Page 14 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

Daphne gave a wry smile. Smithy, bless him, was trying to save her. Before she could respond—she was not sure what she would say, whether she’d accept his offer of escape or not—Hunter stepped forward.

“Nay, man. Daphne and I have things to discuss. She stays with me.”

Thoroughly offended, Smithy turned on his heel and limped back along the hall, clutching the candlestick in his fist.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Daphne pressed her hand over her mouth, fighting back a giggle.

“Ye have hurt his feelings. He’ll over-stew yer tea now.”

“What horror,” Hunter deadpanned.

He turned to face her again, and the lightheartedness faded away. Her hand dropped heavily to her side.

A second or two ticked by between them. Daphne, trained to listen to every sound in the quiet old house, heard its heartbeat.

She heard Lady Pilbury and Helena talk in low voices in the next room. She heard Smithy and one of the footmen conversing in sibilant whispers two rooms away. She even heard the distant thump and snick of vegetables being crushed and chopped, prepared for a luncheon that might not even be eaten.

And then Hunter breathed out slowly, shifting his massive shoulders, and she realized that he hadn’t looked away, not even blinked, since he’d last looked at her.

“Why didnae ye tell me?” he asked shortly.

She dropped her gaze. “About what?”

“Daenae play games with me, woman. That lass is mine.”

“Ye daenae ken that.”

“Do I nae?”

“I could have been with hundreds of men after ye.”

The air tightened between them.

He moved forward, and Daphne automatically moved back. The small of her back knocked against a narrow sideboard, rattling the ornaments on top of it.

Her eyes had fixed on Hunter. She couldn’t look away, not quite. Her pulse hammered in her neck.

Could he see it?

“And have ye?” he asked, as conversationally as if he were wondering whether it were raining outside or not. The heat in his eyes, however, told a different story.

She could have lied. At least, theoretically, she could have lied. Somehow, though, the lie wouldn’t take shape.

“Nay,” she responded, with a hitch in her breath.

He pursed his lips, just briefly.

She couldn’t have guessed what he would say or do next, only that she couldn’t move. The edge of the sideboard dug into her spine, and yet moving away was entirely impossible.

The sound of two stockinged feet hitting the floor with a thud echoed from the next room. On cue, Willow came charging through the half-open door and threw her arms around Daphne’s leg.

“Ma! The grandmas are pinching me cheeks!” she gasped.

Daphne clutched the little girl almost reflexively. “Grandmas, lass?”

“Aye. Lady Pilbury says that I can call her Grandma if I like.”

“But our guest…”