The Highlander’s English Bride: The Lairds Most Likely Book 6

by Anna Campbell

  He was trying to make her laugh, but it didn’t work. She slumped on the stool. "You make me sound like such a witch."

  "A very pretty witch."

  More charm. She supposed he couldn’t help it, even when his compliments fell on such stony ground as Emily Baylor’s soul. "They’ll hate me. For a start, I’m English."

  "They’ll love you – especially if you give them a chance and don’t make them pay for my sins. You made a good impression at the wedding."

  Goodness knew how. She’d been caught up in a fog of misery, and worried sick over her father as well. She’d been so lost in her own unhappiness that she hadn’t even registered who any of the exuberant Scots at the wedding breakfast were. "You’ll have to help me with names."

  "I won’t leave your side."

  That wasn’t as reassuring as he might want it to be. Especially now she’d promised to feign a modicum of contentment in this marriage.

  To her surprise, Hamish reached out to tilt her face up. "Stop fretting. I’m almost sure that no Douglas has killed an Englishman – or woman – in at least twenty years."

  Emily made herself smile, although it was difficult when she was far too conscious of the heat of his fingers on her skin. If she hoped to convince an eagle-eyed band of sisters and cousins and childhood friends that she was happy as Hamish’s wife, she needed to become accustomed to his touch. "I’ll do my best."

  "It’s only for one night. Not even a night. A couple of hours."

  "They’re all going back to Scotland tomorrow?"

  Her unconcealed relief made him laugh as he released her. For pity’s sake, what was wrong with her? She missed his touch the moment it was gone.

  "Most of them. Fergus and Marina are staying behind to talk to some art dealers and meet with the committee of the Royal Academy."

  She frowned. "She’s the striking Italian lady, and he’s your cousin with red hair?"

  "She’s a famous artist. You’ve heard of her, I’m sure. Marina Lucchetti."

  Her eyes rounded. "Lord above, I had no idea." The night ahead sounded more alarming by the minute. She started pleating her shiny green skirts, even though she knew that would crease the silk.

  "And he’s not my cousin, but the brother of my soul. Diarmid is my cousin."

  "The tall, dark-haired one who looks like a poet. He was your groomsman."

  "That’s him. Diarmid and Fiona and their children are staying a few more days, too. Fiona’s never been to London before."

  Emily didn’t recall Fiona at all. Panic fluttered inside her like a trapped bird. She was sure to make a complete fool of herself.

  "You’ll get them straight in your mind soon enough." Hamish shifted away. "A lass who can cope with calculus can cope with sorting out my family connections."

  Emily breathed more easily now Hamish had stepped away. It was odd how her lungs stopped working when he was close. When he touched her, her breath stopped altogether. "I think…I think I’d rather stay home."

  "And waste that gorgeous dress? Perish the thought." He reached into his coat and drew out a narrow velvet case. "Which reminds me – I came in to give you your wedding present."

  She sat up straighter on her stool and made herself stop fidgeting with her dress. "You already gave me a wedding present."

  "That dress doesn’t count."

  "I wasn’t thinking of that. I was thinking of handfuls of pearls, three housemaids, two footmen, and a bevy of nurses."

  "I don’t like to live in an inadequately staffed house. I do have some standards, you know."

  "I see." If not for the nurses, she might almost believe he’d put on the new staff for purely selfish reasons. Because while she spent half her life wanting to clout him, she wasn’t blind to the wide streak of kindness that ran through him. She’d benefited from it last night when he sat up with her father. He’d been tired, too. Their wedding day had been no easier for him than it had been for her.

  "See what you think of this." He held the slim case out and without thinking, she accepted it. "It’s only a small token, but I hope you like it. There are the family jewels, too, of course."

  Of course, she thought with bleak humor. Didn’t everyone have family jewels?

  He was still talking. "They’re in the bank in Edinburgh. I can have them sent down, if you have a yen to see them."

  "Perhaps later," she said faintly, feeling overwhelmed again.

  When she opened the case, overwhelmed didn’t come close to describing her reaction. Bewildered, she looked up from the sparkle of diamonds. "Hamish, it’s too much. I can’t accept this."

