It was an inane question. She’d hardly have put his proposal from her mind.
Her huff of grim amusement told him she also considered the question asinine. "I’ve thought about little else."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He’d dressed with care, too, in a bottle green coat and biscuit breeches. The shine on his hessians was dazzling, and the arrangement of his neck cloth would do Beau Brummel proud.
The hands on Emily’s lap twined around each other as she bit her lip. These were the first signs of uncertainty she’d shown.
Another thorny silence descended.
Patience wasn’t Hamish’s specialty. He bore the wait as long as he could, but after a couple of moments, he said, "And that decision is?"
She swallowed. Another sign of nerves. But she met his gaze squarely, and her voice emerged with admirable steadiness, if with a lowering lack of enthusiasm. "I will marry you, Hamish."
Relief rushed through him. In a perfect world, this marriage wouldn’t be his choice. But in the world they lived in, this was by far the best outcome.
He rose to his feet and stepped toward her. "Emily…"
Her jaw tightened as she waved him back. "Please sit down. I haven’t finished."
Hamish subsided into his chair. "Oh?"
Dear Lord, what the devil did she intend? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.
"I have several conditions." She sat as straight as a wooden ruler and determination settled on her face, making her look more like a gorgeous mother superior than ever. "Once you’ve heard them, you may wish to withdraw your offer."
"I doubt it," he said. "Nothing is liable to change my reasons for proposing."
That didn’t reassure her, he noticed. "Listen to what I have to say, then see what you want to do."
"Very well, then." He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out before him, and folded his arms over his chest. "I’m all ears."
She swallowed again, as if she had trouble forcing the words out of her throat. "I have to stay in this house as long as Papa is…alive. Change upsets him, and he finds comfort in his memories of life here with Mamma and with all his students over the years."
Hamish frowned as he sifted what she said. "If we don’t live together after the ceremony, we’ll create even more gossip."
She sent him a direct look. "I think you should move in here, at least for the present moment."
More relief. This was a perfectly reasonable request. If she imagined living in Bloomsbury was a major stumbling block to their match, her other conditions weren’t likely to be too onerous.
"I’m more than happy to do that. In fact, it’s a capital idea. You need help with your father, and he and I have always got on. I meant what I said about getting some nursing staff."
"I don’t want your charity," she said sharply.
He smiled at her. "It won’t be charity if I’m your husband. If this goes ahead, I’ll endow thee with all my worldly goods in front of God and society."
"Bloomsbury isn’t the most fashionable quarter of London. You’re used to Mayfair."
He shrugged. "I’m sure my dignity will survive a return to this house. After all, I lived here when I left Cambridge."
"That’s a long time ago now."
"I promise not to cause difficulties, Emily. Or no more than I can help. A husband joining the household will mean a few adjustments, I’m sure."
As they spoke, she started to appear a little more cheerful. Thank God. When he came in, she looked like she awaited a hanging. "That’s another thing. I’ve run this house for years. I would like to remain in charge."
He gave a dismissive grunt. "What the deuce do I know about housekeeping? I’ll leave domestic matters to you. I’ll make you a generous allowance, so you don’t have to run to me every time you want to buy a pound of tea." He paused. "As Lady Glen Lyon, you’ll need to take some role in society. I’ll make sure you have plenty of pin money, too. If you want a few folderols, you shall have them."
This speech left her looking uncomfortable. "You’re very generous."
He shrugged. "Not really. You’ll be my wife." He paused. "And a woman I take pride in, however this match has come about. The only way we can rise above the scandal is to behave in high style and act as if we have nothing to be ashamed of."
"We don’t."
"I know that, and you know that, but it’s a secret from the rest of London."
"Very well," she said with a nod. "Thank you."
Another silence. Not quite so thorny as the previous one. As before, Hamish broke it. "Is there more?"
