“Done,” she said briskly, setting aside the now-empty tin and wiping her hands on her apron.
Thomas blinked, seeming a little taken aback. “Oh, that was quick.”
“Only a thin layer of our salve is needed. So, if there isnae anything else…”
“There is. Something else, I mean.” Thomas flashed her a quick, tight smile and glanced over his shoulder.
He was looking at Delphine, Emma realized. Checking that she was still asleep. Perhaps that ought to have made her suspicious, but she was starting to feel like she was drunk, her senses slow and hazy.
“What is it?”
He sighed, scratching his head with his good hand. His glossy black locks were dull and untidy—as far as Emma could tell in this light—sticking up in tufts. She longed to smooth her hand through his hair.
She didn’t, of course.
“I’m to go to an important event soon. It’s a family event, I suppose ye could say. They’re keen for me to be married, and if I go alone, I’ll be harangued all night about it. I’m tired of being set up with women I don’t fancy who can barely hide their eagerness to be Lady MacPherson. I’ve had enough.”
Emma folded her arms across her chest. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
“Well, I’ve thought of a solution. I’ll bring someone along as my fiancée. Or almost fiancée, whichever gets my family off my back. Then, I’ll be able to go along in peace. Do ye see where this is going?”
Emma blinked, frowning. “Aye, but what does this have to do with me? It’s not like…” she trailed off, her eyes widening. “Oh. Nay.”
“Ye do not even know what I’m going to say.”
“I do, and the answer is nay, nay, a thousand times nay.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes, shifting his position. He still leaned against one side of the doorframe, but now his arm stretched across the doorway.
“The least ye could do is hear me out.”
Emma tossed her hair back, narrowing her eyes. She wished the simmering inside her would cool down so that she could think straight. At the very least, he ought not tolookat her that way. It was hard to put a finger on what was bothering her so much about his direct stare, but it certainlywasbothering her.
“All right. Let me tell ye whatIthink ye want, and ye can correct me if I am wrong.”
“Fine.”
“Ye want to bring me to this event and introduce me as the woman ye are courting. I’ll meet yer family and deal with all of that—sounds like a pain in the backside for me, by the way—while ye drink yerself silly and flirt with other women, free to enjoy yerself. Then, at the end of the night, maybe I’ll be drunk and bored enough to go for a roll in the hay, or in a nearby field, maybe, with ye to round off the evening. Is that right?”
Thomas pursed his lips. “Except for the rolling part at the end, aye. That’s more or less what I had in mind.”
She snorted. “And, as I said before, the answer is nay.”
Moving forward, she made to walk past him, but he kept his arm across, blocking her way. Oh, it would be the work of a split second to duck under his arm, but for some reason that Emma could not fathom, she turned around and looked him in the eye instead.
“Move,” she demanded.
They were too close now, that was for sure. The swell of Thomas’s bicep was only a few inches from Emma’s nose, and he was looking at her with that same hungry expression that had already sent shivers down her spine countless times. His presence seemed to fill up her senses, and it was frustrating and wonderful all at once.
“This isnae a discussion, Butterfly,” he said, his voice husky. “I suppose ye could call it an order.”
“Oh, do ye usually have to order yer subjects to spend time with ye? Honestly, that makes sense to me.”
That was possibly too far, but his shadowed face split into a grin.
“Only the ones with smart mouths,” he shot back.
Then, he leaned forward and kissed her.
