He looked down at her. The flame of the candle he held in his free hand spluttered and flickered as his heat continued to spark something inside her.
“Likely because yer eyes were closed,” he said softly. “Do ye always walk into a room without looking where yer goin’?”
“Of course not,” Isobel said, perhaps a touch too defensively. “And I did not enter this room with my eyes closed either. I only…I…” Her words fell away as she once more dared to meet his gaze. The Laird said nothing. He only waited for her to finish her thought, showing a vast amount of patience, as it took hermore time than necessary to formulate a response. “I only closed my eyes when I realized that I had bumped into you.”
“Had I been made of somethin’ a bit less sturdy, you might have knocked me to the ground.”
Isobel could sense the amusement in his tone, but his eyes did not share the same merriment. She studied him carefully.
What is he thinking? Does he wish me to apologize for barreling into him?
Her eyes flitted back and forth between his before they dipped lower. She stared at those boyish freckles, then surveyed the extent of the damage to his nose, before focusing intently on his mouth. His lips were slightly parted, drawing her attention and holding it in place. The fine line of his upper lip was taut, but his lower lip was full and…enticing. She wished to lift her finger and trace it, just as she had done this morning when she drew a line down the length of his palm to the end of his index finger.
Stop trying to work out what he is deciding. And quit staring at his mouth! You should not care about what he thinks or decides..
“What are you doing in the library?” she asked because she had to say something.
“Selectin’ a book.” He cocked his head to the side, indicating the small leather-bound tome that rested on a table nearby.
“As was I.” She tore her eyes from him so she might try to read the print on the cover of his book. When she decided she could not make out the imprint clearly enough, she asked, “What are you reading?”
He was close enough for her to see the slight rise and fall of his chest. He smelled of woodsmoke, cold air, and something beneath both of those, which she was absolutely not going to think about.
“Hamlet,” he replied and she automatically allowed a laugh to bubble out of her lips.
“Shakespeare?”
Small crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes as his lips turned upward at the corners. “You’ve heard of it then.”
She laughed louder. “But, of course. Everyone I know has read Shakespeare’sHamlet.”
Laird MacRaeh leaned away from her. After placing the candle on the table, he picked up the book and held it out for her to peruse.
“Thank you.” Her fingers brushed his as she accepted the book and she fought the urge to gasp. Each time they had touched before, she had felt something…some strong tingling and warmth, and this instance was no different. She wished to feel the brush of his skin against hers again but satisfied herselfwith opening the volume and flipping to the first scene. “I am surprised to find you reading this,” she said conversationally as she ran her fingertip over the fine print.
“Why?” he replied in a lazy manner. “Ye didnae think I would enjoy this play?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “Everyone appreciatesHamlet. But I would’ve thought a strong, Scottish Laird like yourself would have favored Shakespeare’sMacBeth.”
Laird MacRaeh chuckled. The sound was little more than a deep rumble in his chest, but it was so inviting and so intimate a sound that Isobel found herself stepping closer to him, just so she could hear it better. “MacBethis misunderstood. He is complicated in a way that I cannae study while tryin’ to relax.”
“So…” She looked up at him. “You read Shakespeare’s works when you wish to relax?”
“Aye.” He nodded.
“Might I join you?” Isobel blinked at him hopefully.
“You…” His eyes screwed up so that he was peering at her through slits. “You wish to read this play with me?”
“Yes,” she answered simply. “If you would welcome my presence, I would like to stay here with you and…read.”
Her heart raced at the notion of sitting close to the Laird, sharing this book, and reading aloud to one another.
Slowly, his facial muscles relaxed and another one of his half-grins crept over his features. “I would gladly share my book with ye, Miss Graham.” He laid his hand over top hers, resting his fingertips on the words she had already covered. Her heartbeat sped up immediately. “But I must warn ye. When I read aloud, I cannae stop meself from performing.”
A giggle burst from her lips. “You are a performer?”
“Indeed,” he said, affecting a polished accent belonging to an Englishman. “I can do most any voice, except the ones belonging to the ladies.”