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

"Perhaps only once a week?"

She didn’t smile, in part because she didn’t trust his charm. He charmed people as easily as a robin perched on a holly branch. It would be so easy to fall under his spell.

While this marriage promised to be a disaster on so many levels, she refused to let him make her wretched. She’d seen so many girls go completely silly over him, and most of the time, he didn’t even notice. She’d always believed she was made of stronger stuff – but that was before she’d seen him naked.

"Perhaps save the apologies for some new infringement."

A faint smile returned. He smiled a lot. People were fooled into seeing that and not the razor-sharp mind operating behind those glittering eyes. Emily had learned long ago not to underestimate him.

"You’re so sure there will be one?"

"I’d wager my lavish pin money on the possibility."

She had a sick feeling that those infringements would include women in his bed. Although given their arrangement, would he feel he owed her an apology for infidelity? Even before she’d seen his magnificent body in a state of sexual readiness, she’d known her husband was a virile, sensual man. He wouldn’t swear eternal chastity just because his wife preferred to remain untouched.

"Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it." He paused "We’ve strayed a long way from what I came in here to talk about."

"Oh?"

He looked uncomfortable. "I know you hate to lie."

Startled she turned on the stool to face him. "So do you."

The unshakeable confidence he’d possessed even at twenty looked shaken. He brushed his hand through his hair, making one golden lock flop forward over his forehead. "You held your head up at the wedding. But tonight it’s only my family and closest friends."

"I know," she said grimly, her nerves reviving to set a plague of grasshoppers leaping around inside her stomach.

"Do you think…do you think you could pretend to be happy with the match?"

"What?"

"It’s only for one night. I don’t want the people who care for me to know that we share no affection. Especially when happy marriages abound in my circle."

She tried not to flinch at the no affection remark, although she supposed she deserved it after what she’d said about anger, resentment and disappointment. "You’d like to save your pride."

"And yours."

And hers.

She didn’t want Hamish’s nearest and dearest taking a dislike to her – or worse, feeling sorry for the laird’s unloved bride. "They must have heard about what happened at Pascoe Place."

"My mother has. Which means my sisters, too."

She cringed. None of his relatives knew her well enough to understand that she was a million miles away from a scarlet woman. "Don’t you think people wh

o know you well will guess we married out of necessity rather than…love?"

It shouldn’t be difficult to say that last word, but it stuck in her throat like a chicken bone. Perhaps because when she looked ahead, not one scrap of love awaited her. No love of a husband. No love of a child. The only person in the world who loved her now was her father, and she couldn’t pretend he’d be with her for much longer.

She leveled her shoulders. No more self-pity. She refused to yield to maudlin weakness. As Hamish had pointed out, she had her pride. She might face a lonely, unhappy future, but she refused to be pathetic as well.

He looked uncomfortable. "I’m not expecting the impossible, Emily, but I’d like my family to think that we’re compatible at least. Don’t jump like a scalded cat when I take your hand. Stop pokering up like I’m about to rob you every time I come near."

"I don’t," she said in outrage.

A sardonic arching of gold brows. "You do."

She sagged in surrender. She did. "I’m sorry."