  He smiled. "Yes, you can. You’re my wife, and I’m proud of you. I want the world to see how much I value you."

  Her stomach sank in misery as she shut the case with a snap. "You don’t mean that."

  He sent her a straight look. "Yes, I do. I don’t want anyone whispering that we made a shabby bargain." He paused and subjected her to a thorough inspection that had her heart hopping and skipping in a most provoking way. Perhaps she was coming down with something. "Anyway you were born to wear diamonds."

  "I wouldn’t know. I don’t own any." One nervous hand rose to play with her mother’s gold locket. The necklace was pretty, but even Emily acknowledge that its modest sweetness didn’t match the splendid gown.

  "You do now." Unfamiliar tenderness tinged his smile. "Shall I put the necklace on for you, or should I call Polly back? We ought to leave soon. My mother expects us at eight."

  Calling Polly was the wiser choice, but even sensible bluestocking Emily wasn’t proof against the idea of a handsome man draping her in jewels. She held out the case. "Please, you do it."

  And told herself she was stupid to thrill at the pleasure warming his eyes as he took the case. Two days married, and she discovered that she was in danger of developing a lamebrained, completely unrequited tendre for her husband. She’d expected these first days as a wife to be fraught with conflict. Compared to the gamboling of her dimwitted heart, conflict seemed preferable.

  Be careful, Emily.

  Because while she knew now that Hamish would gladly make this a real marriage, she was under no illusions that she remained anything but an inconvenient bride. Since the occasion when he’d behaved so badly, he’d behaved well. But they both knew he merely put a good face on a disaster.

  Nor did she imagine he’d stay as charming or attentive as he was now. He wouldn’t be cruel, or at least not deliberately. Under all that gilded magnificence, he had a good heart. If he hadn’t, she’d never have married him, scandal or no scandal. But if she allowed herself to care for him, she invited an ocean of trouble.

  She turned on the stool to present him with her back. In the mirror, she watched him open the case and take out what looked like a fistful of diamonds. He set the empty case on the dressing table and leaned forward. He was close enough for her to catch his scent. Citrus and clean healthy male.

  For one giddy second, she was back in bed with him, while his hand played forbidden – glorious – music on her body. Her breath caught in an audible gulp, and she told herself to settle down.

  "Are you all right?" he murmured.

  How on earth could that sound like a promise of pleasure? If only they were downstairs in one of the more workaday rooms, not here in her bedroom.

  "Perfectly." She heard the wobble in her voice.

  "Stay still."

  With a deftness that spoke volumes for his familiarity with feminine gewgaws, he released the clasp on her locket and drew it from around her neck. "Pretty."

  "It was my mother’s." She hoped he’d put her husky tone down to grief.

  Emily lifted one hand to take the delicate necklace, then watched Hamish loop the diamonds around her throat. The emerald silk dress was more décolleté than her usual gowns. Madame Lisette had insisted that a married woman needed to stop dressing like a nun.

  As the glittering necklace settled across what already seemed a shocking expanse of bare bosom, Emily
swallowed to moisten a dry mouth. In the mirror, Hamish appeared large and dominating behind her. As he fiddled with the clasp, his face was almost stern.

  "You’re…you’re taking a long time over that," she said unsteadily, cursing diamonds, and overgenerous husbands, and her own unfortunate impulses.

  "The clasp is tricky." His fingers brushed the sensitive skin of her nape. The nipples that had tightened under his touch last night tightened once more into aching longing. Heat rushed into her cheeks. "Ah, that’s it."

  He seemed to touch her for an eternity, although reason told her it was only a few seconds. What a ninnyhammer she was to feel regret when he stepped back to survey her in the mirror.

  "Lovely. Nobody tonight will question why I married you, my lady. You’re incandescent."

  Hamish had complimented her before, had even called her pretty a couple of times. But the blatant admiration in his eyes as he studied her set her lunatic heart leaping around like a frog in a jar.

  "Th-thank you," she stammered.

