The Highlander's English Bride Page 17

  Now his wife was here, asking for…

  Just what was she asking for?

  "Hamish, are you trying to work out some tactful way of telling me to go back to London?" She sounded touchingly young, like the adolescent girl he’d met all those years ago at her father’s house.

  He raised his eyes and studied her. She looked nervous. She also looked like she struggled to conceal her nerves under a show of bravado. How very like her.

  "Even after all these months apart, you must recall that tact isn’t my forte."

  His attempt to lighten the atmosphere didn’t succeed. Her expression remained austere. "So what do you think?"

  He thought he needed a lot more information before he took on what could be just more heartache and frustration. "Tell me why you want this."

  The spread of her hands indicated an inability to explain. "It’s a long story."

  He rested his shoulders on the back of the chair. "I’m not going anywhere."

  The question was – was Emily?

  She twined her hands in her lap, a sign of disquiet he’d become familiar with in London. "I…I missed you, too."

  Startled, he sat up straight. "The devil you did."

  "The devil I did." At last, those lush lips twisted in a wry smile. "It caught me unawares, too."

  "After your father died, I couldn’t do anything right." The memory of those difficult days was still painful. "It was obvious I was driving you utterly mad. When you told me to go away, it seemed the only thing I could do to save your sanity."

  Regret turned her hazel eyes deep green. "I was so sad, I wasn’t in my right mind. It wasn’t you in particular."

  "I’m sure you were relieved when I went," he said somberly.

  "Perhaps I was." The stark honesty in her gaze made his heart clench. "Although believe me, I didn’t mean to exile you all the way to Scotland. And the relief didn’t last."

  "I’m sorry. I hoped my absence would help."

  She bit her lip. He could see she found this confession difficult. She didn’t like to leave herself vulnerable. Nor did he. Mutual defensiveness had contributed to their thorny relationship.

  "Without Papa to care for, without you to fight with, the house seemed appallingly empty." Her lips turned down, and he saw that revisiting that time made her wretched, too. "The hours hung so heavy on my hands. I had too much leisure to stare into space and miss Papa."

  "And regret your decisions," he said with a hint of grimness.

  "I regretted some of them."

  "Marrying me being the principal target, I’ll wager."

  To his surprise, she shook her head. "You might think that’s true, but it isn’t."

  Another shock. More powerful than the one he’d felt when she admitted missing him. And perhaps just a tiny glimmer of hope. "It isn’t?"

  Her gesture expressed her confusion. "Oh, I regretted the way we married. Coming to terms with that was never going to be easy. But once you left, I found myself thinking that you weren’t nearly the nightmare to live with that I imagined."

  "Thanks very much," he said with an edge.

  Another reluctant smile. "Tact has never been my specialty either. So you know I’m being sincere when I say I looked back on our short time together and found myself remembering how kind you’d been, both to me and to Papa. I remembered how you tried to make my new life as smooth as you could. I remembered how you took so much strain off my shoulders, and in a way that I hardly noticed until you’d gone and it was too late to thank you." She paused. "I remembered how you kept your word about not sharing my bed."

  Damn it, that wasn’t a subject he was ready to broach. He was trying not to get too excited about the thought of possessing his bride. She said she wanted a real marriage, but she hadn’t said that meant taking him as her lover. If he let himself hope too hard and then she insisted he kept his promise, the disappointment would be too much to endure.

  Surely she must want him to keep his promise.

  "No decent man would behave differently," he said.

  Approval tinged her smile. The expression was so unfamiliar, it took him a few seconds to identify it. "That’s the crux of it – it turned out I married a decent man, when I feared I was taking on a selfish, temperamental child in a man’s body."

  He shifted uncomfortably under all this praise. "I can be a difficult sod when the mood takes me."

  "Yes, you can, but at heart, you’re a good man. And I treated you so shabbily."

