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She continued to pull the gown up, in the exact wrong direction. They’d left Morgan behind at Highgate. According to Gillian, the poor woman had nearly broken into tears at the prospect of riding south again so soon. Though an adept rider, she’d apparently hoped not to see the backside of a horse for some time.
“During a fight is the perfect time.”
“I disagree.”
Graeme considered showing her just how enjoyable lovemaking could be at such a moment. Until he remembered how badly he wanted to get away from Lyndwood. Instead, he heaved a sigh and continued helping Gillian until she was properly dressed.
“I’ll have to ask my mother’s handmaiden to assist with my hair,” she said, lifting a pewter brush from her belongings.
“Let me help.”
He took the brush from her and gently nudged his wife to turn around. As he brushed the dark locks, Graeme couldn’t resist touching them, lifting them to his face. He breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of lavender. And something else?
“Lemon?”
She shrugged. “Once, father returned from a trip to London and brought lemon-scented soap back with him. A merchant claimed he’d just returned from Greece with it, but Father thought it far more likely ’twas fashioned right there in London. He brought it home to us nonetheless. Now I make sure to get new lemon-scented soaps and sachets every market day.”
He resumed brushing. “An interesting man, your father.”
Graeme pulled the hair from her front to the back to ensure every strand was as smooth as the others.
“You hate him,” she said blandly.
He certainly did not like the man.
“I can understand why he feels compelled to go to desperate measures to save Lyndwood. And yet the choices he’s making . . .”
Graeme stopped, realizing something. “But I could never hate that which created you.”
He finished, and Gillian turned toward him.
“Thank you.” Her eyes glimmered with some emotion.
A dangerous proposition, speaking from the heart. Perhaps he should have kept silent. He’d learned that such openness only ended one way.
With him getting hurt in the end.
Again.
“So tell me, why are we not taking your sister with us back to Highgate?”
She looked so startled, Graeme couldn’t resist laughing.
“Because you . . .”
He crossed his arms and waited.
“Well. She’s not marrying Covington after all.”
“She’s not? How does she plan to get out of it?”
“I know not. She refuses to tell me anything more. Only that I must trust her and she has a plan.”
“In that case,” he said, gathering up his wife’s belongings. “God save us from the Lyndwood sisters and their plans. ’Tis time we return to Scotland.”
He couldn’t get away from this place fast enough.
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