Bile boiled in Hamish’s gut.

Enough.

Enough. Enough. Enough.

He had had bluidy enough.

“Elizabeth,” he barked with perhaps too much impatience to be counted as loverly. “We need to talk.”

For some reason, his outburst seemed to alarm her. She lurched back. “I beg your pardon?”

“May we have some privacy?” he snapped.

Esmeralda settled herself into her chair and peered at him with owlish eyes. “No.”

Hamish blinked. “What do you mean, no?”

“By no, I mean no, my dear boy.” The old bat’s lips made a configuration that could only be described as smug.

“There are no secrets in the St. Claire family,” Victoria chirped.

Nearly everyone snickered at that, but Hamish was not amused. “I would like to speak to Elizabeth in private.”

She stood, looking elegant and regal and sad. She tipped up her chin and said, “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of my family.”

Damn and blast. This was not how he wanted it done.

He sucked in a deep breath and just blurted it out. “I love you, Elizabeth. With all my heart.”

She sniffed. “But?”

“Is it the duke’s approval keeping the two of you apart?” Anne asked, in a far too knowing tone.

Hamish whipped his head around and gaped at her. “What?”

“Oh, leave off, Hamish. We all know the two of you are in love. And I know you’re worried that the duke will not approve.”

“How on earth did you—”

Anne smiled at Elizabeth. “Well, I’ve written His Grace to tell him what has been going on.”

Hamish’s knees threatened to collapse, so he sat with a thump.

“You have?” Ranald asked, pulling Anne into his arms and kissing her. “Was that what your letter was about?”

“That, and other things.”

“How thoughtful, darling.”

“I’m certain, any day now, his reply will arrive with his unqualified approval.” She smiled again at Elizabeth, who, to Hamish’s chagrin, glowered.

“Did you want to write the widow Dunn for her permission as well?” Elizabeth said in an acidic tone.

His chest clenched. He’d told her that was over. He had. Hadn’t he? “That is not fair.”

“Who is the widow Dunn?” Esmeralda asked.

“Hamish has a widow in Scotland,” Mary chirped.

Victoria glared at him. “You blackheart!”

“I don’t love her,” he sputtered. “It is Elizabeth I love.”

She sniffed. “He loves me so much he won’t marry me if his dear duke does not approve.”

“It’s no’ like that.”

“I don’t understand,” Victoria said. “Anne married Bower without permission. Didn’t you?”

“It’s hardly the same,” Hamish grumbled. “Bower has a title.”

Mary sniffed. “As though that makes a difference.”

“Of course it does.” He immediately regretted the words, because Elizabeth cringed.

“Well, none of that signifies,” Mary said in a cheery gust. “You have to marry her.”

An unnerving silence settled on the room.

Hamish narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Elizabeth flinched. “Mary, hush.”

Mary pursed her lips. “I think you know what I mean.”

“I most certainly do no’.”

“Mary. Please,” Elizabeth wailed. “This is not the time.”

The time for bluidy what? He speared Elizabeth with a curious stare, but she would not meet his gaze. In fact, she stood, clutched her stomach, said, “I think I shall be ill again,” and swept from the room.

* * *

The next night, Elizabeth smoothed down her dress and checked her reflection in the mirror. She was hardly in the mood for a party, but desperate for the distraction.

Her sisters, fortunately provided just that with their non-stop chatter as they prepared.

“Aren’t you going to the Darlington party?” Mary asked Anne at one point.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Anne said.

“You’d better change. That frock will never do,” Victoria announced.

“I will, but there’s no rush.”

“You want to look your best.”

Anne chuckled. “I’m not hunting for a husband.”

“You have Bower now,” Victoria said. “How lovely. I’ve always liked him.”

“Me too.” Anne’s smile was brilliant. “A pity he’s not coming tonight.”

“No?” Mary frowned. “I was hoping to have a dance with him.”

“He claims he has too much work to do.” Anne rolled her eyes. “But I suspect he simply dislikes fancy parties.”

“Will you miss all the parties? When you move to Scotland?” Victoria asked.

“I don’t think so. I’ve never been fond of them.”

“You’ve always been happier with your nose in a book.” Mary grinned. “I heard there is an extensive library at Bowermadden.”

Anne sighed. “I am so very happy. Especially because you are both coming to live in Scotland too.” This last bit, she said to Mary and Victoria.

Elizabeth, feeling somewhat put out, huffed.

Victoria sat on the bed beside her and patted her back. “You can come too, Elizabeth. That is, if you and Hamish cannot work things out.”

