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Blast it. She’d accidentally looked at Garrick again. He looked decidedly unhappy. Emma leaned back and tried to forget the feel of his hand on her arm, to forget the sensation of his lips parting her own with . . .

“My lady, more wine?”

“Aye,” she said to the cupbearer.

“Sir, beggin’ your pardon, but the mistress asks if you can see her after the meal.”

“Is it about our visitor?”

“Aye—”

“Pardon me.” Graeme pushed the solid wood chair away from him and stood. “My grandmother twisted her ankle and is unable to join us. And we’re expecting visitors she’s most anxious about. I’ll be but a moment.”

He bowed, leaving Emma to gape at his back as he walked away. Although the main dish had been cleared, it was still extremely unusual for a host to leave during the meal. But then, if his grandmother was ill . . .

He was looking at her. She could sense his gaze, and when she turned to confirm that Garrick was indeed watching her, a flush crept up her neck.

“My lord,” she said, quite politely.

“Emma.”

Could he see her flush? Did he even know he was doing this to her? Did he bite his lip only when he was deep in thought? Annoyed? She couldn’t guess his mood.

Well, she wished he would stop. Every time he looked at her with that intent, focused gaze, she forgot to breathe. It was quite disconcerting. And she could dispense with the use of her given name as well. It sounded so intimate when he said it.

“Why did you do it?” If she’d learned anything from Sara, it was to speak what she was thinking.

Garrick’s eyes narrowed. “He is my king.”

“Pardon?”

“I would have preferred to stay in England, but—”

“Nay, why did you—”

“Agree to escort you? Truth be told, I owed a debt to Lady Sara.”

Warmth flooded her, though she told herself it was only from the wine. “Garrick, you know what I—”

“Because I’ve thought of nothing else since the moment you stood up from tending Nella, your gown sprinkled with hay. No cloak. Nothing to recommend you against the cold. Just you.”

He remembered Nella’s name, a silly thought that spread another wave of warmth through her.

She should not have spoken so bluntly.

“It was wrong, Emma. Stupid. I should tell you—” He looked up as their host approached.

“So serious, Clave. Is all well here?”

Graeme looked from her to Garrick and back. Emma tried to smile but wasn’t sure if she quite managed it.

“Splendid,” Garrick said as their host once again sat between them.

“Smile, Englishman. You’re about to be wed to a Scottish lass. A lucky man indeed.”

He said it so casually that it took Emma a moment to register the words. And then another moment to recover.

Garrick had come to Scotland to be wed?