Stranded With The Scottish Earl

“It felt like you’d already signed the settlements. It felt like you were forcing my hand.”

“Good Lord, Charlotte, as if I’ve ever been able to make you do anything you didn’t want to.” Her father hooted with laughter. “The next time will be the first.”

She narrowed her eyes, even as she conceded the truth of his remark. Her father went on before she could summon an objection. “All I wanted was for you to take a look at the chap. We make up our minds fast in this family. If you were set against the fellow, then I’d send him on his way.” A dismal expression descended on his still-handsome face. “And now, damn me for a thoughtless fool, I’ve gone ahead and given you a dislike for Lyle before you’ve met him.”

Oh, what was the point in pursuing this? Charlotte realized that berating her father achieved nothing. Especially when it was clear now that he’d let his enthusiasm run away with him. He hadn’t decided it was time for his spinster daughter to marry the first eligible man who proposed. “So you don’t want me off your hands before I’ve reached my own decision?”

“No, never, my darling girl. I just want you to be happy. I was acting in your interests, not my own. I don’t want you living hundreds of miles away in the blasted wilds of Scotland. But the more I got to know Lyle, the more I believed he was made for you.”

She suffered his rueful expression for another moment, then stepped forward and hugged him hard. The familiar scents of bay rum and security surrounded her, reminding her that while he could be woefully impetuous, his love had never faltered. “I suppose I’ll forgive you.”

After all, her father, annoying as it might be to admit, had been right about Lord Lyle. She had made her mind up fast. Ewan Macrae was the man for her.

“Thank you.” Her father hugged her in return. “I know I go at things like a bull at a gate, but I just want what’s best for my lovely girl.”

“I love you, Papa,” she muttered into his coat.

His arms tightened. “And I love you, chicken.”

Someone cleared his throat from the doorway, making Charlotte release her father and step back quickly in embarrassment.

A tall figure blocked the light. A familiar tall figure.

“Ewan—” She choked on his name, before she remembered that she and Lord Lyle were meant to be strangers.

Stupid to be so overjoyed to see him. She’d only left him at the brook a couple of hours ago, with the promise that he’d come back to the manor tomorrow. But her heart flooded with happiness. The time apart, even so short, had hung around her neck like a noose. Now he was here, the world was full of sunlight again.

It seemed love created its own weather.

“Lyle, I wasn’t expecting you until next week.” When her father recognized the newcomer, his face lit with unconstrained pleasure. Bill raced toward Ewan in rapturous welcome and jumped about, demanding attention.

Ewan looked up from patting the dog and cast Charlotte a brief, smiling glance of apology. “Sir John, I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d call.”

“Welcome, welcome.” Her father strode forward for a hearty handshake. “You must have had a deuced soggy ride down from London.”

“I stayed in Winchester during the worst of it.”

“We’re all at sixes and sevens here. Place has been half underwater for two days, and all the servants have been holed up in the village, but I’m sure we can find a bed for you and give you a decent breakfast.”

“Good of you,” Ewan said calmly.

Her father looked past Ewan to frown at Bill. The terrier sprawled on his back, inviting Ewan to rub his belly. “That’s dashed odd. That dog is always shy with strangers.”

Oh, no. Charlotte’s cheeks heated. The brainless hound might yet prove her downfall. Luckily Ewan was a quick thinker. “I like dogs. Maybe he senses it.”

“Maybe,” her father said, sounding unconvinced. Then he dismissed the small mystery, thank goodness. “No matter. Nice to see he already thinks you’re one of the family.”

“Very nice,” Ewan said, and Charlotte could tell from the gleam in his eye that he was fighting laughter.

“Now, come and meet my Charlotte.” Her father beckoned her forward from where she hovered in the shadows. “I’m hoping you two will be the best of friends.”

“My lord,” she said, dipping into a curtsy. She hoped her father would put her pink cheeks down to annoyance—or a girl’s natural reaction to meeting an attractive man. “Welcome to Bassington Grange.”

Ewan’s lips twitched at her unaccustomed politeness. As she rose, he took her hand and bowed over it. At his touch, immediate warmth flowed through her, banishing the last shred of pique with her father.

His fingers squeezed hers, and excitement bubbled up like champagne. How she wanted to kiss him. And wouldn’t that shock her proud parent?

“Thank you, Miss Warren. I’ve heard so much about the beauty of the local area. I was curious to discover it for myself.”