“Of course they will work things out.” How could Anne be so certain? Did she have the cloud of a beautiful, accommodating, open-armed widow hanging over her head?

“They have to work things out,” Mary said. Unfortunately, she said it in a tone that captured everyone’s attention.

Victoria’s brow wrinkled. “Whatever do you mean?”

For her part, Anne simply turned and stared at Elizabeth. And Anne, being Anne, did not take long to catch on. Her face paled and her mouth dropped open. “No,” she breathed.

Elizabeth rolled over and covered her face with her arm.

Victoria frowned. “No, what?” And when no one answered her, “What? What is going on?”

“You can’t tell her,” Elizabeth said. “She couldn’t keep a secret if the future of the British Empire depended on it.”

“Of course I can keep a secret.” Victoria put out a lip. “Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me anything?”

“Because you cannot keep a secret,” Anne said gently. “We all know it’s true. You are far too impulsive.”

Mary huffed a sigh. “We will just have to push Hamish to propose.”

Oh, God. How humiliating. “You most certainly will not. If he doesn’t love me enough to defy the duke, I don’t want him.”

“Do you hear what you’re saying?” Anne said on a laugh.

Elizabeth lurched up and glared at Anne. “You defied the duke.”

“This isn’t about the duke, is it, darling?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“What do you mean?” Victoria wailed. And when Anne didn’t respond, “Why doesn’t anyone ever tell me anything?”

Anne sat next to Elizabeth and gently combed back her hair with her fingers. “I think it’s about the widow Dunn, isn’t it?”

Elizabeth couldn’t respond, other than with a sob.

Victoria’s expression puckered. “But he said he didn’t love the widow. He said he loved Elizabeth.”

“I know.” Anne sighed. “But I think he has to say more than that, doesn’t he? He broke your heart.”

Oh, Anne. She always understood. Elizabeth sat up and wrapped her arms around her. “Am I being silly? Wanting more?”

“Not in the least.” Anne pulled back and met Elizabeth’s gaze with a fierce frown. “He needs to grovel . . . at least a little.”

“Oh, definitely,” Mary said gleefully.

Victoria frowned. “But don’t make him grovel too much.”

“Of course not. But an apology, at least, I think. For not telling you sooner?”

That would be lovely.

Ah, her sisters always made her feel better. She would miss them so much when they left.

“There. And in the meantime, while we wait for Mr. Robb to come to his senses and grovel, let’s prepare for a lovely evening with the Earl and Countess of Darlington. Shall we?”

“Yes.”

“And I want you to be sure to find the most handsome man in the room and dance with him. That will give Hamish something to think about, won’t it?”

The vision of Hamish watching her dance with another man and gnashing his teeth in jealousy was gratifying indeed.

And, childish or not, she needed it at the moment.

It was a glorious thought.

What a shame he did not attend the party.

Like Bower, he cried off, saying he had far too much work to do which was, in Elizabeth’s opinion, a bald-faced, cowardly lie.

Still, she vowed to find the most handsome man in the room nonetheless and dance him silly, whether he wanted it or not.

* * *

That night, Hamish prowled around Sinclair House like a little boy lost.

He knew he had missed his chance with Elizabeth, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out where he’d gone wrong.

Was she so angry about an affair he’d had—before he met her—that she would throw away their love? Or was it his concern over the duke’s approval that irritated her? He had no idea and without having a chance to speak to her in private, he would never figure it out.

She’d spent the last day hiding in her chambers and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her.

If he lived to be a hundred, he would never understand women.

He wandered by the study and saw a light, so he headed in there. He felt very alone and though he knew Ranald was working, just having company would help.

Aside from that, he was pretty sure there would be whisky on hand.

Ranald looked up as he came in. “Hallo,” he said. “You look cheerful.”

“Sod off.”

There was no call for Ranald to laugh. “It’s no’ that bad.”

“Is it no’?”

“You just have to understand women, my lad,” the bastard said.

“You’ve been married for what, a week? And you’re advising me?”

“It appears you require advising.”

“Where is the whisky?”

Ranald nodded to the table by the window, and Hamish went to pour himself a drink.

He sat in the seat on the other side of the desk and gusted heavily. “What am I doing wrong?”

Ranald looked up from the letter he was reading and sighed. Then he set it down and shook his head. “Can you no’ see?”

“Obviously, I do no’.”

His friend shrugged. “What do women want? What do they really want?”

