The Laird’s Christmas Kiss (The Lairds Most Likely 2)

“Hamish and Diarmid, you can both stop it right this minute,” Elspeth said. When she’d kissed Brody, she’d felt brave and free. Right now, she felt dirty and discarded. “For the tenth time, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her brother directed a fulminating glare at her, before he shot Brody a look of pure hatred. “No, you didn’t.”

The atmosphere, calmed thanks to Marina’s good sense, flared toward conflict again. Brody looked angry and hunted—and hurt in a way she hadn’t expected.

She did owe him some explanation, she supposed. But not now. At this moment, she felt too close to breaking.

“Brody, can I please talk to you tomorrow?” To her chagrin, her voice cracked. “Tonight, I’m—”

“Over my dead body,” Hamish shouted.

“Stop bellowing like a maddened elephant, Hamish.” She directed a quelling look at her brother. “If I want to talk to Brody, I will.”

“I’m the head of the family.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s all well and good, but given Mamma just disowned me, I’d say your authority is at an end.”

“Brava, ragazza,” Marina said, coming forward with a managing air. “I grow tired of all this noisy masculine posturing.”

“Let me posture and clear the room for ye, my love,” Fergus said. He addressed the crowd with the unmistakable authority of the Laird of Achnasheen. “Go to bed, everyone. This will all seem like a silly tiff tomorrow.”

The autocratic tone worked. With some grumbling, the room emptied of everyone but Fergus, Marina, Elspeth—and to her dismay, Brody.

“Elspeth, we can’t leave things as they are right now,” he said stubbornly.

She crossed her arms, feeling harried to the point of shrieking. Would this horrible night never end? “You just want to propose again.”

“At least I’d like to ken why ye said no.” She hated that he sounded kind and reasonable, and as if he had a right to question her decision.

She clenched her shaking hands in her skirts. “We wouldn’t suit.”

“But—”

“It’s late, cuz. Too late in the day to start all this up again.” Fergus strode across and clapped him on the back. “Come and have a wee dram in the drawing room. You look like ye need it.”

Instead of shifting, Brody stared at Elspeth, as if he strove to pierce through her skin to discover the secrets lurking in her heart. She hoped to heaven he didn’t succeed. There were a few secrets there she had no intention of sharing with him—ever.

“I’ll ask again, Elspeth,” he said with grim emphasis.

Close to despair, she shook her head and turned away from that penetrating gaze. “My answer won’t change.”

“Leave her be for tonight, Brody.” Marina’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “Can’t you see she’s at the end of her tether?”

“Thank you, Marina,” Elspeth whispered.

“Very well. But this isn’t over,” Brody said, his tone grim, even as he and Fergus headed for the library door.

After the door closed behind the cousins, leaving Elspeth alone with Marina, she sucked in her first full breath in forever. Nausea still soured her stomach, and she felt bruised and unsteady, as if she’d been crushed under a runaway carriage. “I’m sorry. I seem to have ruined your Christmas party.”

Marina shrugged as she released her. “Cavolo, don’t you get all operatic on me, Elspeth. This isn’t such a big problem. Anyway, a little scandal enlivens a dull winter.”

“It doesn’t feel like a little scandal,” Elspeth said in a low voice. Marina’s calm acceptance of what had happened helped her feel less like a worm.

Marina surveyed her, black eyes perceptive and, more importantly, kind. “I’m sure it doesn’t.”

“If you hadn’t come in—”

“Pfft.” Her airy gesture was unmistakably Continental. “You have too much sense to lose your maidenhead to Brody Girvan on the library couch. Anyone could have walked in.”