Page 30 of Never Second Guess a Lord
What would it be like to have her reside in his castle as a visitor? Be able to bring her to his bed every night? Feel her soft skin against his? See her writhe in pleasure beneath him? Because he would make it his mission to see her feel all the pleasure she had been long denied. Make her cry out in ecstasy until the wee hours of the morn.
“What is that faraway look in your eyes, dear friend?” Emma said later on as they stood in front of the fire in the great hall. Her knowing gaze drifted up a staircase Prudence had yet to come down. “It is new and often, and I quite like it.”
He blinked, startled out of his reverie but understanding, as always, that Emma was no fool. “I imagine it is my increasing desire for Lady Barrington’s company.”
“Quite right.” Emma nodded in approval. “And for that, I applaud you, Jacob. She is a rare gem.”
The way she said it caught his attention. “I am not sure I have ever heard you say that about anyone but Elizabeth.”
“Because I have not nor will I likely ever again.” She peered up the stairs as if she could look into a future he could not. “So perhaps now more than ever, you might keep in mind, because I know you see it yourself, that Prudence is well on her way to recovery. She has done very well distancing herself from her life in England in little time and begun a healing process we both know she needed.”
Again, she insinuated he was no longer needed in certain regards. Romance was not the best option.
“I understand,” he said gruffly. “Friendship truly is the best option at this point.”
“Aye.” Emma surprised him when she rested a hand on his arm and gazed at him in a way she never quite had before. “Not for her sake, but for yours, Jacob. At least, for now.”
He frowned, but it was lost on her as she drifted into the crowd. Whatever did she mean? Because it sounded quite serious. Yet it meant little the moment he spied Prudence coming downstairs in yet another lovely gown. It seemed the various new dresses her sister had originally provided reappeared in her armoire after that first night. Better still, she had decided to wear them. While miffed her sister had left her with one dress at the start, she told him on the sly that she was grateful.
“Why?” he asked.
She’d thought about it a moment before answering frankly. “Because it gave me no choice but to wear something else. To step out of dresses that were no different than my mourning clothes.”
He sensed she wanted to say more but held back. But then, that was their way. They might talk endlessly about history and architecture and other interesting topics, but when it came to the things that mattered most, neither were much ready for that. Why would they be when they had only just become friends? Only just started to get to know each other?
As he was wont to do every time he saw her come down those stairs, he met her at the bottom. And as everyone seemed to understand, the crowd parted that he might do so. This evening she wore a lovely blue gown that made her eyes all that much more vibrant.
“Your Grace,” she said with a warm smile as she slipped her arm into his.
“My lady,” he replied, helpless to do anything but offer her an equally warm smile. “You look ravishing as always.”
She might blush prettily, but her confidence was much improved. So said the way she nodded graciously and thanked him without ever losing eye contact.
As usual, they dined together and then made their way about the much-toned-down celebrations. This was the eve of a religious holiday, so the crowd was considerably thinned.
“I must say, I prefer it like this,” she said softly, almost reverently, as they made their way down the same candlelit hallway they had that first night. “It feels more suited to the castle. As though it breathes a sigh of relief for the privacy.”
“It does feel that way.” He adored the way she saw things. “And can you blame it?”
“Not in the slightest.” She inhaled deeply as if breathing in the castle itself. “I find when it is like this, I can better imagine all those that walked its halls before us. Their timeless tales.”
“And what sort of tales would they be?”
“From what I have learned of Scotland thus far, I would say stories of sacrifice, heartache, and loss.” Her gaze grew a little dreamy. “But of love and new beginnings, too. Your Scots persevere. Stand strong despite so much.” Her gaze wandered over the numerous ancestors gazing down at them. “Much like the MacLauchlin brothers. Three scoundrels who were at the heart of so much. Such a wonderful legacy.”
“There ye go with that word scoundrel again, lassie,” he teased but fully agreed. “Aye, Laird Teagan and his brothers were at the heart of much. All you see today. And the MacLauchlins couldnae be more thankful.”
“I like it when you do that,” she murmured.
“What?”
“Speak medieval.” She offered the sort of soft smile he wanted to wake up to every morning. “And voice the brogue natural to you rather than the aristocratic version best suited in surroundings you have no choice but to tolerate.”
“Have you gathered all that then?” he said gruffly, more taken by her by the moment if such were possible.
She was about to respond when piano music drifted down the hall. Sweet music that lulled and saddened him all at once and threatened old memories.
“I should retire.” Prudence squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring, supportive look. “And you should go on. Be with your late wife. Remember her.”