"Yes." She sucked in a shaky breath and surveyed him warily as if expecting him to start rampaging about like an enraged elephant. "I’d like to continue my father’s scientific work and follow up a few projects of my own. I refuse to dwindle to a society wife, merely because I’ve agreed to marry you."
He regarded her with interest. He’d be devilish interested to hear about her projects, although perhaps not right now. "Shall I build you an observatory in the back garden?"
"You can if you like," she said with surprising sangfroid. "If that’s a serious offer."
"It is. I told you – I’m a rich man. We both have things to gain from this match."
"The light in London isn’t good for stargazing."
"Then I’ll find us a place in the country where nothing will interfere with your investigations."
She eyed him uncertainly. He had a feeling that his cooperation unsettled her, although he couldn’t for the life of him imagine why. So far, her requests had been nothing out of the ordinary. "You won’t mind having a bluestocking wife?"
He shrugged again. "I assumed you’d undertake some scholarly activity after we married. I’m not expecting the weight of a wedding ring on your finger to grind your brains to dust. Perhaps we can work on something together."
"We’d fight like cat and dog," she said on a discouraging note.
He wasn’t going to start a quarrel. Not now when he was so close to getting her agreement. "Perhaps. And perhaps we’d make a great team."
Her expression told him that suggestion was beyond the realms of possibility. "Will you put all this in writing?"
"Yes, willingly." Although her lack of faith in his word galled him.
Another silence. She looked uncomfortable, before she raised her chin and stared at him with a hint of defiance. "As you so gallantly pointed out, money is tight here these days. I’ll come to you with a small legacy from Mamma, and…later, the rights to Papa’s books, and the lease on this house. It’s not much of a dowry."
He gave a dismissive laugh. "Fie, Miss Baylor, for shame, when you led me on to believe you’re an heiress."
To his relief, a smile tugged at her lips. A small smile and a reluctant one, but better than nothing. She’d been deathly serious so far, outlining her modest demands.
"All jokes aside, it seems an unequal match."
"In worldly terms, perhaps it is, but I have plenty of money for both of us and I meant it when I called you a prize."
"You really are trying to charm me."
"If we’re to spend a lifetime together, it won’t hurt to have you on my side." He paused. "Are we to spend a lifetime together?"
"You agree to my requests?"
"Of course."
"There’s more." She avoided his eyes. "I doubt you’ll agree to my last condition."
He frowned. "Another condition?"
"Just one." She was visibly nervous, which was a pity when he’d just coaxed her into a friendlier frame of mind. What on earth was troubling her? Something was. She was back to biting her lip and wringing her hands.
"Is it so unreasonable?"
His attempt to coax another smile from her didn’t succeed. "I expect you’ll think it is."
He watched her, but didn’t speak. After a long while, she raised her chin and met his eyes. "I won’t share your bed, Hamish. I want a chaste marriage."
Chapter 7<
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Emily watched shock flood Hamish’s expression. Then a flash of fierce displeasure.
She gripped the arms of her chair and braced for a blast of his temper. Not that she could blame him for being angry. It was an unfair condition to place on any man, and even though he didn’t want her, her decision to sleep alone would gall his vanity.
But after that betraying moment when he’d looked ready to explode, his gaze turned watchful. "I…see."
She swallowed to moisten a mouth dry with nerves. "I imagine you want to withdraw your proposal now."
"Do you?" He spoke slowly and that intent blue stare didn’t shift from her. He looked utterly relaxed, but she knew better.
She rushed into speech, although she’d promised herself she’d be calm and reasonable and above all understanding, when he decided he couldn’t wed her after all. "No man would want to marry under these circumstances. And it’s even worse for you."
Something like surprise flickered in his eyes before he went back to looking enigmatic. She was used to Hamish wearing his heart on his sleeve. As her father’s protégé, he’d been a turbulent presence in the house, but he’d moved out six years ago. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps she didn’t know this man as well as she thought she did. If they really were to marry, that was a disturbing thought.
