Page 75 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“Aye. I believe you met them at morning calls. Edward Tully is the handsome blond there; the dark-haired fellow behind him is Edward Pennington. And of course, you know my Edward.”

My Edward.

To her, he would always be my Nick.

“Are they trouble, too?” Catriona asked.

The duchess laughed. “Indubitably. Well, I will leave you youngsters to it. I’m going to give your mother and aunts a tour of the conservatory.”

Isobel made an attempt at a smile. It was a challenge because Nick had noticed her and was heading her way, which made her body hum. “Mama would like that,” she managed.

“Excellent,” the duchess said. “We shall see you all for lunch on the lawn.”

She left then, but Isobel barely noticed, because Nick was approaching. Her heart thudded. Her skin prickled. Her mouth went dry.

“Oh, look,” Catriona said, in a strange tone—one that made clear she’d seen Nick. “They have cakes. I think I shall explore the offerings.” And just like that, she was gone. Leaving Isobel alone, utterly alone.

With him.

He did not touch her, thank God, though he was close enough for her to draw in his scent.

“Good morning,” he murmured.

She sucked in a breath and tipped up her chin. As nervous, or shy, as she was—or whatever the hell this was—she was bound and determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

It was out before she considered the words, and the shift in his expression sent a wave of heat up her cheeks. Blast.

“Not a wink. And you?”

In response, she frowned.

“I am very sorry about that,” he said.

“About what?” She didn’t intend to snap, but something about him just made her want to snap. At something.

“Why, the interruption, of course. I’ve thoroughly rebuked William and Penny for intruding.”

“No doubt it couldna be helped,” she said with a sniff.

“No doubt.” He fell silent, and stepped closer. “No doubt I owe them a vote of thanks.”

Fury rose. She glared at him. “Why?”

“I nearly got carried away.” A whisper.

Och.

That sent a river of heat through her.

Carried away. Aye. She’d nearly been carried away as well.

“Do you regret that they stopped us?” she asked on a choked voice.

He laughed, a harsh chuckle. Then he scrubbed his face. “I don’t know, Isobel. I wish I did.”

Well. That was not an acceptable response. So she sniffed and looked away, though she saw nothing.

“On the one hand, I want you. Like I’ve never wanted a woman.”