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

"Emily?" he asked softly, as he stepped into the dark, confined space. He told himself he had to prevail, because the alternative to prevailing didn’t bear thinking about.

There was no answer, but he knew in his bones she was here. He’d reached such a state of intimacy with his wife that he could feel her presence.

When he raised the lamp, golden light reached every corner. His wife was sitting hunched on the chaise longue.

"This is where you are." Relief flooded Hamish, made his knees wobble. His voice cracked with the force of his emotion. His shaking hand made the light waver eerily across the shelves of treasures. "I’ve been searching the whole house for you."

She cringed away, and her response emerged thick with tears. "Well, now you’ve found me, you can go away again."

He struggled to control his urge to grab her up in his arms and kiss her. It was an effort to stay where he was, but everything about her screamed not to touch her. "No gentleman worth his salt would leave a lady crying and all alone."

"I’m not crying. I never cry."

"Not often, anyway." He ventured closer and set the lamp on the floor. "I was worried sick about you when your father died. It was as if you were frozen."

"Leave me alone, Hamish," she said, keeping her head down. The pearls in her rich dark hair glinted in the lamplight, and her slender hands twined in her lap.

"I can’t do that." Carefully, as if she were a wild bird and his slightest move could frighten her into flight, he sat beside her. "I hate to see you so unhappy. What in Hades did Fergus say to you?"

With a trembling hand, she raised a crumpled handkerchief to wipe her cheeks. "Just a few home truths that I should have kept in mind."

"I’ll kill him," Hamish said grimly, his hands fisting on his knees. "I’ll cut out his liver and roast it over a campfire."

"No, he was right." At last, she raised her gaze to meet his. His heart clenched in guilt and misery and pity. His stalwart Emily had been crying her eyes out. "And I was wrong. Because I forgot."

For pity’s sake, he was only human. He couldn’t keep his distance any longer. He dared to catch her hand in his. "Forgot what, sweetheart?"

She tried to pull away but gave up before it turned into a genuine effort. "Don’t call me that."

Just the touch of her hand was enough to soothe his burgeoning alarm, but he wasn’t sanguine enough to think that he’d even started to solve this problem. "Why not? You are my sweetheart."

"No, I’m not."

He gave a dismissive grunt. "What the devil do you think you are, then?"

"I’m…" She sucked in an audible breath then spoke in a broken rush. "I’m the woman you had to marry. The woman who can never be what you want, no matter how hard I try."

What the hell? How on earth could a smart woman believe that was true? He was appalled that she still felt so insecure. Didn’t she know yet what she meant to him?

His gut knotted with regret and apprehension, as he struggled to keep his voice even. "If you think back over the last three weeks, you’ll know that’s arrant nonsense."

She went back to staring into her lap. "You’re making the best of a bad bargain."

"That’s rubbish, Emily. I couldn’t want you more than I do."

When she looked at him, the despair in her eyes stabbed him to the soul. "You’re a kind man, Hamish. It took me far too long to see that. You were kind to Papa. You’ve been kind to me."

He frowned in confusion. That should be a compliment, but it didn’t sound like one. More was going on here than hurt feelings after a few rude remarks from Fergus and Rory. Much more. Hamish had a hideous inkling that if he mishandled the next few minutes, the consequences would be disastrous. "There’s nothing wrong with being kind."

Her smile threatened to break his heart. It was so utterly without hope. "No, it’s wonderful. You’re wonderful."

"What…" Amazement stole his ability to put words together. He’d never imagined her saying that to him. She’d told him the things he did to her were wonderful, but she’d never extended the praise to him in general.

"But kindness isn’t enough. Especially when I’ll always be the wrong woman for you."

"Emily?" He’d been worried when she ran from the ballroom, and that worry had deepened as he searched the house. But hearing those words, panic welled up to choke him. She couldn’t mean it. She couldn’t. He wouldn’t let it be true. "You’re talking as if you’re going to leave me."

A fraught pause. "It might be easier."