  He was unaccustomed to Emily saying nice things about him. Most of the time, she looked like she wanted to pitch a vase at his head, the bigger the better. "You were worried sick about your father."

  "He’d always been the center of my world. More so, after he became ill."

  "So you found yourself at a loss, once he was gone."

  "That’s true." She paused. "I was also a wife without a husband. Even during my mourning period, that made life difficult. There were nasty remarks and a string of questions about your whereabouts. Things got much worse once I was out and about again. I couldn’t appear in public without meeting prurient curiosity. I almost think I’d rather be scorned as a scarlet woman than derided as an object of pity. But everyone knew that I hadn’t managed to keep my husband with me for more than a few weeks."

  "It isn’t unusual for me to visit Scotland."

  "It is when you left so soon after our wedding and my father’s funeral." She sounded sad rather than angry. "It is when you didn’t come back."

  Guilt pricked at him. Perhaps he should have stayed. "I’m sorry, Emily. I guessed there would be talk, but I came to the conclusion that you’d prefer the gossip to my company."

  "You were wrong."

  If that was the case, the gossip must have been horrendous. "So is that what this is about? Have you come to ask me to join you in London? You could have done that in a letter."

  A wave of her hand dismissed the suggestion. "You could ignore a letter. And I didn’t know how you felt about coming back. In the letter you left me, you sounded piqued."

  He gave a bleak huff of laughter. "I was hurt, not piqued."

  When distress darkened her remarkable eyes, he repented his honesty. "Oh, Hamish, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you cared about me at all."

  "You’re wrong. I do care," he said gruffly.

  "I didn’t know," she said on a breath. His confession left her looking troubled, not pleased. What else did he expect? A declaration of undying love?

  "Well, now you do."

  After a resonant pause, she asked, "So will you come back to London?"

  "To save you from the gossip?" Bitterness sharpened the question.

  Emily rose to her feet, her chin angled with familiar defiance. "I don’t like all the nasty cats pointing at me and smirking. I didn’t like it after Greenwich. I don’t like it now."

  "Surely you’re not excluded from society." He stood, too. "What the hell has my mother been doing? If anyone can give you countenance in the beau monde, she can. Nobody dares cross her."

  "Your mother has been good to me, but even she can’t stop the spiteful whispers about how you and I made our bed and now must lie on it."

  Hamish still didn’t want to think about beds. Not when he had this night to get through. He closed his eyes to avoid looking at her, so lovely here where he never thought she’d be.

  She’d taken off that spectacular, figure-hugging scarlet jacket and now wore only a blouse and the red skirt. Fabric covered her from collarbone to instep. Only a ravening beast would take that plain, practical outfit as an invitation to strip her naked.

  Clearly he was a ravening beast.

  In fact, this room was altogether too dark and intimate. He began to prowl around, lighting every lamp in the room. "You weren’t a regular at society events anyway. I doubt the scientific community still cares about our private life."

  "However great their minds, most of your colleagues are old women when it comes to gossip. Their wives and daughters are certainly avid to spread any tattle."

  Hamish lit the last lamp and turned to face her. Only to strangle a groan.

  Why the dickens had he decided that it was a good idea to make the room brighter? Emily was as alluring as she’d ever been in the gloaming. More. Now he could see the intelligence in her eyes and the shine on the rich sable of her hair. He still dreamed of those magical moments in the library, when he’d taken down her hair.

  "The talk will die down in time."

  "It hasn’t so far."

  "So you want me back to salve your pride?"

  "That’s part of it. But not the most important part." The tilt of her chin became even more pronounced. "I told you – I’m tired of being alone."

  He made a frustrated sound deep in his throat. "You say that, but what do you mean?"

  Her defiance faded, and she eyed him warily. "I don’t want us to live apart. When we wed, I assumed we’d be under one roof. You certainly spoke as if we would be. I want to set up home with my husband. It’s about time I did."

