Catherine’s bright eyes never left Malcolm’s face as she called over her shoulder. “I’ll speak with you in a moment, Master Graves.”
Malcolm let his eyes travel from the woman’s face to the small, white hand resting on the crook of his elbow. He tried to hide the annoyance he felt at having Catherine accost him so openly in the corridor.
“I would like to see you in my chamber tonight, sir,” she whispered in a tone meant, no doubt, to be inviting.
Malcolm continued to stare at the thin, jeweled fingers and thought himself extremely lucky that the physician had moved away into the murky interior of his surgery. He was glad the old man hadn’t heard this woman’s invitation. Aye, he thought, that was all he needed—to have Graves think he was having an affair with every female in Kenninghall.
