clean, waxy smell of soap that I was to associate with him from that moment on. But it was enough. Enough to know I had never, in all my thirty-seven years, experienced anything like it. After a long time, he lifted his head.
“Do you believe in déjà vu?” he asked.
“No,” I lied. “Tell me why you don’t want me at Traquair House.”
His fingers were warm against my neck. “It isn’t like that at all. In fact, it has nothing to do with you. I’m an agricultural engineer, Christina. The improvements in farming over the last ten years have been phenomenal. If I appear a bit resentful, it’s only because my ancestors, unlike the earls of Traquair, didn’t take advantage of new methods and machinery. I hope you appreciate what you’ve been given.”
“Are you having financial difficulties, Ian?”
He stared down at me, an expression of exasperation and amusement on his face. “You do get right to the heart of the matter. Didn’t your mother tell you never to ask a person’s age, his politics, or the extent of his bank account?”
He had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, and I was behaving completely unlike myself. “I’m an American,” I told him. “My mother gave up on me long ago. Have you considered a loan?”
“I have,” he replied. “The bank wants my land as collateral. I’m not ready to take that risk yet.” He smiled his bone-weakening smile. “You have an unusual effect on me, Christina Murray. I don’t believe I’ve shared this much with a stranger in a very long time.”
I felt the color rise to my cheeks and was grateful for the darkness. “How old are you?” I asked abruptly.
He grinned. “Thirty-five and Church of Scotland. How old are you?”
“Thirty-seven and Catholic.” I didn’t bother to explain that my membership in the Roman Catholic Church had lapsed years ago.
“The Murrays have always been Catholic,” he murmured and leaned toward me again.
I pulled away. “You haven’t asked the most important question of all.”
“What might that be?”
“Aren’t you curious as to whether or not I’m married? Most women my age are, and I am wearing a ring.” I held out my hand displaying the delicate gold band engraved with the Murray crest. It was an unusual piece of jewelry. He couldn’t have missed it.
The silence between us lasted for a long time. I was uncomfortable and then embarrassed. We’d shared nothing more than raspberry scones and one incredible kiss. I stared at his chest, his mouth, at the sharp line of his cheek, the blade of his nose, the pulse beating in the hollow of his throat, everywhere but into his eyes.
Under his breath, I heard him curse softly in Gaelic. Startled, I looked up, meeting his gaze. He laughed, cupped my cheek, and uttered the short, unbelievable words. “You’re not married, Christina, but it wouldn’t have made any difference if you were.”
The tension inside the compact was thick and cloying. I needed air immediately. Fumbling with the handle, I opened the door and jumped out. By the time Ian walked around the car, I was composed again.
“Have Americans introduced a new fashion or is it my company you’re in such a hurry to leave?” His face was expressionless, his eyes veiled against me. My teasing companion of the gates was again a remote stranger.
“Neither,” I answered. “It’s just very late. I went for a short walk hours ago. They must be wondering where I am.”
“Ellen isn’t in any condition to wonder about anyone.”
I considered not telling him at all and then changed my mind. He would know soon enough anyway. “Ellen Maxwell died this afternoon. I’m sorry.”
“I see.” There was no mistaking the coldness of his voice. “May I offer you my congratulations, Miss Murray. You are a very wealthy woman.” With a brief smile he turned away.
“Ian?” I couldn’t stop myself.
He turned, an impatient look on his face.
“I suppose I’ll see you at the funeral.”
“Of course.” He stayed where he was, waiting for something I couldn’t begin to imagine.
I rang the doorbell. Unexpectedly, tears gathered in my throat. Horrified that I would lose control before someone opened the door, I turned away. Let him think I’m rude, I thought, pressing my fingers against my eyelids to staunch the flow. Better that than the alternative.
“Christina.” He was directly behind me, his voice warm and compassionate, the friend of the gates once again. “Pay no attention to me. I’ll see you at the funeral.”
I didn’t turn around, and he didn’t touch me.