Page 26 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
His friend shifted uneasily, but Rowe explained with a smile, “He thinks I live in my head too much. Might get on the wrong mail coach or fall into a ditch and forget how to call for help.”
“Someone’s got to look out for Rowe,” Curtis muttered. He cracked his knuckles, a surefire signal that he was uneasy. That shouldn’t be, though. Since Eton, Curtis and Rowe had been the closest of friends, nigh inseparable. Surely time on the road together would make Curtis happy, if not less uncomfortable.
Duncan looked back and forth between the two men. Tension hovered in the air, something that made it difficult for Curtis to meet Rowe’s eye.
“The road’s dusty,” Curtis went on. “Need something to drink. I’ll fetch ales for us.”
Before Duncan could say that it wasn’t necessary and that the servers would see to it, Curtis had jumped from the table and strode off toward the bar. As Duncan returned his attention to Rowe, he observed his friend watching Curtis with a look that was both wary and... hungry?
“You’re not imagining it,” Rowe said, still looking at Curtis. “He’s tetchy.”
“But why?”
Rowe turned his ice-blue eyes to Duncan. “That night at Carriford. Two months ago.”
The three of them had been traveling together, coming back from a manuscript archive in Leicester, and had stopped in at Rotherby’s estate on the off chance that their friend would be in residence. As it had turned out, Rotherbyhadbeen there, along with several other guests, including the woman who would one day be his duchess. Lady Farris had also been one of the guests, and, well, Duncan and she had not made a good impression on each other.
“What of it?” Duncan asked.
“Recall that there were only two rooms left for us by the time we arrived. You were in one, Curtis and I in the other. We had to share a bed.” Rowe gazed at him levelly, inviting Duncan to realize what this meant.
For a moment, Duncan could not grasp words or how to implement them. It took a full minute before he could fathom what Rowe had said.
“You’re surprised,” his friend said flatly.
“A bit,” Duncan said after a moment. “I knew men during the war, men who preferred the company of their sex. And,” he cleared his throat, “Curtis never told me, but I’d guessed that he was one of those men. But—I’ve seen you with women.”
Rowe gave him an enigmatic smile. “It’s thepersonthat attracts me, not their sex.”
“And you find Curtis attractive.” Duncan knew he sounded like a dolt, but learning that two of his oldest friends had slept together had fogged his brain.
“Oh, yes.” Rowe’s grin this time was wolfish. “Without going into that night’s details, I can assure you that the sentiment is shared. Only...” His smile faded and he frowned down at his hands splayed on the table. “Since then, every word out of his mouth is stilted, and the bastard insists on keeping his hands to himself. Hoping this trip to give my paper can at least salvage our friendship, but...” He shrugged, his expression bleak, then he schooled it into neutrality when Curtis approached, carrying three tankards.
“Drink slowly, gents,” Curtis said, thumping the ale on the table. “I can only afford one round, and this is it.”
Rowe held up his tankard. “A toast. To the Union of the Rakes.”
“To the Union of the Rakes,” Duncan and Curtis echoed. They clattered their mugs together before taking long drinks. It eased the tension, but only a little, because Rowe and Curtis kept stealing glances at each other. Their gazes would meet and then slide away, then meet again, as though they couldn’tnotlook at each other.
For so many reasons, it was strange to be an outside observer to their dance. Though they were his dearest friends, Duncan was shut out from this intimate ballet.
Suddenly loneliness crept through him, as though the tether of human companionship that tied him to the earth had loosened, and he would drift away, unnoted, until he disappeared into the ether.
He wantedsomeoneto grab hold and anchor him. But there was no one.
Chapter 7
Judging by the way the major, Mr. Rowe, and Mr. Curtis interacted with each other, with the habits and manners that befitted twenty years of friendship, her presence was not only unnecessary, it might prove a hindrance. She’d had to make similar retreats whenever Anthony or John had come home from school with chums in tow. In those cases, she hadn’t taken more than a few steps from the chamber before the room had been filled with a variety of taunts and rude noises. And sometimes smells, God help her.
But Major McCameron was far olderthan her sons. She’d never forget that. All day, her awareness of the major had grown, as had the subtle shifts between them. He was slowly loosening, releasing the hold on himself. The man she’d met this morning would not have called Edward crude names in a public taproom.
He’d evenflirtedwith her. She had no doubt that he wasn’t the sort of man to play the glib seducer, which made his words all the more affecting. Perhaps hetruly meant them. Perhaps that meant . . . he was attracted to her.
As she left the taproom, a thrill shot along her limbs, concentrating in the soft, receptive places in her body. She was drawn to him, and the contrast between his discipline, so tightly controlled, and the sheer physicality of him, primal and male, was enthralling.
She and the major might not fully understand each other, but understanding wasn’t necessary for desire.
Yet after their flirtation, he’d withdrawn. The look on his face had been almost panicked. Perhaps it was for the best that Mr. Curtis and Mr. Rowe had arrived when they had. She had the sneaking suspicion he would have fled—all right, maybe he wouldn’t have run screaming into the night, but it had looked as though hewantedto.