Of course she’d just put that outcome out of reach. No man with an ounce of pride would accept such a bargain. And Hamish was the proudest man she knew.
"How so?"
She made a helpless gesture. Her cheeks felt so hot that she feared they must catch fire. The possibility of carnal relations wasn’t something she’d ever expected to have to talk about. And never with such an extraordinarily…male creature as Hamish Douglas.
One of the reasons they clashed so often was that some essentially feminine part of her resented his easy dominance. Everything female in her revolted against his overt masculinity. In general, her father’s students were a lily-livered lot, terrified of their own shadows, even more terrified of women. Hamish had arrived from Cambridge looking ready to conquer a nearby nation, and she’d heard enough talk over the years to know that he liked the girls and the girls liked him.
"You’re…very virile." Her awkward answer made her blush even hotter.
One dark gold eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t laugh at her. If he had, she’d tell him he could stick his marriage proposal up the nearest chimney – or some other place.
"Thank you." He paused. "I think."
It hadn’t been a compliment, and she suspected he knew that as well as she did. "Not to mention you need an heir for Glen Leven."
He’d gone back to studying her. "Glen Lyon."
To avoid that perceptive stare, she rose and crossed to the window. "The name hardly matters," she said, looking out on the gray day outside.
As a scientist, she shouldn’t see the dismal weather as a portent. As a woman, she couldn’t help feeling that the bleak outlook signaled things to come, when she was alone and trying to make her way in a world that despised her as spoiled goods.
"It does, if you’re going to be its lady."
Confusion made her turn to face him. "Don’t tell me you’re still thinking of marrying me."
"If I don’t marry you, we remain in an impossible situation. You more than me. Respectable society will shun you."
"I know." Her lips turned down, as she recalled what had happened when she went out yesterday afternoon. Hamish had told her that now she was considered a fallen woman, she’d be a pariah. She hadn’t quite believed it, until she faced it in person. "None of the neighbors will look at me, let alone talk to me. Yesterday on the street, Mrs. Carew rushed her daughters away as if I had the plague."
Hamish’s eyes darkened to sapphire. "Spiteful, self-righteous cat."
"Yes." His pity was never welcome, but right now, she felt better to know he took her part. She’d started to feel like nobody else did.
He came to his feet and moved to stand a couple of feet away. "Is it the physical act itself that repulses you?" The question was gentle. "Or is it me in particular?"
She studied him, as she struggled to come up with an answer he’d understand. Hamish was highly annoying and far too full of himself, but he didn’t repulse her. "It’s not you in particular."
"That’s something." He didn’t sound gratified. "If it’s the act itself, how did you imagine you’d manage to marry?"
Oh, dear, she didn’t want to talk about this. She really didn’t. Her stomach clenched with embarrassment.
When she’d lain awake all night, wondering what on earth she could do, she’d assumed that her ridiculous demand would set off one of Hamish’s tantrums. He’d storm out and leave her to muddle through on her own.
Perhaps his temper at Greenwich had been an aberration. Perhaps the man of thirty had learned a self-control that the pretty, spoiled boy of twenty had lacked.
Of course he has, you brainless widgeon. He’s been out making his way in the world – and very successfully, too. He doesn’t have to settle for a dedicated spinster past first youth.
Emily told the snide voice to shut up. Since the incident at Greenwich, that snide voice had become a constant companion. "I’m twenty-four and haven’t yet met a gentleman for whom I’d sacrifice my independence."
Except her independence relied on her place as John Baylor’s daughter. Without her father’s protection, her independence became frailer than rice paper. Hamish knew that as well as she did.
"I’m sure you’ve had offers."
She shrugged. "A couple. Men hoping my work would assist them to a scientific reputation, even as they deplore God wasting a good brain on a mere female. Older gentlemen seeking a capable housekeeper and an unpaid secretary. Nobody I could—"
"Love."
The word crashed down between them the way a boulder toppled from a cliff onto a mountain path.
