The Highlander's English Bride (The Lairds Most Likely 6)

"The party at Lord Pascoe’s was good for him, but it took him out of his routine. He needed a few days to settle."

The door behind Emily opened, and Polly brought in a laden tea tray. Apparently the plan was to treat this visit like a conventional call and not a matter of life and death.

Hamish had no objections, especially as he could see Emily drew strength from the social rituals and the fact that as hostess, she was in charge of proceedings.

They managed a few more minutes of polite conversation, including an enquiry as to how he took his tea, when Emily had known that since he’d moved into this house as a raw and eager assistant to her father.

A silence fell. An awkward, heavy silence.

Hamish grabbed his courage in both hands. He set his half-empty teacup on a side table. Strange how the subject of marriage felt more forbidden in these formal circumstances than it had yesterday. "Have you thought any further about what I said?"

It was an inane question. She’d hardly have put his proposal from her mind.

Her huff of grim amusement told him she also considered the question asinine. "I’ve thought about little else."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He’d dressed with care, too, in a bottle green coat and biscuit breeches. The shine on his hessians was dazzling, and the arrangement of his neck cloth would do Beau Brummel proud.

The hands on Emily’s lap twined around each other as she bit her lip. These were the first signs of uncertainty she’d shown.

Another thorny silence descended.

Patience wasn’t Hamish’s specialty. He bore the wait as long as he could, but after a couple of moments, he said, "And that decision is?"

She swallowed. Another sign of nerves. But she met his gaze squarely, and her voice emerged with admirable steadiness, if with a lowering lack of enthusiasm. "I will marry you, Hamish."

Relief rushed through him. In a perfect world, this marriage wouldn’t be his choice. But in the world they lived in, this was by far the best outcome.

He rose to his feet and stepped toward her. "Emily…"

Her jaw tightened as she waved him back. "Please sit down. I haven’t finished."

Hamish subsided into his chair. "Oh?"

Dear Lord, what the devil did she intend? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

"I have several conditions." She sat as straight as a wooden ruler and determination settled on her face, making her look more like a gorgeous mother superior than ever. "Once you’ve heard them, you may wish to withdraw your offer."

"I doubt it," he said. "Nothing is liable to change my reasons for proposing."

That didn’t reassure her, he noticed. "Listen to what I have to say, then see what you want to do."

"Very well, then." He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out before him, and folded his arms over his chest. "I’m all ears."

She swallowed again, as if she had trouble forcing the words out of her throat. "I have to stay in this house as long as Papa is…alive. Change upsets him, and he finds comfort in his memories of life here with Mamma and with all his students over the years."

Hamish frowned as he sifted what she said. "If we don’t live together after the ceremony, we’ll create even more gossip."

She sent him a direct look. "I think you should move in here, at least for the present moment."

More relief. This was a perfectly reasonable request. If she imagined living in Bloomsbury was a major stumbling block to their match, her other conditions weren’t likely to be too onerous.

"I’m more than happy to do that. In fact, it’s a capital idea. You need help with your father, and he and I have always got on. I meant what I said about getting some nursing staff."

"I don’t want your charity," she said sharply.

He smiled at her. "It won’t be charity if I’m your husband. If this goes ahead, I’ll endow thee with all my worldly goods in front of God and society."

"Bloomsbury isn’t the most fashionable quarter of London. You’re used to Mayfair."