He responded with an appreciative grunt of amusement. "It’s not that big."
"Not far off. Please don’t let go of my hand. Without you, I’ll never find my way to dinner."
"The house is easy enough to navigate. The southern side faces the loch and so do most of the main rooms. The northern side looks across the hills. You’ll find your feet."
"In a year or two."
"There’s no rush." He released her hand and curled his arm around her waist. "And if you’re afraid of getting lost, it gives me an excuse to stay by your side."
"Either that, or I’ll have to carry a ball of string like Ariadne so I can retrace my steps."
"Go on with you, lassie. I’m much more fun than a ball of string."
She smiled with nostalgic pleasure. "You are at that."
What a fascinating man he was. She thought she’d known him in London, yet she’d had no idea what he was really like. At the peel tower, she’d imagined she ventured closer to his true self. And she had. But only now that he guided her around his clan seat with such pride did she start to understand the depths of his generous heart.
And that heart, despite his crisp English accent, was as Scottish as bagpipes.
He turned another corner and brought her into a long, light gallery lined with family portraits.
She paused in front of a large canvas. "It’s your whole family."
"It is. Me with my four blasted sisters." His older sisters, Prudence, Charity, and Grace, wore floaty white dresses and posed as the three Graces, their lovely golden hair caught up in the classical style. Elspeth was a baby in her mother’s arms. Emily could see how a vigorous young rascal like Hamish might feel smothered, surrounded by so much femininity.
"Sisters you love to death."
"Yes, I do. But when I was a lad, they drove me mad with their tears and tantrums and endless talk about dresses. By the way, that’s a devilish becoming dress you’re wearing today. Is it new?"
After running around in Hamish’s shirts for most of last week, it had felt like an imposition to put on stays and petticoats. She’d compensated by choosing one of her favorite gowns, a pretty calico printed with flowers and peacocks.
"New since you were last in London. I’m afraid I was so annoyed with you for decamping to Scotland and leaving me to face the gossip, I spent every penny of the allowance you made me. Or at least I did, once my mourning period for Papa came to an end. Not to mention that the house in Bloomsbury is looking quite à la mode."
He dropped his arm from her waist and staggered back, looking overcome. "Heaven forfend, my lady, must I sell the family silver? My dear old father warned me against taking an extravagant bride. The bailiffs will be at the door any minute."
She sent him an unimpressed glance, trying not to smile at his nonsense. She’d always known Hamish was charming, but now that he turned that charm on her, she realized quite how devastating he could be to a girl. No wonder the London ladies had been in a flutter over the young Laird of Glen Lyon.
"You’re not upset. I can tell."
He laughed and caught her hand up for a quick kiss. Her silly heart performed a somersault, although he’d done much saucier things last night than merely kiss her hand. These constant little caresses kept her in a ferment, both physical and emotional. She wondered if he’d join her for that nap after lunch. She had a yen for him now and didn’t want to wait until they retired for the night.
"What’s the point of having a pretty wife, if not to show her off?"
"Right answer." She examined the painting in front of her. "How old were you here?"
"About ten. Thomas Lawrence sketched all of us in London, then traveled up here to paint the background. Papa was too busy to leave the War Office and bring the family to Scotland for something as trivial as a portrait. That was the year my parents rented a hunting lodge near Achnasheen for the summer, and Diarmid’s family joined us."
"That was the year you met Fergus."
"Yes, he saved my life and gave me a puppy called Blackie. Best damn dog that ever lived. I was twenty-five when he died, and I cried like a lost bairn."
"Oh, Hamish," she said softly, laying her head on his shoulder. When he put his arm around her, her wayward heart staggered like a drunken sailor. She loved the glorious things he did to her in bed – how could she not? But their growing emotional closeness made her soul ache with longing. "You didn’t bring Blackie to London?"
"No, he wasn’t a dog for the city, although we both pined when we were apart."
She returned her attention to the group portrait. "Your father and mother look happy. I’ve only seen that rather stern picture of him that your mamma keeps in the dining room in London."
"Yes, they were happy together. Unlike Diarmid’s parents who were in continual strife. I remember that holiday at Achnasheen as a paradise of masculine company. Diarmid and Fergus, and nobody nagging me to look at hats in the Belle Assemblée. But the adults didn’t have nearly so carefree a time of it. Diarmid at twelve was old enough to understand what was going on. I learned later that the holiday was a failed attempt to get my aunt and uncle to reconcile, but I remained oblivious. A ten-year-old boy is pretty blind to emotional undercurrents."