“Is something wrong?” she asked as he drew close.
He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “You’re perfect.”
Her eyes widened and she broke the pose. “Duncan, I—”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, feeling the delicate bone structure beneath his fingertips, letting that knowledge work its way into his subconscious. A tiny vein in her right temple pulsed wildly, and it took all his self-control to keep from placing his lips against the spot.
She tensed. He could feel the slightest trembling and he murmured something low, something he didn’t expect her to understand, then moved his hands across her shoulders and down her arms, stroking her. She sighed, a softly sibilant sound, and he took it as encouragement. Gently he eased her sweater off her right shoulder, exposing the smooth skin and exquisite line.
“Duncan?” She sounded both puzzled and pleased.
“I need to see you,” he said, then eased her sweater off her left shoulder, as well.
She dipped her head, and her cascade of hair fell across both shoulders.
“No,” he said, gathering the silky fall into his hands. “I want to see you.” He resisted the urge to bury his face against the fragrant mass.
She nodded then lowered the sweater farther, revealing the curving swell of her breasts. The gesture touched him deeply, for he knew how difficult it was for her.
“Aye,” he said, “that’s it.” Although it was only part of what he wanted from her. Still, it was more than he’d thought he would find.
He picked up his hammer and chisel again, determined to find a way to turn mere marble into something worthy of her splendor. He wanted to see her breasts revealed to his eyes, he wanted to see the swell of her belly and know it cradled his child. He wanted—
“Did you hear something?” she asked.
Only the sound of my heart, lassie. “I dinna think so.”
“I’m sure I heard something, Duncan. Listen.”
He did and quickly realized she was right. “There’s someone at the door,” he said.
She tugged her sweater into position. “Do you usually have visitors when you’re working?”
He shook his head. “Never.” He waited while she smoothed her hair then he went to open the door.
“Took you long enough!” Old Mag railed at him from the doorway. She glanced curiously at Samantha who smiled at her from the chaise longue. “There’s a telephone call for you, missus.”
Sam stood and smoothed her skirt. “A phone call?”
“Says she’s your mother and that she needs to speak with you right now.”
“That sounds like my mother,” Sam said to Duncan. “I’d better take the call.”
She hurried from the studio, and most of the light in the room seemed to vanish with her.
“And what are you looking at, old woman?” he asked Mag. “You don’t have work of your own?”
“She does not love you yet, laddie, but she will in time.”
He stared at her. “What in bloody hell does that mean?”
“It means give her time.”
“You’re talking nonsense, old woman. We’re married.”
“I have eyes to see with, don’t think I don’t, and this marriage isn’t all it should be.”
He hated when she did that, saw through his lies to the heart of the matter. “This marriage is not your business,” he said.
“Tell her, laddie. You might be surprised.”
The only thing that surprised him was that Old Mag still had her position.
IT TOOK SAM a few minutes but she finally tracked down the telephone in the dining room, of all places.
“Tell me you’re not married,” Julia greeted her. “Tell me this letter is a terrible joke.”
“Hello to you, too, Mother,” she said, sitting down at the highly polished mahogany table. “I’m afraid there’s no joke.”
Julia’s groan hurt Sam’s eardrum. “How could you, darling? What on earth possessed you to get married?”
“I’m thirty-two years old,” Sam countered. “Wouldn’t you say it was about time?”
“You’ve lost your mind,” Julia said, her voice rising in agitation. “I can’t think of another reason for such a foolish, foolish act.”
“Love?” Sam asked, enjoying her role as devil’s advocate. “Isn’t that why most people get married?”
Julia made a dismissive sound that neatly conveyed her basic distrust in the institution of marriage. “I know you too well, my darling. There’s more to this than meets the eye.”
“You’re right about that,” Sam said, wearying of her mother’s outrage. “I’m pregnant.” She waited for a reaction but when none was forthcoming she went on. “You’re very quiet, Mother. Are you overwhelmed at the thought of becoming a grandmother?”
“Oh, God.” Julia groaned loudly. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”
“Wouldn’t you say it’s about time for that, too? I’m thirty-two, which makes you—”
“Old enough to know better than to discuss my age.”
“So why did you call, Julia?” Sam found herself resenting this intrusion into her new life. “And how on earth did you get the number?” She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had telephoned her. It had to be at least three years.
“I called to tell you I’m here for you if you decide you made a mistake.”
Sam stared at the phone as if it had sprouted wings and a tail. The statement was so unlike Julia as to sound downright foreign. “I’m happily married, Mother. I haven’t made a mistake.”
“Duncan Stewart is a difficult man, darling.”
“What did you say?”
Julia’s sigh rippled through the wires. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear what I said. Your husband is well-known as a difficult man. There’s no crime in failure.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Darling, everyone knows he’s carrying a torch for his ex. He was devastated when Lana moved out, and most people think he’d take her back in an instant if she’d have him.”
Two big fat tears of annoyance slid down Sam’s cheeks. “I’d like to know why you felt compelled to share that with me, Mother.”
“Well, isn’t that obvious?”
