He fixed his attention on a cobalt blue door belonging to a building on the corner. The white numbers twenty-four stood out in bold relief against the bright background of Jeneva LeClaire’s modest establishment. An elegant dark blue oval sign hanging from a slightly rusty black scrolled bracket read, La Chic Modiste, as it swung gently in the breeze.
Nothing suspicious met his initial surveillance, but as a seasoned fighter, he knew how deceiving appearances could be. Two women dressed in the height of fashion entered Harper & Morris Haberdashery directly to the left of La Chic Modiste.
Logan Rutherford and Coburn Wallace had already questioned Mrs. Morris. She admitted readily to speaking to a Frenchman and telling him the LeClaires had journeyed to the Highlands. In fact, she’d been most forthcoming, offering succulent tidbits about nearly every merchant on the street.
Beside him, Emeline sat rigidly straight, and so tense, he worried she’d shatter with each dip of the carriage wheels. The rich green of her borrowed cloak accented her pearly skin and the bronze hues of her luxurious hair. The fabric also made the gold flecks in her eyes sparkle, despite her solemnness.
As always, her exquisiteness bemused him. He’d known his fair share of beautiful women—including his wife—but they’d all been forgettable.
Emeline, alone, had imprinted her essence on his very soul.
Like him, she preferred to wear her hair unfashionably natural, free of wigs and powders. And in her case, she foreswore the lace caps most women topped their hair with, as well. It was just another trivial way they were companionable. Another to add to an ever-growing list, convincing him more each day how well-suited they were.
It had been an excruciatingly long time since he’d harbored such optimism. But in the days they’d shared in the cottage and the time she’d been at Eytone Hall, he’d come to realize she’d brought meaning back to his life.
He had reason to get up every morning.
They’d arrived in Edinburgh late in the afternoon two drizzly days ago. He hadn’t formally opened the house since Kristin’s death, and the sight of seven Highlanders on horseback, four coaches, and three loaded wagons heralding the grand arrival of Baron Penderhaven’s household had met with frequent curious stares and brazen gawking.
Attired as a maid, and having moved to the one of the servants’ equipages at their last stop, Emeline—her head covered by a coarse, woolen gray cloak’s hood—had been bustled into the house amid the other staff straightaway.
She’d held Prince’s lead to give credence to her disguise as well as provide protection. The lumbering dog was huge, and even though he was gentle as a newborn lamb, his sheer size and scruffy appearance intimidated all but those who knew him.
Liam’s mother, Kendra, Skye, as well as his male friends had made a praiseworthy pretense of disembarking their coaches and mounts. Making themselves as conspicuous as possible, they’d chatted, stretched their legs, and fussed over their possessions, drawing all the attention and permitting the servants to disappear into the house unobtrusively.
Since meeting Emeline, the unpleasant memories and private wounds from his life with Kristin had increasingly faded, until days went by without her invading his thoughts. Not so his wee children, but the pain wasn’t quite as debilitating as it had been even mere weeks ago.
For the first time in five years, he dared consider a different future from the one he’d adopted after his bairns’ deaths. A future with a gentle and incomparable woman.
A woman who made his soul sing and who gave his life meaning again.
Out of habit, he brushed his hand over his face, forgetting for a second he’d shaved his beard and also shorn his mane a few inches. His hair still hung well past his coat collar.
Emeline had expressed how much she liked his hair, and since he wasn’t going to start wearing wigs anytime soon, he’d left the majority of the length to please her.
The expression of delighted surprise, and then the intense longing that had flashed across Emeline’s face when first she saw him cleanshaven, made his groin contract with overwhelming need.
He fully expected the elitist denizens to speculate why he’d descended on Edinburgh at this unfashionable time of year. But he and his mother had settled on the ruse that they were officially introducing Kendra to Society as a promised birthday present.
Never mind that she’d attended other functions previously. Or that balls, routs, and other assemblies were few and far between in October. Or that Kendra’s first and twentieth birthday wasn’t until next month.
No one would dare speculate in his presence what the MacKays were about. Although, he’d bet Deri much chin-wagging would commence behind their backs. Gossip was the lifeblood of High Society.
Thankfully, right before they’d departed, word had come that Skye’s father was slowly recovering. Aunt Martha deemed it best that Skye remain with her aunt and cousins for the foreseeable future as two servants had now fallen ill.
Emeline swallowed audibly and made a small sound of distress, wrenching Liam back to the present. Her fingers crept into his hand, and she clutched it as if it were a lifeline tossed to her in raging seas. The trust she put in him lanced his heart but, rather than leaving it wounded and oozing blood, strengthened his resolve to make her his.
God, how he esteemed her audacity, her boldness, and her bravery every bit as much as he venerated her kindness and gentleness. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she was excited, the way her dark lashes fanned her satiny cheek, the blush of her lips, her melodious laugh, and her utterly delightful giggle.
There was nothing he didn’t adore about Emeline LeClaire, and he hoped to tell her that soon. Mayhap, even tonight. Was it too soon to ask her to be his wife?
He thought of the ring box tucked in his bedside table drawer. Not a family heirloom, but a ring selected because it reminded him of her. The twelve white diamonds surrounded a chocolate-brown diamond almost the same shade as her brilliant rich-brandy eyes.
Predictably, she’d insisted on accompanying him today. It was her right, and he’d conceded without an argument.
“I’m still on pins and needles,” she said, her voice not quite steady as she gripped his hand. “I have been ever since Laird Kennedy arrived at Eytone Hall and said those men had been at Killeaggian Tower prying around about Aunt Jeneva and me. No doubt, Mrs. Morris eagerly filled their ears about our whereabouts.”
She had no idea the fountain of information Mrs. Morris had proven to be.
Emeline’s winged brows dipped together as she pulled her pink mouth into a thin ribbon.
“She’s such a busybody and a gossip, but she was also Aunt Jeneva’s friend. As our closest neighbor, it only seemed reasonable that Aunt asked her to watch the shop and feed Felix while we were away.” Her graceful mouth curved upward the merest bit in a winsome manner. “Honestly, the cat spends as much time at Mrs. Morris’ as he did with Aunt Jeneva. I imagine, I’ll just let her keep him now. Especially since I haven’t yet decided what I’ll do.”
A wistful note leeched into her voice. Her life had been turned upside down through no fault or action of her own. He could sympathize in that respect. Look how long it had taken him to put his life to rights.
He’d expected Emeline wouldn’t be satisfied sitting docilely in the tidy, but narrow four-story house with his mother and sister, embroidering or reading while he searched her aunt’s apartments and shop. And that was why the Kennedy brothers rode an inconspicuous distance behind the coach while Rutherford, Wallace, McGregor, and Catherwood were to have come separately.