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

He left her at a loss. She’d been sure he’d march out in high dudgeon, the moment she said she wouldn’t share her body with him. "Don’t you mind?"

A gr

unt of bitter laughter. "That my wife can’t bring herself to tolerate my attentions? Of course I mind. But that doesn’t change the facts. A marriage still works to both our advantage."

Emily squared her shoulders and told herself to be brave. "Under the circumstances, if you agree to my request, you have my permission to seek your pleasure elsewhere. Discreetly."

He settled a discontented gaze on her. "It still seems a rum sort of bargain."

"I suspect it is." She paused, then spoke hesitantly. "Perhaps in time we can become friends."

His eyes darkened with what looked like hurt, when she’d never thought she had any power over his emotions at all. "Don’t you think of me as a friend already, Emily?"

She made a baffled gesture. She wasn’t sure what he was to her, although right now it looked like he’d soon be her betrothed, then in a few weeks, her husband.

He sighed as if her lack of response was answer enough. It probably was. "Are we going to do this thing?"

Emily told herself that what couldn’t be mended must be endured. Since her father’s brilliant mind started to fail him, she’d had to be strong. Surely she could dredge up an ounce more courage to face this marriage.

But embarking on a future she’d never choose for herself, she didn’t feel nearly as staunch as she wished. Her voice emerged as a glum murmur. "I think you could do better."

Hamish smiled, but this one seemed forced. She wasn’t surprised. He knew he could do better than marrying her, too. He was a rich man with a title and a reputation with the ladies. She was an eccentric bluestocking from the middle class, however many accolades her father had amassed. Even aside from worldly considerations, most marriages started with the promise of passion and affection. Or at least they should. This one began as a cold contract between two people who didn’t even like each other.

Emily’s insides felt as if they were made of ice. She’d never wasted much time contemplating the pleasures of the flesh. The pleasures of the mind had taken all her attention. Now physical satisfaction was to be forever denied to her. She wouldn’t be human if she didn’t wonder what she was missing out on.

She studied this big, clever, handsome man who was likely to become her husband. She’d wager her back teeth that he knew exactly how nice it was to lie down with someone he desired. She’d also wager that if he didn’t find satisfaction at home, he’d soon seek it elsewhere.

Given she banned Hamish from her bed, she was hardly fair to resent him for finding relief in another woman’s arms. But lack of fairness didn’t stop her from resenting the prospect with every cell in her body.

She didn’t like the idea of the world knowing that her husband was unfaithful. Because of course the world always found out. She’d heard enough on dits to understand how fast gossip spread. Today the talk was about her, and she hated it. She’d hate it, too, when London tittered over Hamish Douglas’s conquests and how his wife couldn’t keep her roving spouse at home. Even worse, while she mightn’t want Hamish touching her, something deep inside her didn’t want him touching anyone else either.

"Emily?" His voice was kind.

"Think about what we’re doing, Hamish." She sounded desperate, but whether desperate for him to walk away, or stay and bring this mad plan to fruition, she couldn’t have said. "If we marry, there’s no escape."

Bleak humor quirked his lips. "No escape for you either."

"I know," she said with such dourness that he laughed, although with a hint of chagrin.

"I’m sure I’m not nearly as bad as you think I am. I was a barbarian at twenty, but that was a lifetime ago. Since then, I’ve become almost civilized."

She didn’t smile. "Your temper can still get the better of you."

His brief amusement faded, and he frowned as he stepped back from her. "By God, you’re not afraid of me, are you?"

"You’re big."

He gave a self-derisory grunt. "That I am. But I swear I’d never hit a woman."

Actually despite his size, she’d never considered him a violent man. "I believe you."

"Thank you." He looked relieved. "And I come down from the heights pretty quickly."

Her lips compressed. "But by then, the damage is usually done."

"This trouble we’re in is a case in point, isn’t it?"

"Yes," she said, because really what else was there to say?