In Richard's bed.
The warmth around her was him. The fact she could see at all warned her that deepest night had passed-morning was not far away.
Wielding a mental whip, she drew a shallow breath-all she could manage with his arm over her waist-and started the process of carefully untangling her limbs from his. This was the third morning she'd had to ease from his arms, but the task wasn't getting any easier with practice.
Eventually, she managed to slide from the bed. Quickly donning her robe, she fastened it, then swiftly straightened the sheet, settled the covers and silently plumped the pillow.
Pausing, she looked down at her companion of the night. He slept sprawled on his stomach, the arm and leg that had been thrown over her now relaxed on the bed. She studied his face, what she could see of it. The harsh planes had eased, but still retained their hardness, the promise of strength; his lashes lay, black crescents on his cheekbones, his lips still firm, purposeful. Even in repose, his face told her little-beyond the fact that here lay a warrior without a cause.
She had to leave him.
Drawing in a deep breath, she reached out to brush back the errant lock of hair that made a habit of falling over his forehead-and stopped herself. For one instant, her hand hovered over the neatened covers, then she sighed and, with a sad grimace, drew it back.
She couldn't risk waking him.
And she could sense the house stirring, tweenies waking in the attics, doors banging in the far distance.
Hugging her robe about her against the morning chill, she took one last, long look-at the husband she couldn't have-then slipped out through the bed curtains.
The instant the curtains closed, Richard opened his eyes. He listened-and heard the faintest of clicks as the door closed. For an instant, he simply stared at the closed curtains, at the empty space beside him, then he drew a huge breath and turned on his back crossing his arms behind his head, he stared at the canopy.
He still didn't have his answer-at least, not all of it. But he had learned something through the night. Whatever it was that drove his lust for her-she felt it, too. When they were together, her feelings for him were the counterpart of his feelings for her.
What his feelings for her were, however, was beyond his ability to describe. There was a sensual connection between them, something that invested their lovemaking with a deeper, stronger, more vibrant energy than the norm. He knew all about the norm-he'd had so many women, the difference was stark. Even in her innocence, she must be aware of it-that power that flared between them every time they touched, every time they kissed.
In his case, it was now with him constantly, ready to rear its head every time he set eyes on her. He was even, heaven help him, getting used to it. It had very quickly become a part of him.
Grimacing, he threw back the covers, sat up, and ran his hands over his face. He knew himself too well not to know, not to accept, that he wouldn't readily give it up-cut himself off from that power, from the addictive surge of possessiveness that swept him every time he saw her.
He still didn't know why she'd given herself to him. In the depths of the night, when they'd stirred and untangled their limbs, and she'd wordlessly slid into his arms, he hadn't had the heart to further interrogate her-he'd kissed her, soothed her into sleep, then tightened his arms about her and fallen into blissfully sated slumber himself.
Standing, he stretched, then grimaced. He'd have it out with her tonight. Once she was in his arms. Today, especially after last night, there were other things he needed to do.
The solicitor would return tomorrow.
He waited at the breakfast table until Jamie appeared. His host passed Algaria in the doorway. After waiting, and waiting, for Catriona to appear, Algaria had thrown him a black look that should have flayed him, then risen and gone to search out her erstwhile pupil.
Richard watched her go-Algaria clearly knew where her erstwhile pupil had been spending her nights-then turned to Jamie.
Who looked worried and drawn, obviously exercised by the difficulties of where the family would remove to, how they would cope after tomorrow. Jamie smiled wanly. "Not a particularly fine day, I fear."
Richard hadn't noticed. "Actually, I was wondering if you might appease my curiosity." Before Jamie could ask how, Richard waved languidly at Jamie's plate and picked up his coffee mug. "Once you've finished breakfast."
Malcolm and one of Jamie's nondescript brothers-in-law was present, Richard did not want his plans broadcast, especially not to the ears of his witch. He intended to inform her of his decision in person. Tonight. He was looking forward to it, he would allow no one to spoil his plans.
Jamie ate quickly; together they left the breakfast parlor and strolled into the hall. Jamie paused and looked inquiringly at him. Richard waved toward Jamie's office, and they strolled on, into the corridor.
"I was curious," Richard murmured, "about those letters you mentioned. The ones Seamus received about Catriona and her lands. I've been trying to fathom just why your father wanted me to marry Catriona-if I could see what he'd been handling in relation to her, it might clarify the matter."
Jamie's brows rose. He blinked at Richard, rather owlishly. "I see." He halted outside his office door; Richard halted, too. Jamie cleared his throat. "Are you… ah… considering…"
Richard grimaced lightly. "Considering, yes But…" He met Jamie's eyes. "If even that gets to Catriona's ears, life for all of us will be that much harder."
Jamie blinked and straightened. "Indeed." As Richard watched, Jamie's face lost some of its unnatural pallor, as hope, however faint, replaced despondency.
"Those letters?"
"Oh! Yes." Jamie shook himself. "I left them in the library."