Page 19 of Who’s That Earl

Ample time for the aggravation of his company to break her of this foolish fascination with him.

Chapter 7

Several inches of snow blanketed the inner courtyard, broken only by the path of the housemaid’s footsteps leading to the gatehouse when she’d brought his breakfast and his own longer stride walking toward the castle. While waiting for Jane, Thomas stamped his feet to keep them warm and admired the play of sunlight through the sparkling clouds he raised. The winters of his childhood had never looked like this, for snow had fallen more rarely and melted more quickly in Glasgow. Perhaps it had been ungentlemanly of him to expect Jane to trudge through it. But as soon as he’d seen it, he’d wanted—needed—to share its magical brilliance with her.

And he could not quite face the prospect of visiting Balisaig alone.

True to her word, she came through the castle gate with a few minutes to spare, preceded by the dogs, who charged into the snow, snuffling and plowing with their noses buried and then snapping it up in their jaws. She laughed at the sight, the same merry sound he’d heard her make more than once so long ago, and he wondered with an unexpected stab—part jealousy, part pride—whether her husband had often managed to make her laugh like that.

Her heavy wool pelisse was black, in a style that might best be described as serviceable. But she’d paired it with a hood trimmed with silvery-gray fur that gleamed in the morning light and made her eyes more blue, and he did not think he would ever tire of looking at her, better than every dream his tired mind had conjured when he’d been a world away.

The dogs spotted him first and began their customary protest. She squinted a little as she focused her gaze on him, not quite a frown, and snapped her fingers at the dogs, a more than usually ineffective gesture because muted by her gloves. He could not help but laugh at her show of sternness. Why, he could almost taste the tartness on her tongue!

He found himself suddenly grateful for the chill in the air. Oh, but the thought of tasting her was a dangerous one indeed. Perhaps he’d been unwise to invite her to accompany him. Or selfish, at least.

“Whisht, lassies,” he crooned, his voice pitched low beneath their shrill yapping, and held out his hands, palms up, for their inspection. They paused momentarily in their furor. One—Athena? Yes, Aphrodite had the more spotted coat—cautiously sniffed the air in his direction; both gave him a wide berth as they scooted past and out the castle gate. He’d count it progress.

If only he could soothe Jane’s ruffled fur as easily.

He held out an arm for her, but she thrust her hands into her muff. “I don’t think they like you, Mr. Sutherland.”

“Mrs. Murdoch told me they haven’t much liking for men at all,” he replied lightly, falling into step beside her as they passed beneath the portcullis and into the breathtaking world of snow-dusted trees and snow-capped crags. He had known the beauty of the Highlands only in summer and had just completed a grueling journey over rutted, mud-slick roads, so the transformation was as extraordinary as it was unexpected. “But I shan’t give up hope just yet.”

“I—I had them of a...gentleman who treated them ill,” she explained, her slight hesitation over the word gentleman suggesting she did not find the man’s behavior worthy of the designation.

But he latched onto quite another part of the sentence. “You had them? I understood them to be Mr. Ratliff’s dogs.”

“No.” He could not see her face around the hood’s fur trim, but he could hear the tight-lipped grimace in her voice. As if she had said too much before and did not intend to make the same mistake again.

There was definitely something strange about the situation, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something she didn’t want to reveal. “If they don’t get on any better with him, I’m surprised he tolerates it.”

“You seem to have formed an unfavorable opinion of Mr. Ratliff. Wrongly, I might add.”

“For your sake, I’m delighted to hear it.” He did not want to think ill of Jane’s employer. But he wasn’t exactly eager to imagine that Ratliff got on with the dogs either, particularly not if it was because he enjoyed a too-intimate relationship with their mistress. And when he recalled those extravagant embroidered cushions by the hearth, and realized they might have been a gift from him, as much to please her as to please her dogs, well...

“How long have you worked for him?” he asked when he could trust his voice not to betray his suspicions.

“More than six years.”

It wasn’t complicated arithmetic, by any means. Still, he ran the numbers through twice, coming to the same realization each time: Within a twelvemonth after he’d left England, she’d been both wed and widowed. Then, evidently denied the support of either her family or her late husband’s, she’d been driven to support herself by taking employment with a man who might or might not be a perfect scoundrel, the man who’d brought her here and all but abandoned her.

They walked in silence for nearly a quarter of a mile, and still he could give no name to the sharp-edged emotion cutting through him. He’d been holding onto the memory of her, of her kiss, proof of sweetness in a stale, sour world. The promise of connection for a man who had sometimes feared he’d lost hold of everything that mattered, including himself.

On the night of the dance, he’d wondered at the foolishness of the local lads, letting her languish among the wallflowers. But it had needed only one of them to come to his senses. Of course, she’d married, just as Thomas had told himself she would.

Once, though, he’d brashly thought to be the one to win her hand. If he’d demanded an explanation of her father, defied Scott’s order, delayed his departure by even a day, would something, anything have been different? For either of them?

Yes. You’d have lost your commission and probably been lashed to within an inch of your life, good sense reminded him. And she would have had nothing more to do with you.

The self-deprecating sound that burst from him had little enough of humor about it, but he tried to pass it off as a laugh at the dogs’ antics. They’d charged ahead, snuffing at every rock and tuft of grass transformed into a fantastical creature by the snowfall. Heaven help him if they managed to scare up a hare. They’d be gone in a flash, and he’d have to track them until he found them, or he’d be out of Jane’s good graces forever—if he weren’t already.

“See, I told you the walk would do them good.”

“I never doubted the benefit of the exercise, Mr. Sutherland.” Her words hung on the air in an icy cloud. “Only the timing.”

“And the company?” he prompted devilishly.

She paused and looked up into his face. “Honestly, I do not know.” Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were rosy with cold. “You must have had some reason for wishing me to walk with you.”