Page 88 of Never a Duchess
Weeks ago, he could not have imagined having this conversation. He had only dreamed of kissing her, let alone what they would invariably do tonight.
“Come. We need to reach the gamekeeper’s cabin and collect provisions.” He paused, attempting to gauge her mood. “If ye prefer somewhere warmer, the gatehouse is comfortable and we can always venture back to London.”
He never quite knew where he stood with her.
Couldn’t shake a deep sense of foreboding.
Perhaps neither of them were destined to experience lasting happiness.
She straightened, repositioning the basket on her arm. “Callan, there’s no place I’d rather be than here with you. Besides, my brother thinks I’m with the Sloanes in Little Chelsea. Best not disappoint him.”
They discussed the case as they walked to the cabin.
“You know what we forgot to do at the theatre,” she said.
“Aye, ask Madame Delafont about the initials on the handkerchief.”
“I doubt Mr Daventry will offer either of us employment.”
Callan chuckled. “Good. I’ll nae miss the late nights.” But he would miss spending time alone with her. At some point, he needed to confess his feelings, perhaps risk proposing marriage before heading back to the Highlands. But he’d say nothing that might distract him from his mission tonight.
“We’ve another late night tomorrow.”
“Aye,” was all he said. Forcing their way into Baudelaire’s office was not what bothered him. The thought of inhaling something toxic chilled his blood. He had to hope fate had a new croupier.
The small stone cabin sat nestled amid the ancient oaks. There was but one sparsely furnished room with a fire, a table and a narrow bed. Outside there was stabling for a horse, kennels for a pack of dogs, a cold room for hanging game, and a wood store.
Callan placed the lanterns on the crude table. “There’s nae chance of rain, but we’ll make camp near the house.”
“Have you ever slept in this bed?” Jealousy marred her tone. She inspected the mattress as if imagining an erotic scene, him wrapped around a lover.
“I’ve nae slept in it or brought anyone else here.” She had been the only woman in his life for the last five years. “If ye want to remain inside we can.”
“Do you always come here alone?”
“Aye. I like peace and quiet. Few people understand.”
Her sudden huff conveyed her frustration. “I’m just so annoyed with myself. If I were a skilled pugilist, I’d punch myself on the nose.”
He smiled. “For what?”
“For not dancing with you three years ago.”
“Ye had yer reasons.”
“They seem silly now. Fear can be quite debilitating.”
“They were nae silly at the time.”
Her gaze roamed over his face and body, the need to sate this soul-deep hunger evident in her pretty eyes. “I could never quite understand why women risked everything for their lustful urges. Yet I would risk everything to spend one night with you.”
One night?
Not a lifetime?
An inner voice rushed to caution him, urging him to be wary. The pain of losing her would do more than break his heart. It would break his spirit. There’d be no heir to his bloodline. He’d be forever known as the Scot slain by an English maiden.
“Lillian.”
