"Poor Diarmid." She’d liked Diarmid. She’d particularly liked Fiona, who had been such a support during her father’s last illness.
"Yes. I’m so glad he’s found happiness now. He deserves it."
The painting still captivated Emily. This glimpse into the childhood of the man she loved intrigued her. "I’m always astonished at how beautiful your mother was. No wonder she took the beau monde by storm."
"Yes, she was a stunner, wasn’t she? Her sister was just as lovely."
"You’re a good-looking family. I remember being overawed the first time I saw you all together. It was rather like a mortal daring to set foot on Olympus."
Hamish kissed the top of her head. She was in such a bad way. Whenever he did that, she felt like swoo
ning. "You’ll always be my goddess, Emily."
What on earth could she say to that? And the worst of it was that he sounded like he meant it.
She rested in his embrace, before she lifted her head to look down the long narrow room. "I suppose you should show me the rest of this rogues’ gallery."
He smiled at her with a hint of devilry. "These musty old daubs can wait."
"They can?"
"Yes. I brought you up here to see Granny Phyllis’s cabinet of curiosities."
"She really did have collecting mania, didn’t she?" Granny Phyllis was responsible for the priceless porcelain downstairs.
"Mad old bat she was. But she had an eye for a treasure, and we keep the pick of her ferreting in a private room."
Too little sleep clearly affected Emily’s intelligence. Only when she entered the small chamber at the end of the gallery and she watched Hamish lock the door behind him did she twig to the significance of the word "private." She subjected her husband to a narrow-eyed stare. "I’m guessing I won’t be doing much art appreciation."
His smile was roguish in the extreme. "I think you’re going to be very appreciative."
"That you’re set on despoiling me in the middle of the day?"
"I did at the tower." He frowned. "Don’t tell me you’re shocked. I won’t believe it."
When she laughed, the sound was resonant with anticipation. "I was going to suggest we retire to our chambers this afternoon."
"We can do that as well – but it’s too far off. I had a fancy to have you on one of the library tables, before I saw the damn gardeners scratching around in the parterre. It was easier to have my wicked way at the tower, by God."
She glanced around the confined space. High windows cast light across shelves of exquisite curios and a wall of miniatures. Her attention focused on the chaise longue in the middle of the floor. It seemed an odd inclusion.
"Did you have that carried in?"
"No. It’s been here for years. I suspect my parents worked out that this was a fine place to escape their rambunctious offspring."
"If it’s a family tradition to dally in the cabinet of curiosities, who am I to object?" She stepped across and sat, her gaze unwavering on her handsome husband.
"We’ll make a Douglas of you yet." Laughing, Hamish came forward and fell to his knees before her. When next he spoke, his voice held no teasing. "Do you trust me yet?"
She frowned. "Given everything we’ve done together, I must."
"Good." He lifted the frothy skirts of her dress and gently pulled her knees apart. "You’re wearing drawers."
Silly to blush. "We’re back in civilization now."
Emily had an inkling what he intended to do. Since their first night at the tower, this had felt like unfinished business. In their encounters, he’d used his hand on her but not his mouth. The thought of him kissing her between the legs still struck her as perverse, but she’d progressed a long way beyond the nervous maiden of a week ago.
"Slide your bottom forward to the edge of the seat and keep your legs spread."