Scandal's Daughters

Chapter 17

Never having been much of a churchgoing sort of fellow, Hamish didn’t share her dread, but he did understand family obligations. “I shouldn’t have kept you. But I won’t regret it. Not for a moment. In fact, why don’t we make the most of the moment—why wait until tonight? It is a perfect morning for fishing, and we can make up for the sin of missing kirk by getting fresh fish for breakfast.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Hamish,” she havered. “This is already a disaster.”

“Only if you let it be.” He did not wait for her to agree, but seized the day, and took her by the hand. “Come. We’ll head down to the burn. I brought my gear from Cathcart Lodge, and I saw some old fishing tackle in your shed that I’m sure will do the trick.”

“Is there a trick to catching fish?”

“Oh, aye. Fear not, I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he promised, lest she be put off. “You won’t even have to get your feet wet.”

She held on to whatever objections she might have had, allowed him the pleasure of taking her by the hand and leading her down the ladder, and followed him along the rocky burn to a still pool, from whence he might instruct her.

“We’ll start with the grip. Thumb on top, like so.” He moved nearer, all but embracing her from behind, to demonstrate the motion of casting. It was all just an excuse to get close to her, to inhale the soothing scent of her skin, and a fishing lesson provided a practical excuse.

He positioned himself as close against her back as instruction, if not good sense, allowed. She smelled of the garden she tended so meticulously—of lemon, verbena, and mint. Of sunshine and warmth on such a blessedly bright summer morning. “You’ll want to hold it thusly, Elspeth.”

Her smile was as shy and luminous as it had been the first time he had seen her in Fowl’s Close. “Thank you, Hamish. I’ll see if I can muster…”

“A firm wrist,” he advised, “you’ll want to bend the rod, and sling the line like…”—he demonstrated proper motion—“this.”

The line cast somewhat heavily into the pool on the far side of the burn, but he accomplished his goal—she was nodding, looking suitably impressed with his casting prowess. Which allowed him to move on to the next lesson.

His first kiss he placed at the side of her neck, just above the collarbone where her skin was soft and fine and sensitive. He nipped lightly, kissing his way up to her jaw. Her head fell gently to the side, silently acquiescing to his plans for a different sort of demonstration than mere fishing.

In fact, all thought of fishing was forgotten when she arched back to meet his lips with hers. He angled his head to gently suck her bottom lip until she opened her mouth to him, unfurling like a spring flower, soft and sweet. So sweet he was unprepared for her to turn within his arms, fitting herself flush against him, kissing him back, tasting him with hungry little nips and tentatively questing tongue. His chest expanded with heat and need and a desperation to keep her by his side, in his arms. To convince her that she ought to come with him.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer still, drawing her down into deeper intimacy. “Darling lass,” he encouraged. “How can you want to stay when you could have kisses always.”

She stilled, her hands going taut on his shoulders. “Always?”

“Aye. I would come to your Aunt Augusta’s house every day so we could work on the book together.” The idea was like an intoxicant. With the completion of the second book he would be assured of success. He would be free of his father’s threats, free to choose as he pleased. “Think of it, Elspeth. We could—”

But she did not want to hear his plans and possibilities. She turned away, slowly shaking her head. “Hamish. What you want is impossible for me.”

He refused to hear it. “It is not impossible. It is the easiest thing.”

She shook her head, and said nothing more, while she picked up the abandoned fishing rod. “I’d best get us breakfast.”

He was about to instruct her on how to gather the line, but the damned clever lass looped her line and let loose an effortlessly flawless cast that landed like the merest breath of a breeze on the surface of the dark, glassy water, and with one subtle draw, she had a fish on the hook and was smoothly reeling it in.

Humility—an emotion he rarely felt—tipped him right off his rock pedestal and into the ankle-deep water. “Well, damn me for an ass. You’re nothing short of an expert, you faker.”

“I never had to pretend. You were too busy instructing to ask if I’d ever fished before. And me, a country lass who’s lived along this burn all my life.”

He waded his way to the bank to contemplate his idiocy and his admiration for the graceful strength of her casts. Which were so quietly efficient, it was only a matter of a half hour before she had put another two fish in the creel.

“Is there nothing you can’t do?” he asked with a laugh. “Care for auld ladies, write books, thatch roofs, catch fish?”

“Make satisfactory jam.” Her smile was a little sad and bittersweet. “The Aunts say I haven’t the patience.”

“Ballocks.” How he loved her ability to banter, her cleverly sweet mind. “You’re exhibiting a fine amount of patience and finesse with that fly rod.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Will it? Will it get you to Edinburgh.”

“Hamish.” Her answer was only slightly more forthcoming than silence, but just as noncommittal. She looked up at the morning sky, as if only just realizing what time it must be getting on to be. “Has it gone as late as that? I really ought to get back—the Aunts will wonder and worry even more if I am not there when they get back from kirk.”

He curbed his instinct to talk her into staying and shirking her duties, and, instead, walked her back to the orchard gate. “Even if you are late, you’ll bring them a tasty breakfast.”

“I will. But here”—she scooped one of the trout out of the wicker creel, and handed it to him—“You’ll need one for your breakfast as well.”

“I do, thank you.” He tried to prolong the contact as long as he might—made sure to brush his hand along her wrist, and his fingers lingered just long enough so she might understand the pleasure he took from her touch. “I won’t try and keep you. I know I told you I would go today, but there is still work that could be done. I could have a go at shoring up those rotting eaves. The timbers—”

“Hamish. Please.” She looked up at him with the whole of her soul shining in her clear blue eyes. “Please don’t ask for things that are not in my power to give.”