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

"Yes."

He should thank her, he supposed, but the words stuck in his throat. He scrunched up the paper and tossed it into the unlit fireplace. The only place fit for it, to his embarrassment. "Let’s go and get them off the table before anybody picks one up."

He stepped forward and caught her arm and only then noticed the damage rain, mud, his fumbling, and Lord Pascoe’s shrubbery had done to her appearance. "Emily…"

"Yes?"

"Plague take you, you can’t go out there looking like that. I’ll have to escort you to your carriage after all."

"The retiring room—"

"This is more than a few pins and a handkerchief can put right. You look like you’ve been with Wellington, following the drum across Spain. Through an earthquake and a thunderstorm."

When she glanced down at her gown, dismay flooded her expression. "Oh, for pity’s sake, you’re right."

"We need to get you out of here before anyone sees you."

"What about Papa?"

"I’ll make sure he gets home safely. You can’t hang about. You’ll catch pneumonia." Time was getting short, and he was due to make his speech in a few minutes. After he got her safely into her carriage, he’d need to come back in and tidy himself up. He wasn’t in much better state than Emily. "I’ll take you along the terrace, then down to your carriage. That way, there’s a bit of shelter from the upper floors. It’s raining cats and dogs out there now."

He waited for an argument. With Emily, there was always an argument. But to his relief, she nodded.

Once more, he removed his coat. He could see her shivering from here. "Take this, or you’ll catch your death. Not to mention it will help you fade into the shadows."

"Thank you." This time, she responded with suitable gratitude, although she looked sad and put upon.

Unwilling pity pierced him. He could imagine the evening hadn’t worked out the way she’d wished either. Since her father’s illness had worsened, she hadn’t been out and about very much. Tonight had been a chance for her to see her friends and sample a little high life.

While she pulled his coat over her shoulders, he checked to make sure the terrace was empty. Although who in their right mind would choose to be outside in this tempest? He turned back to her. "Ready?"

"Yes." She didn’t look like a harridan right now. He wished to heaven she did. Instead with her wet tangle of hair and her oversized covering, she looked like a winsome urchin.

Winsome? That would be the day.

"Let’s run," he said.

As they dashed out into the blustery night, he somehow ended up holding her hand. It felt small and cold and fragile in his grasp, and a surge of unaccustomed protectiveness caught him unawares.

With the wind blowing and cold rain lashing them, they darted between the squares of light shining from inside the house. They slipped on the cold, wet marble and a couple of times he nearly fell to his knees, but they kept going. He could see the top of the steps ahead. He just needed to get Emily down to the road and into her carriage and they were safe.

Hamish began to hope that they’d make it without being seen.

He shouldn’t have.

As they scurried past the ballroom, one of the French doors swung open. Before Hamish could drag Emily into the shadows, a plump blonde girl appeared in the gap and released an ear-splitting scream.

Startled, Hamish slammed to an abrupt stop. Emily stumbled and crashed into his back with an audible oof.

In one calamitous instant, the whole damned world collapsed around his ears.

Chapter 3

The high-pitched female shriek sliced through the buzz of conversation filling the ballroom. Silence crashed down, and every eye in the room arrowed in on Hamish and Emily poised between the open doors like actors in limelight.

"Oh, my goodness, Emily Baylor!" Matilda Conley exclaimed on top note, although at least now she’d stopped screaming. "I thought I saw someone sneaking around outside. Now I find it’s just you and Mr. Douglas. But look at you! What on earth have you two been up to? Your dress is in absolute tatters."

Wrenching her hand free of Hamish’s, Emily stifled a curse. Of course the silliest girl in Christendom had to catch her slinking away from the reception, not to mention notice her dishabille. And noticing, had to announce it to the world.