A cool smile flashed. “Why do ye care about Royce’s powers?”
“He’s different, like you,” Claire said firmly.
“Nay.” He turned away from her, his stance stiff and braced. “Royce be the earl of Morvern, nothin’ more.”
Claire hesitated, very aware that Malcolm was closing the discussion now. But they were treading upon dangerous and probably forbidden territory. His beliefs—and his ability to travel through time—were undoubtedly a very secret subject. But she was beyond certain that Royce had Malcolm’s abilities, and probably his beliefs, too. She slowly walked up behind him. When he turned, she was aware that only an inch separated them, and that she should not use any feminine wiles to get the answers she wanted. She slowly laid her hand on his chest.
A huge jolt of desire stabbed her as her palm smoothed the linen shirt flat against his hard muscle. “Tell me. Finish it. You’ve already told me a terrible secret, one that threatens your life, so tell me the rest.”
His smile was twisted. “Dinna play me, Claire.” But his eyes blazed and not just with anger. Claire recognized lust.
“Why not?” Touching him was making her feel weak and faint. “You’ve played me from the start.”
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