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

> As a statement of lifelong intentions, it was weak, but she already felt enough of a hypocrite. Lying declarations of eternal devotion stretched her too far.

To her relief, the lukewarm vow seemed to satisfy her father. With difficulty, he rose from the bed and placed his hand on her head. He even laughed as Hamish had to bend to allow him to reach his crown. "I bless this union. I bless both of you, my dear children. Knowing you go forward into life hand in hand eases my heart and makes me thank heaven that you found each other. I loved your mother very much, Emily, and I know she’s looking down on you now and wishing you and Hamish a long and happy life together."

As her father’s hand rested a moment longer on her head, Emily blinked back tears. How she wished she did love the man she’d married, so her father’s beautiful words didn’t make her feel like a fraud.

"Thank you, Papa," she said thickly, when he lowered his hands.

"Thank you, Sir John," Hamish said, straightening.

Emily glanced at him. He sounded as choked up as she did. She was touched to see tears brightening those blue eyes, but she wasn’t surprised. Hamish had always worn his heart on his sleeve. She supposed there was some advantage in marrying a man who could never tell a convincing lie.

Then with a pang, she realized that there were disadvantages, too. When he sought his physical pleasure elsewhere as he inevitably would, she’d know the minute he strayed. She shouldn’t care that he went to another woman’s bed, especially as the only thing she could do about that was to take him into hers. She wasn’t just a fraud, she was a dog in the manger as well. Sometimes she didn’t like herself very much.

The crisis with her father had pushed tonight’s revelations into the background. But Emily suddenly recalled Hamish saying that he’d always wanted her. She mightn’t want to believe it, but Hamish didn’t lie. It shouldn’t change things between them – she was no more eager to yield to him than she’d been before. But somehow it did, leaving her curious, unsettled, and filled with a forbidden excitement that made no sense.

Hamish released her hand – ridiculous, too, to miss that link – and stepped forward to take her father’s elbow. "Time for bed, I think."

Her father scowled at the bed as if it was an instrument of torture. "Yes," he said without enthusiasm.

Miss McCorquodale held out a small glass. "Here’s a drink to settle you down, Sir John."

Emily braced for some act of rebellion, but it seemed that Papa was exhausted at last. With help, the old man swallowed the sleeping draft, then with a docility in stark contrast to his earlier peevishness, he slid between the covers and closed his eyes.

Hamish stood up from where he’d been stoking the fire, although the room wasn’t cold. "Go to bed, Miss McCorquodale. You’ve been with him all day, and you look wrung out. Emily and I will take over from here."

"But it’s your wedding night."

"My bride and I have a lifetime ahead of us. This is only one night," he said with the sudden flashing charm that hadn’t lost its power to make Emily’s knees wobble. It had been making her knees wobble since their first meeting. Now inevitably it made her remember quite how breathtaking he’d looked standing before her without a stitch to cover that superb body.

"I’ll sit with him," Emily said, cramming those troubling insights into a remote corner of her mind where she hoped they’d never again see the light of day.

"No, I will." Hamish set a chair at the bedside. "Tomorrow we’ll see what we can do about getting both of you some more help. I had no idea Sir John’s health had reached this pass."

Miss McCorquodale curtsied. "Thank you, my lord."

Hamish’s smile was weary as he sat down. "Mr. Douglas is perfectly fine."

Emily struggled to remind herself that this man who treated her father and the nurse with such consideration was overbearing, irritating Hamish Douglas. Her antagonist for the last ten years. The man whose every remark made her snipe and snarl like a cat with its fur rubbed the wrong way.

Now, watching him settle down beside her father’s bed with every sign of good grace, she couldn’t summon her usual animosity. Which was as troubling in its way as her odd response to his touch.

She accepted his explanation of the mistake about his room. When he’d found himself lying beside her, his shock had been unambiguous. Anyway, he wasn’t a man given to sneaking around and dissembling to achieve his ends.

Which didn’t mean she was at ease with what had happened.

She had a nasty suspicion that tonight she and Hamish had crossed a barrier that until now had kept them decorously apart. She’d wake up tomorrow as virginal as she’d ever been, but not nearly so innocent.

Now she knew that her husband wanted her, had wanted her for years. She knew what he looked like naked. As the unforgettable picture swamped her mind once more, she swallowed to moisten a dry throat. Even worse, she knew how it felt when a large masculine hand cupped her breast and a big masculine body pressed her down into a bed.

Yesterday she’d been convinced those acts would frighten her. She had been frightened, at least for a moment. But along with the fear had come an extraordinary thrill that turned her blood to lava. It was a little like her shivery reaction when he’d taken down her hair.

When he fondled her nipple, there had been an undeniable spark of…something. For one insane instant, she hadn’t wanted him to stop.

She’d imagined that after their wedding, she and Hamish would remain virtual strangers. But already it became clear that sharing a house with her new husband posed challenges she’d never foreseen. They’d been married little more than half a day, and already her plans to lead a separate life were in ruins.

What other disagreeable revelations awaited?

She squared her shoulders and told herself to stop fretting. This bleak self-reflection just proved how tired and on edge she was. Hamish’s visit to her bedroom had upset her, even before Miss McCorquodale called for her help.