Chapter 7 #2
Her eyebrows drew together at his abrupt retreat. “Why nae?”
He reached for the decanter and poured with deliberate care. The stream struck the cup without a tremor. He braced one hand against the desktop and concentrated on the burn of his own drink, the cool rim of the cup, and the figures waiting inside the abandoned ledger.
Desire lingered beneath his skin. He refused to burden Ceana with it while she was locked in his study and dependent on someone else to open the door. Their bargain had promised separate lives. Her consent to the marriage granted him no rights beyond the terms she had accepted.
He carried her whisky around the desk once the pressure in his breeches had eased. Ceana took the cup, studying him as though the brief withdrawal had become another question in her game.
“Are ye pleased with yer first family hour?” he asked.
She sipped. “It might have ended better without imprisonment.”
“Ye demanded an hour they would remember.”
“I had hoped they might remember the conversation.”
“They will remember that ye made their faither dance.”
Her eyes brightened over the rim of her cup. “Oh well, it was nice to see ye loosen up.”
“Aye. A lapse in judgment.”
“Ye werenae that bad a dancer. I mean, yer steps were… respectable.”
Oscar narrowed his eyes at her. “Respectable?”
Ceana raised a hand. “I reserve praise until I have seen whether ye can manage a livelier tune.”
Oscar stepped closer. The challenge invited an answer he had no business giving while her lips still shone with whisky. “Tomorrow, perhaps.”
Ceana lowered her cup. The distance between them narrowed until he could see her pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
“I am glad ye will be me bride,” he admitted.
Her fingers froze against her cup. She searched his face, and he let her. A dry qualification would have restored safer ground. He had no wish to offer one.
“Do ye mean that?”
“Aye.”
“Ye chose me because Tommy obeyed me.”
“Well, I never said it was the whole reason. It was only a part of it.”
“And what is the rest?”
Oscar could have mentioned her courage. He could have spoken of her loyalty to Daphne or the way she had entered his household and noticed needs he had trained himself to overlook. But none of those answers accounted for the urge to snatch the cup from her hand and taste the whisky from her mouth.
He lifted his hand. A loose strand of hair hung against her cheek. His fingers brushed it back, lingering on the line of her jaw.
Ceana remained where she was. Her breath caught, and her gaze dropped to his mouth. She set the whisky on the desk without looking away. When Oscar’s thumb moved once over her cheek, her hand rose and closed lightly around his wrist.
Oscar then bent his head. Her face lifted, and the space between their mouths shrank to a hairsbreadth. Warm air touched his lips, and his body stirred again as her fingers tightened around his wrist.
Suddenly, the key scraped inside the lock.
Ceana stepped away so quickly that her dress struck the desk. She reached for the abandoned cup, though she did not drink.
“It seems we are free, me Laird.”
The door opened, and Tommy stood on the threshold, wearing a satisfied grin. Paisley hovered behind him, her hands clasped tightly before her.
Oscar straightened. “Tommy, ye will explain yerself.”
“Why did ye lock the door?” Ceana asked, her calm question reaching the boy before Oscar’s sharper tone.
Tommy looked from her to his father. “So ye could finish dancin’.”
“And because ye thought it funny?”
His grin returned. “Aye.”
Ceana approached him and crouched until their eyes were level. “Would ye find it funny if someone shut ye inside a room and took away the key?”
“I wouldnae be frightened.”
“What if ye couldnae open the door and nay one answered when ye called?”
Tommy glanced toward Paisley. His confidence faltered at the simple question.
“I would kick it,” he answered.
“And if kickin’ didnae work?”
His boot scraped against the floor. “I might be frightened then.”
Oscar watched the boy’s shoulders draw inward. He had always punished the locking of doors, removed privileges, and ordered guards to watch Tommy more closely. He had never asked his son to consider the fear of the person left behind.
“Have ye ever been frightened when ye were alone?” Ceana asked.
Tommy shook his head, then stopped. “Sometimes.”
“Would ye like to make another person feel that way?”
“Nay.” His gaze fell to the key in his hand. “I am sorry.”
Ceana opened her arms, and Tommy stepped into them at once. She held him close before drawing back enough to look at him.
“Admittin’ ye are wrong takes courage, sweetness.”
Paisley’s shoulders relaxed. She collected the key from Tommy and carried it to Oscar. “I told him we should come back.”
“Oh well, ye still followed him,” Oscar pointed out.
A faint flush crept up her cheeks. “Aye, Faither.”
He accepted the key. “Neither of ye will keep this tonight. The apology is sufficient. Go to bed.”
Tommy hugged Ceana once more before taking Paisley’s hand. His sister guided him into the corridor, pausing to give Ceana a small smile.
Oscar waited until their footsteps faded before looking at Ceana. “Ye are a witch.”
She retrieved her cup and glanced at the whisky. “Witchcraft would have made ye agree to the family hour without an argument.”
She left the cup beside his ledger and walked toward the open door. At the threshold, she turned.
“I shall see ye tomorrow for our next hour, me Laird.”
Oscar watched the door close behind her, already wanting tomorrow to come. “I cannae wait.”