Page 42 of Lyon of Scotland
“Three times for me in three years,” Strathburn answered, splitting a scone and slathering it with butter and jam. “Ah, strawberry jam,” he added, with a wink for her. “Traveling by steamer is more enjoyable and faster than a coach,” Linhope said. “Steam travel is rapidly improving and becoming more popular. It used to be just over rivers, but the bigger ships for sea voyages are becoming more common.”
“Do we sleep in here?” Hannah looked doubtfully at the chairs and sofas in the lounge, many occupied by other passengers.
“There are sleeping cabins,” Strathburn said. “But we secured the last of the tickets, so the cabins were taken. We will stop halfway up the coast at Hull this evening to avoid sailing the North Sea at night. There is a hotel near the harbor.”
Linhope looked up from the book he had chosen from the library shelves. “Some gentlemen choose to sleep in the lounge, and there is a ladies’ lounge also. But I have a cabin, which you are welcome to use. I can easily sleep here.”
“Oh, you must not!” Hannah said. “A kind offer, but you need your rest too. We can go to the hotel.”We.It came so naturally.
“I am content with whatever my lady prefers,” Strathburn said.
My lady.His wife. A blush filled her cheeks at his easy use of the term. Her status and her life had changed so quickly—and the prospect of a room and a shared bed on their wedding night, such as it was, made her breath catch. Her body secretly warmed at the thought of being alone with him that night. She felt eager for his kisses and wanted so much more; she was filled with yearning and a glorious sense of freedom.
“The hotel would be lovely,” she said primly, aware of her pink cheeks.
“Aye then,” Strathburn said. “At Hull, I need to find the cargo ship coming out of Leith that carries the whisky cargo. TheNewhaven, it is called. With luck, it will stop at Hull tonight if it left the north yesterday. Scott had a letter that indicated so.”
“I’ll go with you,” Linhope said. “But we will not reach the port for hours yet. Would you like to play gammon or draughts? Boards and pieces are stored on the shelves over there. Do you play, madam? We could put a small wager on it.”
“No gambling,” said Strathburn in a wry tone. Linhope gave a low laugh.
“Of course,” he replied. “Though backgammon is an old-fashioned game for vicars and dusty scholars. The lady might rather play draughts or cards.”
“I thought to do some sketching,” she said.
“Then Dare and I shall play. Let me find some game boards or cards.” Linhope stood and went to the shelves.
“Dare?” she asked.
“Dare for Alasdair. My family and close friends use it. You may as well, if you like.”
“Dare. I do like it. I am Hannah to you. ‘My lady’ sounds so stuffy.”
His dark eyes sparkled. “Hannah, my hinnie. My dear. I know this all must feel awkward to you. I am sorry.”
“It must feel strange and awkward for you too.”
“We made the best choice we could, Hannah.”
“I think so. I hope so.” She met his dark gaze and felt the strong pull again, that tug unlike anything she had felt before, as if a slow, steady, tide pulled her toward him.
“You are free of an untenable situation, and you are a viscountess now. Shout it to the world if you like.”
“I would never!” she laughed. Indeed, she could scarcely believe that awful situation had been lifted from her shoulders—she had to keep telling herself it was over. With a tremulous smile, she lifted her sturdy tapestry bag, which had come aboard with their luggage. Reaching inside, she found a narrow wooden box and her leather-bound sketchbook.
“What will you draw?” he asked.
“I will play with it and see. It will help pass the time.” Smoothing the journal open to a blank page, she opened the wooden box to select a slender bit of charcoal from an assortment of chalks, charcoals, and pencils.
The view of the shoreline caught her attention, changing as the steamer sailed north along the coast, so she would have to work fast. Outlining with swift strokes, she laid in vertical lines for trees, ripples for water, and lightly indicated the form and shadows of clouds on what had become cloudy, breezy day. Settling back on the sofa, she added some details with soft smudges and delicate lines. Absorbed, she glanced up after a while to see Strathburn watching her.
“Do you still make miniature portraits now that you’ve been doing heraldry art?” he asked. “I saw some of them in Edinburgh. Lovely.”
“Thank you. I did some small studies of my cousins in charcoal and pastels. I like to do landscapes too. Papa trainedus in portraits, landscapes, and so on. But painting in oils takes time, and I was so busy in the heraldry art room that I mostly did sketches when I found time.”
He nodded, his eyes softening as he watched her. Hannah turned to a fresh page and focused on her sketch; he was an intriguing subject and she wanted to capture his keen, pensive look. She loved portraiture best, and he was a perfect subject—he had a strongly Renaissance beauty, his face classically balanced, his hair dark and curling, his whisky-brown eyes fringed in thick black eyelashes, and his lips curved, full, tender. While he studied her, still and silent, she studied him. First she laid in the shape of his face, its proportions and features—Renaissance indeed, perfectly aligned, with a long arched nose, a squared jaw, a gently dented chin. With sure strokes, she built the frame of his magnificent head and began to add dimension with smudging and linear detail.
“So you are drawing me now?” he murmured.