  Hamish smiled, which only encouraged her heart’s ridiculous antics. He held out his hand. "Shall we go?"

  "Yes," she said, so eager to escape this bedroom that even the prospect of meeting a tribe of unknown Scots seemed a reprieve.

  Chapter 13

  Hamish told himself that so far things at his mother’s house progressed pretty damn well. As he’d expected, Emily had made a good impression. She had a knack for making friends. In fact, the only person she seemed to have a prickly relationship with was that fine fellow Hamish Douglas.

  They’d made it through dinner, and now everyone gathered in the elegant drawing room. Lord Liverpool had once said more legislation was formulated in this room than in the Houses of Parliament.

  He and Emily stood in one corner talking to his youngest sister Elspeth and her husband Brody. Fergus and Marina were nearer to the fire, bantering with each other. Their passion had always held a quicksilver, volatile quality. Diarmid was laughing at the sparkling repartee, his arm loose around Fiona’s waist. They shared a secret smile, as Fergus swept Marina up for a quick kiss.

  Hamish hated to admit it, but right now he was so jealous of his friends, he could spit. All the couples in this room enjoyed happy marriages. All the couples except one. He and his wife were as poorly matched as crab soup and chocolate sauce.

  "Hamish?" Emily asked tentatively.

  She stood at his side, with her hand tucked into his elbow. All night, they’d done their best to give an impression of ease in each other’s company. One glimpse of his friends and how natural they were with one another told him he and his new bride failed to convince.

  "Yes, my dear?" he said, his lips having trouble framing the endearment.

  Not because she wasn’t dear – while they had their difficulties, he’d never mistake Emily’s quality – but because he knew she hated to hear it. Just as she must hate the falsehood of this evening. After the wedding, she’d looked ready to snap into pieces with the strain of pretending she was happy. Tonight was even worse, because the gathering was smaller and everyone knew Hamish too well.

  Despite everything, pride blossomed in his chest as he looked at Emily. She was a wife to do any man credit. The moment he saw her, elegant and alluring in that deep green dress, he’d been dazzled. So dazzled in fact that he’d had trouble controlling his usually deft fingers when he fastened the diamond necklace around her graceful neck.

  "You look like you’re in another world," she said.

  "I’m sorry. I was thinking what a lucky man I am."

  Emily’s smile froze. Brody and Elspeth missed the remark’s shoddy ring and beamed with unfettered approval.

  "Now, that’s braw," Brody said. "I just hope you’re half as happy as Elspeth and I are. Will we see ye in Scotland soon? Och, ye will want to show Glen Lyon to your bonny wife, I’m sure."

  The glance that Elspeth sent Brody expressed fond impatience. "Darling, you know Emily’s father is unwell. That’s why there was no wedding trip."

  "We’re staying in London for the moment," Hamish said. "Perhaps we’ll visit Glen Lyon next year."

  "Have you ever been to Scotland, Emily?" Elspeth asked.

  "Not yet. Papa gave a lecture in Newcastle a few years ago, and I went with him. That’s as far north as I’ve managed to get."

  "You have a treat ahead of you. Glen Lyon is glorious. Make Hamish take you in the spring. No, the summer, when the days are clear and warm."

  Hamish snorted with amusement. "This is Glen Lyon you’re talking about, sis? Where it rains two days out of three, and on the third day, the wind is blustery enough to blow a man to Ireland?"

  Brody laughed. "Och, ye know Elspeth likes to look on the bright side, Hamish. She’s the eternal optimist. Why else would she have married me?"

  Actually there was more truth in that than Brody might like to acknowledge. The young Laird of Invermackie had cultivated quite the reputation as a hell-raiser and ladies’ man before he wed Elspeth. As a result, the family hadn’t welcomed his pursuit of the youngest Douglas girl. Elspeth however had been convinced since girlhood that Brody was the one for her.

  To the astonishment of everyone but Elspeth, she’d been right.

  Now her eyes shone with love as she surveyed her tall, dark-haired husband. "She married you because she loved you, you silly man."

  Acrid regret soured Hamish’s stomach. Emily would never look at him like that.

