He knew she’d pick up on his meaning. He waited for her to retreat back into pensive silence, but she shot him a sly look that set his blood rushing. “Memories of summer aren’t enough to keep you warm on a cold evening, Mackinnon.”
“Without memories of summer, winter seems to last forever.”
“Marina, after Fergus’s kindness, giving him a painting is the least you can do,” Ugolino said, taking the conversation on its literal terms.
“Perhaps one of the pictures you’re working on now.”
Fergus’s silky suggestion earned him a glare. He shouldn’t provoke her. It was as if he dared her to abandon him.
“None of those are worth keeping,” she said with a hint of a snap.
His headstrong lassie wasn’t short on effrontery. When Fergus couldn’t contain an appreciative laugh, Ugolino sent him a curious glance.
* * *
Ugolino retired as soon as dinner was over. Fergus could see that despite the Italian’s high spirits, the effort of sitting at a table tired him out. Marina rose when Jock and Ian arrived to carry her father upstairs.
“Don’t let me spoil your evening,” Ugolino said, unable to hide his disappointment at not making a better showing. “It’s still early. Marina, perhaps you could play the piano for our host.”
Fergus cast her a surprised glance. “You play?”
“And sing. She inherited her musical talent from her dear mother. Do you have an instrument, Fergus?”
“Aye, my sisters learned. It hasnae been touched in years, though. It must be devilish out of tune.”
“Like my singing,” Marina said.
“I’m sure you’re too modest.”
Fergus wasn’t just talking about her musical abilities. If she’d been a brazen wench, he wouldn’t be suffering the torments of the damned. On the other hand, the merry chase she led him added to her fascination.
“If not music, perhaps cards?” Ugolino suggested. “Dio, there are a hundred things you could do.”
There were indeed. Fergus had dreamed of every single one of them, before he woke up alone and empty-handed in his tower.
He waited for Marina to demur and say she had an early start. Or perhaps offer to go up and read to her father. She was a devoted daughter. Whenever he was inclined to condemn her as unwomanly—most of the time, because she wasn’t womanly enough to tumble into his arms for the mere asking—he recalled her care for Ugolino.
She shot him an unreadable glance, then kissed her father’s cheek. “Very well, Papa. To keep you happy, we’ll stay down here, burning the midnight oil.”
“Eccellente!”
Once Ugolino had gone, Fergus waited for Marina to tell him what she was up to. Perhaps she saved the news of her departure for when they were alone. He struggled to come up with some reason to keep her at Achnasheen, but he had nothing new to say.
I want you. I hunger for you. Please don’t leave me.
None were likely to persuade her. What astonished him was how close he verged to kicking his pride aside and saying them anyway.
“Are you going to play for me?” He struggled to pretend that having her near but forbidden didn’t push him to the edge of madness.
“Would you like me to?”
With a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair. “Ye ken what I want.”
He waited for some dismissive response, but the eyes she leveled on him seemed to weigh his soul in the balance. That was new, too. None of his earlier affairs had touched on anything more profound than carnal pleasure.
“I do.”
“I suppose you’re about to say you’re leaving,” he said flatly.