I am certain he will regret not doing more to help his brother. They are kin, after all, even though they were raised apart. To a Scotsman, blood is thicker than water.”
“Why were they raised apart?” Emma couldn’t help but ask.
“It’s a lengthy tale and not mine to divulge. Suffice it to say, those two have had a long and difficult brotherhood—but it doesn’t mean that they don’t care about each other. And for all Strathaven’s...” Mrs. McLeod waved a hand, as if trying to summon an accurate description of the man.