  He drew a shuddering breath. In her innocence, she didn’t know what she asked. "Emily, forgive me if I speak bluntly."

  She stood her ground. "I wish you would."

  After he finished, she wouldn’t say that. "When you told me to leave, I was heartsore and worried sick about leaving you grief-stricken and alone."

  "It was awful."

  "I’m sure it was." He paused. "But leaving you was also a blessed relief."

  When he saw her whiten, he was sorrier than ever that he’d lit the lamps. She reached out to hold the back of the chair, as if her legs threatened to give way beneath her. "You wanted to get away from me so much? You said you like me. You said you…cared."

  He swallowed, wishing there was an easy way to make her understand the unacceptable truth. "I did. I do."

  "It doesn’t sound like it." Resentment cracked in her voice.

  He sliced the air with one hand. "Damn it, the problem is I like you too much. I like you to the point where sleeping alone became the purest torture. I made you a promise before we married. But each day we spent as man and wife, that promise became shakier and shakier. With every mile that I traveled north, you were a mile safer from my need."

  She was still ashen. "So you’re saying if we live together, our arrangements must change?"

  Arrangements? What a namby-pamby term to describe the storm of desire that swept through him at the merest thought of her. He stood as straight as if he faced a firing squad. He had to make this clear, if they were to have any chance of rescuing anything positive from the disaster of their marriage.

  "Yes, I am. I know it’s not fair. I know I told you I can keep my word. But, Emily, if you and I are going to reconcile, I can’t live as your chaste partner for the rest of my days. If we live together, we live together as man and wife. With all that phrase encompasses."

  Chapter 19

  Hamish waited for Emily to storm out of the room in disgust. But while the wariness in her expression deepened, she didn’t move. She didn’t even look particularly shocked. Which shocked him.

  Then a horrible thought occurred to him. "You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you?"

  A wry smile twisted her lips. "Do you mean am I aware of the mechanics of conjugal relations? Yes, I am. A girl at school told me. I didn’t believe her, but I’ve since had the opportunity to read some animal husbandry manuals. If we mate as animals do, I understand the basics."

  Despite the tension vibrating in the air, Hamish laughed. "That is such an Emily answer."

  She blushed. "I had nobody to ask. I couldn’t talk to Papa about this."

  No, he supposed she couldn’t. She’d been lonely growing up, too.

  "I can imagine those books were all practicality and no poetry," he said bleakly.

  She still eyed him as though she expected him to ravish her if she blinked. "I’ve read enough poetry to guess that with people, it’s not so matter-of-fact. I imagine when passion carries one away, it feels different from the ram tupping the ewe."

  If he wasn’t so close to the edge, he might laugh at that. "So it’s just me you don’t want to sleep with."

  There was a spiky pause. "I’m not as opposed to the idea as I was."

  He shook his head. Surely he’d misheard. "What?"

  She leveled wide hazel eyes on him. "Don’t make me say it again."

  He took a step forward but stopped bewildered when she raised one hand. "Don’t come any closer."

  "But you just said…" Hamish struggled to master his primitive impulses.

  It suddenly seemed a very bad idea that he hadn’t rushed her straight back to Lyon House the moment she arrived. They had far too much privacy here at the peel tower, and he wasn’t sure she could trust him in private any longer.

  "We’ve been apart for months. I’m not jumping into bed the minute I see you again."

  He slumped so heavily into a dining chair that it gave a loud creak. With a groan, he buried his face in his hands. "Damn it, Emily, this is torture."

  When he raised his head, she hadn’t shifted an inch. He strove to sound like a reasonable man. "What’s changed? You were adamant that you’d never allow me to put my filthy paws on you."

  With considerably more grace than he’d demonstrated, Emily sank into the chair beside his. "When you proposed, it was—"

  "Unwelcome?"

  "I’d never thought of you as a potential husband."

  "I’d never thought of you as a wife. But once I came to terms with the idea, I thought we had as good a chance as anyone else."

