He tilted his head, a faint smile on his lips. “Mrs. MacKenzie was so kind to accompany me every step of the way.”
As any decent chaperone would, sir.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You have an interest in sheep?”
“In fibers and textiles,” he said smoothly. “My family is in the silk trade.”
“I thought you were a scholar.”
His eyes flicked toward the lambs in the pen. “I suppose I’m the, how do you say, the black sheep of the family,” he said.
Interesting. Such self-deprecation was hardly commonplace in his culture. He must have paid attention to English habits up at Cambridge.
Mr. Khoury shifted his attention back to her, and his direct gaze sent warmth washing down her legs. These kaleidoscope eyes had seen . . . everything.
“May I touch them?” he asked.
“What?”
He nodded at the pen. “The lambs.”
“Oh. Yes, of course. If they’ll have you.”
He held his hand into the pen and made some soft hissing sounds, bzz bzz bzz. In profile, his features were as appealing to her as in portrait. His strong nose befitted an emperor. His thick dark hair was clipped close to the sides and back of his head but kept longer on top, and a stray curl fell into his brow when he looked down.
“Collins, William,” she said. “Why don’t you go and enjoy your evening.”
The men mumbled their acquiescence and left. MacKenzie visibly dug in her heels; she was here to stay. This was a problem because what Catriona had to say to Elias Khoury was not for a chaperone’s ears. Meanwhile, Mr. Khoury’s strange method had lured a lamb. He was cooing words of praise in Arabic while his tanned fingers expertly scratched the curly coat. Unexpectedly, he looked at Catriona, his eyes gleaming aquamarine with some genuine enthusiasm. Like the sun-kissed surface of the sea. Oddly terrified, she glanced away.
“It’s good wool,” he said in an appraising tone.
Her cheeks were overwarm. He pronounced wool like a Frenchman. He sometimes intoned like one, too; she didn’t need her linguist training to notice. He was too sophisticated to be in her stable, with his proud nose and French vowels and English suit, though his languid posture said he was a man at ease in his body anywhere. It made her acutely conscious of her ugly, thick-soled boots, how awkward her arms felt in any one position; of her monotone voice, the twinge of pain when she tried to hold his gaze. Bloody spark.
She pulled back her shoulders. “Mr. Khoury. Are you truly a bird-watcher?”
Since there was no escape from MacKenzie, she had addressed him in Arabic.
Mr. Khoury relinquished the lamb and faced her with an alert expression. “Eh.” Yes.
MacKenzie huffed with disapproval at the switch of language.
Catriona ignored it. “So your presence at the lake this afternoon was purely coincidental?”
His dark brows arched high, as if her audacity to mention the unmentionable had shocked him. He raised his hands. “I swear,” he said, “I watch birds of prey.”
“I see. Still. We ought to address our situation.”
Mr. Khoury glanced at MacKenzie, who had resorted to ignoring them, too.
He came a little closer. “I came here to speak to you. I’d spare you this journey if I could.”
His rich scent teased her nose, warm and woodsy like afternoon sunshine on a dry summer day. It had muddled her mind throughout the entire meal earlier.
She adjusted her glasses. “You have seen me in a terribly compromising position,” she said, stating the obvious. “We ought to pretend it never happened, but happened it has, and we both know it. We know it’s an outrageous situation.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Indeed. Where I’m from, we’d be married by now.”
A wheezing sound came from her throat.
He moved his hands in a soothing gesture. “A joke,” he said. “Forgive me.”
His tone was suspiciously light—there was some truth lurking in this joke.
“Luckily, all that is required of us is to journey to Oxford together,” she said coolly, feeling color creep up her neck. “I shall introduce you to relevant places and gentlemen there, and then we shall keep our distance.”
“Of course,” he readily agreed.
“I wish to leave the day after tomorrow.”
He had traveled a week to come to Applecross, but he didn’t blink. “As you wish.”
“Lastly, I would prefer that we travel in separate compartments at all times to avoid the awkwardness of tiptoeing around our situation.” Tiptoeing she said in English.