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Bloody hell.
It was her smile that he noticed first. She beamed as if she had not a care in the world. Her mood, coupled with Geoffrey’s odd comment, was Garrick’s first indication the situation was not quite as he’d thought.
“Tell me what?”
The ladies were halfway to the dais when a pleasant but indistinguishable scent announced the arrival of the first course. But Garrick didn’t look at the servants waiting at the side of the hall for their lady to sit. He didn’t look at Geoffrey for a response to his question.
He looked instead at Emma, who stared straight back as if she’d just been told a tantalizing secret. Her smile held both promise and desire, and his body instantly responded.
“That both my wife and I, independently, intercepted the message to Sowlis.”
It took him a moment to grasp Geoffrey’s words. “Intercepted?”
“Stopped him from delivering it. I wanted to speak to Emma first before I gave my approval. Which, of course, you have.”
She is not marrying Graeme. I have her brother’s approval.
Emma began to follow Sara around to Geoffrey’s left, but the countess stopped her.
“I do believe you have a new seat this eve,” she said. They both looked at the empty seat next to Garrick.
Emma simply smiled as she made her way to the chair. She stepped up, thanked the servant who held the ornate wooden chair for her, and sat.
When a trencher was placed between them, Garrick peered around Geoffrey to greet Sara. “Good eve, my lady.”
“Lord Clave.”
It seemed everyone other than him was smiling and in good cheer. Perhaps if he’d learned about their change in circumstances before sitting down to the meal, he’d feel the same.
When Sara leaned in to say something to her husband, Garrick took advantage of their distraction and turned back to Emma.
“Why did you not tell me?” he whispered.
Her smile faltered, likely at his harsh tone. “I had hoped for the chance to speak with you, alone.”
“So it seems you are free to marry once again?”
Garrick hated that she’d accepted Graeme’s proposal, even though they had parted under less than ideal circumstances. He was not happy with her decision, but neither did he pretend the outcome would be anything other than Emma belonging to him.
And he to her.
“Aye, my lord.”
He ignored the herring and herbs that had been placed on their shared trencher.
“And you’re sure you are not wanting to send that messenger back to Scotland?” he pressed.
Her eyes narrowed. “If you’re sure you don’t want to find another Scottish heiress to secure your claim to Linkirk.”
The mood shifted. Despite the tone of their words, the very air around them seemed lighter, less oppressive than it had been just moments before.
“There is only one thing I want, Lady Emma. And I believe you know what it is,” he whispered.
She held his gaze, boldly and with more promise than he deserved. “What, may I presume to ask, is that, my lord?”
“You shall find out soon enough.” With that, he gave his attention to their hosts. “Lord—”
“Geoffrey,” the man corrected.