  "Och, mo chridhe…" Brody whispered, drawing Elspeth close for a tender kiss.

  This time it was Emily and Hamish’s turn to share a secret look. Not a look of mutual devotion. One expressing their horror at the cloying atmosphere. The air was thick as treacle with the joys of love fulfilled.

  Emily started to laugh. So did Hamish.

  "So lovely to see you in tune with each other," Hamish’s mother said from behind them. "In my experience, if a couple can laugh together, they’re well on their way to a good marriage."

  All desire to laugh deserted Hamish. His mother’s prediction was so far south of the truth, it might make a joke of its own.

  This evening started to seem interminable. He felt a desperate need to be alone with his bride. Not for the usual reasons that newlyweds wanted to be alone. If only that were the case. But at least when they were in private, he needn’t pretend that all was well.

  Although tonight when he looked at Emily, beautiful, brave and just as desperate to bolster her pride, he admitted that if they were different people, if he was less temperamental and she was less opinionated, she’d make a fine wife.

  If she wanted him, most of all.

  But they weren’t different people and their fundamental incompatibility should be apparent to anyone close to him.

  Which made it strange that all his nearest and dearest seemed to accept his choice of bride as perfectly natural. The congratulations he’d received sounded sincere – and he should be able to tell, as he’d known everyone here for years, most of them since childhood.

  So why couldn’t they see that his marriage to Emily Baylor was a travesty? Devil take it, he and Emily could barely share the same room without bickering.

  Still, he’d set out to convince his family that he was content. It was unreasonable to grumble when nobody spared him a hint of sympathy. The only explanation he could find was that because all these people loved their spouses, they couldn’t imagine Hamish not loving his.

  If only they knew the unpalatable truth.

  "Happy marriages are a Douglas tradition." He heard the edge in his tone.

  "They are indeed. I loved your papa dearly." Mamma had never ceased to mourn his father, and she showed no interest in remarrying. This was despite offers from some of the most eligible men in the kingdom, including at least one duke he knew of. "I hope you and Emily discover the same joy."

  Hamish’s gut twisted in shame. His mother’s genuine pleasure in his ill-assorted match made him feel like an abominable liar.

  "Thank
you, Mamma." He hoped that she’d blame the rasp in his response on the strength of his emotions.

  "Thank you, Lady Glen Lyon," Emily said in a small voice he’d never heard from her before. She must feel as awkward as he did.

  His mother’s laugh held a fond note. "My dear, you’re Lady Glen Lyon now."

  "I…I don’t feel like I am," Emily admitted. Hamish imagined that was true, not least because despite the wedding, she remained as virginal as the day she was born.

  "You will. Give yourself time." His mother smiled at her new daughter-in-law. "It will all seem much more real once you visit Glen Lyon. The estate is so beautiful, anyone would be proud to be its mistress."

  "My father’s health—"

  "I understand." Compassion softened his mother’s expression. "But don’t wait too long before you go to Scotland. Being chatelaine of Glen Lyon will go a long way toward making up for marrying my rapscallion son."

  Ouch. That cut a little too close to the bone, although Hamish knew his mother was teasing.

  "I hope we get the chance to travel there soon," Emily said in the same subdued voice.

  His mother sent Hamish a look that told him she was about to issue a command. He was a foot taller than his mamma, but that look still had the power to send trepidation slithering down his backbone. "Go and talk to your friends, Hamish. There’s no need to cling to Emily’s side like a limpet. I’d like a word with my new daughter-in-law."

  Hamish caught the flare of sheer terror in Emily’s eyes. "I like having Hamish with me, my lady," she said in an even reedier tone.

  His mother smiled at both of them with unconcealed approval. "That’s lovely, my dear. But five minutes without him won’t hurt. Hamish, I’m sure Diarmid and Fergus would love to have you to themselves, while I find out a little more about this delightful young lady you’ve brought into the family."

  "Be gentle with her." Although he spoke lightly, he meant it. Mamma had ways of winkling out the truth. It was one of the talents that made her so brilliant in politics.

  "Stop hovering over the girl like a mother hen, my son."