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Looping her hand through Emeline’s elbow Kendra drew her toward the door. “Come, Emeline. Ye must be exhausted after yer ordeal.”
Emeline sliced Liam a speaking glance, and he gave a slight nod. They’d agreed not to discuss the matter with others and stick to the plan they’d devised. Except Broden had already broached the subject that could lead them down a very rocky path.
Liam trusted his family and friends, and his servants didn’t gossip. Not if they wished to retain their positions. If anyone came calling, Emeline would stay in her chamber.
She couldn’t remain secluded for long, however. They both agreed on that point. But returning to Edinburgh wasn’t wise or practical. Someone had gone to tremendous effort to have her killed. For the present, it was far safer and wiser for her would-be-murderer to believe she was dead.
Mayhap, he’d go to Edinburgh in her stead, but he wasn’t comfortable leaving her behind either. Neither did he believe she’d sit docilely at Eytone waiting for his return. Docile wasn’t a word to describe her.
“Emeline, I’ll have a tray brought up for ye,” his mother graciously offered. “We’ve already dined, but I’m sure ye’re hungry.”
Thank God, his mother was a kindhearted woman, for there were many who wouldn’t have accepted Emeline so readily and would’ve cast aspersions about her being alone with Liam.
“Ye’re too kind, my lady. Thank ye.” Emeline allowed Kendra and Skye to tow her from the room, but at the doorway, she cast a final, undiscernible glance over her shoulder.
As asinine as it was, Liam missed her the moment she departed.
He cursed inwardly, a string of oaths that would’ve singed Broden’s and Quinn’s ears.
How had she finagled her way through the fortifications he’d so carefully erected? He’d trodden in perilous territory, and one false step would have him sinking under her spell completely.
Damn his eyes, that he could not allow.
Not, and have a speck of self-respect left. Prudence demanded that while she was at Eytone Hall, he avoid her as much as feasible.
“Ye look like ye could use a dram, my friend.” Broden thrust a glass with three fingers’ worth of whisky toward him.
“Ye’ve nae idea.” Shaking his head, he accepted the strong spirit.
Quinn, one elbow resting on the fireplace mantel, glanced up, a crease between his light brown brows. His gaze slid to the door and back Liam. “So, what’s the real story, Liam?”
Too damned perceptive as always.
His mother settled on the divan and accepted a glass of sherry from Broden. “Aye, Son. As Broden mentioned, the flash flood occurred days ago. Where have ye and that lovely young girl been in the meanwhile?”