"Yes," she said gravely. "I suppose you disdain the idea."
To her bewilderment, he smiled. And not one of his lofty "I’m a man and better than you, and don’t you forget it" smiles. This smile was sincere and held a touch of sweetness. Her heart started to behave very oddly, as though Hamish Douglas caught it and squeezed it tight in his big hand.
"Not a bit of it. I’ve seen too many successful love matches to doubt love’s power."
Well, for heaven’s sake, that wasn’t what she’d expected him to say.
Astonishment thundered through her. So far this interview had been uncomfortable and full of unwelcome discoveries. One of the most unwelcome discoveries was that Hamish Douglas wasn’t nearly as easy to understand as she’d thought.
She tangled her hands in her skirts, and to her surprise – yet another surprise – she found herself speaking from the heart. "I don’t want to share my bed with a man I don’t love."
When Hamish didn’t respond, she went on in a dull voice, because the neighbors’ snubs had given her a foretaste of a grim future. "So you see a match between us is impossible."
"If I give you time, might you change your mind about marital relations?"
Go to Hamish’s bed where his big body would invade hers and when there was no genuine fondness between them at all? No, she didn’t want that. She couldn’t imagine she ever would. "No."
He eyed her as if she was a constellation he set out to map. "You forgo the chance of children."
"I had no firm plans to marry anyway." His focused attention made her feel uncomfortable, and she shifted under his searching gaze. "I told you I like my independence too well to sacrifice it to a man’s convenience. Most men don’t want wives who go their own way. You’re the one who needs children. You owe a duty to your title and ancestral lands."
He shrugged. "I have nieces and nephews and cousins aplenty. Glen Lyon can go to someone in the family. It’s not entailed."
Her mouth dropped open in shock. She’d always assumed that Hamish would be determined on having a son to continue his line. It was all part of his
king of the beasts personality.
He left her at a loss. She’d been sure he’d march out in high dudgeon, the moment she said she wouldn’t share her body with him. "Don’t you mind?"
A grunt of bitter laughter. "That my wife can’t bring herself to tolerate my attentions? Of course I mind. But that doesn’t change the facts. A marriage still works to both our advantage."
Emily squared her shoulders and told herself to be brave. "Under the circumstances, if you agree to my request, you have my permission to seek your pleasure elsewhere. Discreetly."
He settled a discontented gaze on her. "It still seems a rum sort of bargain."
"I suspect it is." She paused, then spoke hesitantly. "Perhaps in time we can become friends."
His eyes darkened with what looked like hurt, when she’d never thought she had any power over his emotions at all. "Don’t you think of me as a friend already, Emily?"
She made a baffled gesture. She wasn’t sure what he was to her, although right now it looked like he’d soon be her betrothed, then in a few weeks, her husband.
He sighed as if her lack of response was answer enough. It probably was. "Are we going to do this thing?"
Emily told herself that what couldn’t be mended must be endured. Since her father’s brilliant mind started to fail him, she’d had to be strong. Surely she could dredge up an ounce more courage to face this marriage.
But embarking on a future she’d never choose for herself, she didn’t feel nearly as staunch as she wished. Her voice emerged as a glum murmur. "I think you could do better."
Hamish smiled, but this one seemed forced. She wasn’t surprised. He knew he could do better than marrying her, too. He was a rich man with a title and a reputation with the ladies. She was an eccentric bluestocking from the middle class, however many accolades her father had amassed. Even aside from worldly considerations, most marriages started with the promise of passion and affection. Or at least they should. This one began as a cold contract between two people who didn’t even like each other.
Emily’s insides felt as if they were made of ice. She’d never wasted much time contemplating the pleasures of the flesh. The pleasures of the mind had taken all her attention. Now physical satisfaction was to be forever denied to her. She wouldn’t be human if she didn’t wonder what she was missing out on.
The Highlander’s English Bride: The Lairds Most Likely Book 6 Page 5