Page 98 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

She’d been completely honest with him, and he had ignored what he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

The thought of her leaving devastated him. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. “Isobel . . .” Dare he say it? “I . . . love you.”

This caught her off guard. She stilled. Stared at him. Her lips worked. “I . . . Nae. You doona.”

“How can you know how I feel?” he said on a pout.

“You merely lust for me.” She took in his horrified expression and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s all right. I understand. I feel the same about you.”

He stared at her. His soul seemed to shrink a little. “You lust after me?” A croak. Was that all it was for her? How lowering. He would do anything for her love. Kill or die for her.

And she wanted his body? Nothing more?

Had he really been happy that his title meant nothing to her?

What kind of idiot had he been?

Sadly, judging from her resolute expression, there was nothing more to say. Nothing more that could be said. At least not now.

He helped her up, and helped her dress. And then he walked her to her room and kissed her good night—on the forehead because he couldn’t bear more.

As he plodded to the other wing, to his own chambers, he was exhausted and disheartened and confused. But he knew one thing. He was going to figure out a way to change her mind, no matter what it took.

He pushed into his rooms with a sigh and headed for the bed.

To his surprise, there was someone in it.

A naked someone.

She sat up and shot him a pout. “Where have you been?” she said. And then, to his horror, she let the blanket covering her bosom fall, exposing her to him in her totality.

He took a step back, and another, until he hit a barrier.

Someone was behind him.

He whipped around and gaped at Lady Swofford.

She sent him a sly smile, and then smiled at her daughter.

Then she opened her mouth, and screamed.

Chapter Nineteen

Nick raked his fingers through his hair and paced across the length of his father’s office. All the adults—in the entire house party, it seemed—had been woken and had assembled there to discuss what should be done.

It was mortifying in the extreme, all those eyes on him.

“I swear. I didn’t sleep with her,” he repeated.

“Aye,” Uncle Ewan said. “I understand completely. You came to your room at the break of dawn and there she was, waiting for you. Naked. It’s happened to me many a time.” When Aunt Violet glowered at him, he shrugged. “But it has.”

“The difference here being that you, Mr. St. Andrews, are not a titled lord,” Lady Swofford sniffed. “The expectations are quite different for the lower classes.”

Uncle Ewan made to lunge at her, but Nick’s father held him back. He sent Lady Swofford a reproachful glance. “To be honest, it’s happened to me as well. It’s happened to many of my friends.”

Mother snorted. “It happens often when one is an eligible, titled male, as distasteful as it may seem.” That her gaze landed on Celia with this was probably a coincidence. Mother was far above making a direct accusation. Even when it was well deserved.

Lady Swofford, however, took it as such and screeched her rage. “Surely you are not saying this is my daughter’s fault?”