Page 57 of The Laird’s Sinful Claim

"Here." He reached out, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth with shocking gentleness. The touch lasted barely a second before he pulled back, but it was enough to make her skin tingle. "There. Got it."

Elinor's mouth had gone completely dry. "Thank you."

"Ye're welcome." His voice had gone rough. "I should... I should let ye get back tae work."

"Yes. Probably."

Neither of them moved.

"Tomorrow night," David said finally. "Ye'll save me a dance?"

"I thought that was expected. As your wife."

"I'm nae askin' as yer husband. I'm askin' as a man who'd like tae dance with ye." He held her gaze. "So will ye?"

Something fluttered in Elinor's chest. "Yes."

"Good." He stepped back, putting proper distance between them. "I'll leave ye tae yer preparations then."

He turned to go, and Elinor found herself speaking before she could think better of it. "David?"

He paused, looking back.

"Are you all right? You seem... distracted."

For a moment, she thought he might brush off the question. Then his expression softened.

"Aye, lass. I'm all right." He glanced at the table laden with desserts, then back at her. "Just... surprised, I suppose."

"By what?"

"By ye." He said it simply, without elaboration, and left before she could respond.

Elinor stood frozen in the kitchen, her heart doing strange things in her chest. Susan emerged from her corner, a knowing smile on her flour-dusted face.

"That man's fair besotted with ye, me lady."

"He is not."

"He is. I've kent the laird since he was a bairn, and I've never seen him look at anyone the way he just looked at ye." Susan returned to her dough, kneading with practiced efficiency. "Like ye hung the moon and stars."

"He was just checking on the preparations."

"If ye say so, me lady." But Susan's smile suggested she knew better.

Elinor turned back to the desserts, but her concentration was thoroughly broken. All she could think about was the way David had looked at her. The way his thumb had felt against her mouth. The roughness in his voice when he'd asked her to save him a dance.

Nae as yer husband. As a man who'd like tae dance with ye.

What did that mean?

And why did the thought of it make her feel like she'd swallowed butterflies?

The next morning, David was meant to be training.

He was not training.

Or rather, he was going through the motions of stance, strike, parry, and counter, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. Specifically, it was in the kitchen, watching his wife taste desserts with an expression of pure bliss on her face.