A hand reached out, halting her. She looked behind her to find Amber staring up at the sky.
“I will ask for lunch to be sent out to the gazebo,” Amber said, turning to look at her. Then she hurried away.
She returned moments later and stood beside her until a maid approached and announced that lunch was served.
Talia withdrew her fingers from the cold water and rose. She put off contemplating whether she could acquire a boat to take her across the stream.
“The Laird told me that ye have nay intention of gettin’ married.” Amber stuffed the last of her beef in her mouth.
Talia studied her. She did not sense an ounce of malice, but her lackadaisical mien might as well have been practiced. “I see he has sicced ye on me. Is that the agenda for the day?”
“I am merely making conversation.” Amber shrugged so casually that Talia almost believed her.
She did not respond. Instead, she studied the clematis plants snaking around the trellis, tracing the delicate vines. From the moment she sat, she had wondered who had been responsible for such magnificent botany. Purple and pink vines sprouted from white-painted troughs, intertwining in a thick mesh, lending shelter from the sun.
She fought the urge to nibble on her fingers. The plants were poisonous, she knew that, but lunch was light, and she had a large appetite.
The meals in the townhouse were quite a boisterous affair. Jonathan had often intimated how healers forewent their health for their patients, and thus ordered the cook to prepare large servings.
She wondered if she could request dessert. Closing her eyes, she smacked her lips together, savoring the spices on her tongue. Maybe she would have fruit. A perspiring bowl of grapes sat at the center of the table.
When she opened her eyes, angling away from Amber’s probing stare, she saw Darragh making his way across the clearing. Those broad shoulders were unmistakably his.
Her face twisted into a scowl of displeasure.
“Amber, yer husband is looking for ye.”
Darragh did not regard her. Instead, he watched Amber’s every move, from her nod to the tilt of her head when she bid Talia good afternoon, then her retreating figure until it disappeared.
Wordlessly, he climbed three steps in one stride and reached for the bowl of grapes. But Talia wanted grapes. Shelikedgrapes. She lurched forward instinctively and swiped the bowl away.
Darragh did not protest. If he was surprised, he did not show it. He pulled back his hand, walked around the table, and stared off into the distance.
It irked her how he paid her no heed. It was as if he had left hours ago and returned a reformed person. He was no longer the scowling man with dry remarks, but an even-tempered man who tucked his hands behind him and used his broad back to block her view.
She was exaggerating, but he did block something!
“What do ye want?” Her scowl seeped into her tone.
His lips stretched into something that did not resemble a smile, or maybe it was. She couldn’t tell from that angle.
“Are ye always this disagreeable?”
“I shall have to laud ye for me temperament.”
He chuckled, and it was a soft, melodious thing. He looked as though it had surprised him as much as it did her. It was short, shorter than a muffled cough.
For the second time that day, he had stifled his laughter. During her lessons in etiquette, she had learned that it was rude to openly—or in secret—laugh at the misfortune of another.
Stupidity was the greatest misfortune of all, and she would pay no mind to Darragh’s polite treatment of Mr. Ross. She hadn’t had it in herself to behave the same way.
For the second time, she could only conclude that he did not want to get to know her. Or that he planned to ambush her with another suitor and was playing the role of a sane liaison.
Incensed, she hiked up her skirts, marched to him, and turned him around with a firm hand on his bicep. “So where is he?”
He only budged because he wanted to. His eyes seemed to point out and deride her weakness. “Who?”
“The gentleman ye have brought to spoil me afternoon.”
