Page 52 of To Tempt a Scandalous Lord
“Don’t sell that information to the chapbooks writer.”
Alicia went still, her glass of wine suspended in the air in front of her face. It was the first time he had mentioned the anonymous writer since the favorable treatise circulated before he’d fallen ill.
Placing her glass down with aclink, Alicia linked her hands together in her lap. “I-I would never dream to do such a thing. Why would you say that?”
Of course she wouldn’t. She’d been caring for him and bolstering his public image, not to mention seeing to the staff and ensuring everything was well at Little Windmill.
Shame heated his cheeks for even suggesting such a thing, even in jest.
Perhaps sensing his discomfort, his wife adroitly changed the subject. “One thing I miss about living in the country is all the stars visible in the sky.”
Alicia tipped her head back, and Niall mimicked her actions. Only pinpricks of light managed to peek through the cloud of coal smoke and dust that hung over the city, emphasizing her point. Niall’s eyes swept across the dark expanse. When was the last time he’d bothered to look up at the sky?
“Jane and I would sometimes spread a blanket out on the lawn at the Lindsay estate and try to count the stars. Trace constellations with our fingertips.” From the corner of his eye, Niall saw her turn to look at him. “I can only imagine how beautiful such things would look in the Highland skies.”
A lump lodged in his throat, and it took Niall an extended moment to swallow it down. “The midnight sky would proudly unfurl all the heavens for display. It was a special night when the Mirrie Dancers made an appearance.”
“Faith,” she whispered. “I would love to see that.”
An ache spread under his ribs as he remembered standing along the parapet at Loch Kilmorow with his mother and sisters, oohing and ahing over the colorful, otherworldly spectacle. Everything seemed so magical then. “I’ll take you to see them one day.”
She flashed him a smile. “When’s the last time you were there?”
Forever, his heart rasped. “More than a dozen years.”
That confession tasted vile on his tongue. He’d once thought it would be impossible to leave the beauty of Loch Kilmorow…yet his time away from home, with its sparkling loch and heather-covered hills, felt like a thousand years.
“Why have you been away so long?”
Alicia’s question was a whisper, yet it echoed through his chest.
“My father and I do not get along. As much as I respect him, we argued frequently over all matter of things, but especially the different futures we envisioned for the Campbell clan. After my mother died, our animosity grew, and when I chose to attend Cambridge instead of St. Andrews, it incensed him. Eventually it became easier not to return at all.”
A silence filled the air between them, and Niall crossed his arms over his chest and inhaled until his lungs felt full to bursting. Thoughts of his father, the man he loved so fiercely and yet who seemed determined to misunderstand him and his motivations so acutely, always left him bereft.
“After so many years apart, I’d wager your father no longer cares about the disagreements that drove you away,” she murmured into the emptiness.
“You haven’t met him,” he grumbled.
“No…but I’d like to. One day.”
The earnest note in her voice made him clench his eyes closed.
And one day…maybe…she would.
Later that night, Niall stood outside the door connecting their chambers, his hand resting on the wood. The texture of the grain under his fingertips tethered him to the moment.
Did he dare knock? He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in his wife. In Alicia. He longed to run his hands over her skin and taste her lips with his own. He ached to thrust into her warm, welcoming body until all the reasons he had told himself to stay away from her were incinerated by their passions.
But he hadn’t yet apologized for his past reticence, and that oversight halted his hand.
Stepping back, Niall bit back a groan of frustration and prowled away, resigning himself to his empty, cold bed.
Chapter Eighteen
“My lord,” Mr. Torres intoned as he swept into the study at Campbell House. Without waiting for an invitation, the man pulled his hat from his head and plopped into one of the chairs before Niall’s desk.
Niall fought not to scowl at Torres’s informal behavior, but he was more curious about the man’s visit and not as interested in arguing over niceties. He tossed the report he’d been reading onto the desk and carded his fingers together over his stomach. “What do I owe the honor of your visit?”
