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

"Yes, Sir John, they’re expecting you at the Astronomical Society, but not just yet," a deep voice said from behind her.

Startled, Emily glanced away from her father to see that Hamish had joined them. She’d been so preoccupied with Papa that she hadn’t noticed her husband arrive. He wore shirtsleeves and trousers. Hardly formal attire, but an improvement on the bedspread.

Briefly the magnificent image of a huge, naked and aroused Scot flooded her mind. The sight had made her feel like swooning. She’d almost asked him to stay there and let her examine him. In her whole life, she’d never seen anything so interesting as Hamish wearing nothing at all.

Her father took advantage of her distraction to approach Hamish where he stood in the doorway. "At last, someone sensible. I have to go to the Astronomical Society this morning, Hamish. Will you come with me?"

"Don’t let him out of the bedroom," Emily said urgently. "He’ll head straight for the front door. Once he’s on the street, he’s almost impossible to catch."

Hamish cast her a quick unreadable glance, before he stepped forward to take Sir John’s arm. "The lecture has been postponed. There’s a problem with the drains."

Her father stared blankly at Hamish. "You married my daughter today."

Hamish smiled. "I did indeed."

Emily watched fleeting awareness animate her father’s features. "I’m glad. You’re the son I never had."

Hamish was still smiling. Ridiculously Emily couldn’t help noting the open affection in his manner. He never treated her like that. He always acted as if he expected her to bite him.

With some justice, she supposed.

"And I think of you as a father. We’re both lucky that Emily decided to make me the happiest of men."

"She’s a good girl. I hope you mean to look after her."

"Nothing but the best for my wife. And for my wife’s father." He edged the old man back toward his bed, where Miss McCorquodale was restoring order to the chaotic bedclothes.

"What are you doing here?" Papa asked. "Shouldn’t you be alone with your bride?"

Hamish didn’t glance at Emily, but she saw the way his lips compressed. "We came to ask your blessing, Sir John."

Hamish lowered the old man until he sat on the edge of the mattress. Suffering and ill health had turned her father’s face gaunt and pale, and his nightshirt hung loose from his bony shoulders. Only a year ago, he’d addressed the Royal Society to great acclaim, although not about the moons of Jupiter. How his world had shrunk over these months. Emily stared at her father, trembling and uncertain in the care of her strong, vital husband, and recognized that he wouldn’t be with her for much longer. She’d known this rationally for weeks, but only now in the middle of this shipwreck of a wedding night did her heart accept the unavoidable truth.

Some sound of distress must have escaped her, because Hamish shot her another glance. For once, he didn’t look superior. Instead he looked as devastated as she did. He, too, must see that Sir John’s health reached a critical point.

"My blessing…" Papa looked around him and plucked at the nightshirt as if checking for pockets.

"Yes, sir. If you’re willing to give it."

"Where the deuce are my spectacles?"

Miss McCorquodale picked them up from the bedside table and held them out to him. "Here, Sir John."

"What on earth do I want those for, you nitwitted woman? It’s the middle of the night."

"Oh, I see," Miss McCorquodale said with admirable calmness and put them back. "I do beg your pardon."

"Emily, come and stand beside Hamish. It does my heart good to see you two together."

"Yes, Papa," she said meekly and stepped up next to the man she’d married against her deepest inclinations. Although seeing him so gentle and patient with her father, especially when by nature he was neither gentle nor patient, she could almost imagine loving him.

Hamish took her hand. She knew it was all for show, just as everything today had been for show, but reviving strength flowed from his firm clasp. Right now, she dearly needed that strength.

"I promise to cherish your daughter and do my best to make her happy," Hamish said in his deep voice. If Emily didn’t know better, she’d almost think he meant it.

There was a pause, and Emily realized it was her turn to speak. The truth was too unacceptable. How could she tell Papa that she’d married Hamish to muffle a scandal and that she and her husband would never live as man and wife? Her father would have no grandchildren to carry his line into the next generation.

She licked dry lips, and her voice sounded scratchy when it emerged. "I promise to honor Hamish and care for him through all the vicissitudes of life."