Page 39 of Laird of Twilight
“Let it be our secret. Goodnight, sir.”
Our secret.The words sent a sudden plunge of desire straight through him, unexpected, enticing. He could not say what he felt—it was jumbled and confusing in his brain, and the passion he felt went against his personal code of keeping himself to himself and others safely distant. Yet he felt compelled. “A clear conscience demands an honorable solution.”
“Clear conscience? What good union could come of that beginning? This is best forgotten. A little ruination suits me. Marriage for a lifetime does not.”
“A little ruination could be a disaster for you. I thought you would rather be ruined than marry the man your grandfather has chosen for you.” At the very notion of her with another man, he closed a fist. “So I thought you might prefer to marry me. It is a better solution than disgrace, and better than marriage to some ogre.”
“He is not an ogre. He is a reputable tailor with a fine income and a country estate outside Edinburgh.” Through the wood of the door, her voice had a soft intimacy. James leaned close to listen.
“Then what the devil is wrong with the fellow?” He felt annoyed. Jealous.
“He does not love me, nor could I love him. He lives in the city, while I intend to stay in the Highlands. And I believe he is more interested in my grandfather’s weaving business than in having me for a wife.”
“He is a fool.” James closed his eyes.
“He is not the one for me.”
“And who,” he said softly, “would that be?”
“Well, no one now that I am ruined,” she said crisply.
“You are not ruined, not if I can change it. You would be the new Lady Struan.” The more he spoke, the more he craved this marriage himself. Hope, like some silly, storybook feeling, dawned. If he could convince her, his life—and hers too, he hoped—would improve. “It would benefit both of us. You need protection from scandal now, and a good situation. And I—have need of a wife.”
“I am sure there are several ladies who would be glad to know that.”
He wished the door was not between them, but that would lead to other risks. Better to have the barrier. He sighed. “Elspeth. I am not asking any other lady to marry me.”
“Perhaps you should, and have a wife who would live in the city with you.”
“Is that the cause of this infernal stubbornness? I must live in the city. I am a lecturer at the university. We could spend summers up here,” he offered.
She paused. “I cannot leave this glen.”
“Ever? Is there a spell cast over you?”
She was silent. He wondered if she had stepped away.
“Listen to me. I am a viscount. I own a fine estate.” He began to tick off on his fingers. “I have a respectable yearly income, or will have, if—some legal problems are solved. I have a townhouse in Edinburgh and a position at the university. I’m not unpleasant to look at, despite a bad leg, and I have written a volume on geology that weighs nearly as much as you do.” He stopped, surprised at his own fervor. He was never one to tout himself or reveal feelings or needs. Yet he had never courted any girl with so much determination. “Surely that counts for something.”
“I am impressed. You will have no difficulty finding a bride in Edinburgh.”
He exhaled, exasperated. “It is more difficult than you know.”
“Marrying me will solve all your problems and mine, I suppose,” she said. “Wait. Legal…problems? What does that mean?”
If one factor discouraged him from having Elspeth for a wife, it was her uncanny ability to ferret out his private thoughts. “Marry me and I will tell you the whole of it.”
“No.”
“Elspeth, I will not stand here begging. Consider it and give me your answer tomorrow.” He leaned his forehead against the door. “I am not good at this confounded courting business.”
“Better than you know,” she said. “I am flattered. You are a titled gentleman, and very pleasant to look at. I do not mind the leg at all, if that worries you about courting. I have a bad ankle myself. In fact, I should rest it now rather than stand here. Goodnight.”
He wanted her to stand there—he wished he could take her into his arms. “You know we must marry. Truly, what is your objection? Blast it all,” he muttered.
“You swear too much. It is a plague in your personality.”
“Elspeth,” he growled.