  "Except I placed an impossible condition on the match."

  "You were afraid."

  "Yes." She must have read his horrified expression, because she went on quickly. "Not of you. Or only a little. I was afraid of losing my grip on everything I was. You are rather overwhelming, you know."

  "You’re up to my weight."

  She raised her chin. "I think I just might be."

  "So you’re no longer afraid that my wicked wiles will turn into a cipher?"

  His exaggerated description of her fears didn’t spark a smile. "I am still afraid of that. You’re a force of nature, Hamish. But I’m more afraid of going the rest of my life without the consolations of family life. I’m afraid I’ll never know my husband’s tenderness or a child’s love. I’ve had ten long miserable months to admit that I’d painted myself into a corner. I might be safe there, but it’s a barren safety. I’ve had time to wonder how it would feel if you touch me. I must admit I’m…curious."

  "In a purely academic sense?"

  A soft snort of amusement escaped her. "I doubt purity has much to do with it."

  He straightened from his slouch and stared at her. "Do you want me to play the suitor?"

  Her lips twitched. "I’ve led a sheltered and scholarly life. I like the idea of a big, handsome Scot wooing me."

  He relished that she called him a big, handsome Scot. He liked how she looked. It was encouraging to hear that she liked how he looked, too.

  "I could do that," he said slowly, hoping he could control his urges until she said yes.

  If she said yes.

  Relief flooded her face. "Would you?"

  "The prize is worth the winning."

  Emily was right about one thing. The future was bleak unless they turned this hastily constructed union into a real marriage.

  She frowned. He’d forgotten how expressive her face was. Or perhaps over their long separation, he’d learned how to read her. "If you take another woman into your bed, I won’t remain complacent. I can’t accept a husband who strays, if he’s also the man who uses my body."

  He burst out laughing as he stood up. "I believe you made that clear after you arrived – and at that point, I still had leave to take a mistress."

  When she blushed, the pink in her cheeks was adorable. "I jumped to conclusions."

  "I did answer the door in the middle of the afternoon wearing only a sheet. And you had no particular reason to trust me."

  "That’s still no excuse for turning into a lunatic."

  "I love that I can make you jealous. It means that I can make you want me." He paused and spoke from the depths of his heart. "Emily, you’re the woman I want. I wouldn’t invite some substitute into my bed, just because I had an itch to scratch."

  Wondering eyes fixed on him. "I like that you want me."

  "You didn’t in London."

  "I did." She sighed. "And I didn’t. How was I to accept your desire when we fought all the time?"

  "I suspect we fought because we were attracted to each other but resisted acknowledging it. At least I was always attracted to you."

  He waited for her to deny her interest, for her pride’s sake, but she looked thoughtful. "The moment you opened your mouth, I’d bristle up. None of my father’s other students had that effect. In fact, I have trouble remembering most of their names. From the beginning, you took up more than your fair share of my attention."

  "I spent a lot of time thinking about you, too." In ways that would shock her if she knew.

  She subjected him to a comprehensive survey from the top of his head to his toes. Heat sizzled wherever her eyes focused. "Partly because you’re so spectacular to look at. When you arrived at the house, I thought you looked like a handsome prince in a fairy story."

  As hot color flooded his face, he shifted uncomfortably. Odd how Emily’s compliments overset him." Oh, go on with you."

  "Hamish, you’re blushing," she said in delight.

  "Yes, well…"

  "I still think you’re handsome. None of my father’s other students would look nearly as good in a sheet." She paused. "Or out of it."

  Ridiculous to feel his cheeks get even hotter. It wasn’t as if she was the only girl to see him naked. "That night, I feared you’d run screaming from the room."

  To his astonishment, sensual nostalgia tinged her smile. His blood churned with excitement, although she’d made it clear there would be no consummation tonight. However, now he dared to hope. If he played his cards right, there was a good chance a consummation loomed in his future.