Hamish raked his fingers through his hair. “Hell, if I knew that I wouldna be here blubbering to you.”

His friend’s expression was smug. “They want to be loved, beyond all things. They want a man who would sacrifice all for them.”

“I would. I would give anything to have Elizabeth as my wife.”

“Obviously you havena been clear in your professions of love.”

“I’ve told her I love her!”

“And that wasna enough, was it?”

“Bluidy hell. Will you come to the point?”

“Why did you no’ go the party tonight?”

“Because. I couldna bear watching her dance with other men.”

“Did you tell her that?”

Tell her that? “How mortifying would that be?”

Ranald grinned. “That, my friend, is the point. If you want that woman, go after her. Sweep her off her feet. Tell her she is everything to you. That you can’t live without her. That you don’t give a good goddamn what the duke—or anyone—thinks. I guarantee, she will fall into your arms.”

Och, aye! That was what she wanted. What she needed. The passion of a romantic proposal. A man who would do anything for her love!

He bounded from the seat and ran from the room without even professing his thanks. But that was all right. He knew Ranald would understand.

* * *

Ranald watched Hamish disappear and he bit back a grin before he went back to his letters. There had been a thick pile waiting for him when he’d returned from Scotland.

And among them, one from the Duke of Caithness.

Lachlan had been more than clear. He didn’t give a damn who his cousins married, as long as they were happy.

Maybe he’d show the letter to Hamish tomorrow.

Then again, maybe not.

* * *

The Darlington soiree was lovely. But how could it not be, having been planned by Helena and Kaitlin? The two had an innate sense of style that could not be duplicated. Elizabeth had a wonderful time, despite her doldrums. She danced with more than one handsome man, but sadly, kept wishing they were someone else. Someone tall and muscular with red hair and laughing green eyes.

Perhaps she was being foolish, expecting Hamish to meet her more than halfway in this. Perhaps she should not be angry about his widow, if he promised it was over. She certainly should not expect him to defy a duke to claim her.

And to be truthful, she did not want any other man.

It was important that she bury her wounded ego—which was surely what this was—and let all these issues go. She should just love him and accept him, no matter what kind of future they had.

She didn’t know why that seemed so hard, except for the fact that she was afraid.

She was afraid he didn’t really love her, or at least not as much as she loved him.

She was worried that if she married him, she would, one day, be in for a heartbreak that would destroy her.

But she was also aware that without him, her life would be empty and arid.

There was only one thing for it. She had to speak with him. Tell him she loved him no matter what. That nothing else mattered.

As soon as she made that decision, she wanted to run from the room, return home, and find him . . . but she was in the middle of a dance.

Lord Granger was certainly one of the more handsome men in the room. He was attentive, funny, and kind. It would be rude to break away and—

A commotion at the door caught her attention, along with that of everyone in the ballroom. The music came to a screeching halt and everyone stared, including Elizabeth.

To her surprise, he was there, standing on the stairs, looking savage and rumpled and utterly out of place in this den of gentility. Tall and broad, hair askew, his eyes were wild as he searched the crowd.

When he saw her, his features tightened and her heart jerked.

Then he started toward her with a determined stride. Straight toward her, cutting a swath through the crowd without a care.

He stopped right before her and stared at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Elizabeth.”

“Hamish.” A whisper.

It was enough for him. He bent and whipped her into his arms and strode toward the garden doors.

“I say,” Granger said, but he did not follow. Probably because the Duke of Moncrieff took his arm and whispered something to him with a smile.

But that was the last thing Elizabeth saw before they passed into the cool night air.

Hamish didn’t stop until they reached the lovely fountain in the center of the garden. He set her down gently and stared at her.

“You’re lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“Elizabeth . . .” He seemed to struggle for words. His expression was desolate.

She could not let him suffer like this. Gently, she set her hand on his cheek. “I know, Hamish. I know. I love you too.”

He frowned and she suspected she’d stolen his thunder, but he was not dissuaded. “I love you more than life itself,” he said harshly. “You have to believe me. I canna live without you. I doona want to.”

“I know.”

His frown deepened. “There is no one but you. No one. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“And as far as the duke is concerned—”

“It’s all right, Hamish.”

“It’s no’. You need to know. None of that matters to me. No’ if I canna have you. Please believe me.”

“I do, Hamish. I do.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Because I love you the same way. I do.”

He kissed her then, softly, sweetly. And then it grew to something more. Something she had missed for weeks and weeks. “Darling,” she murmured.

He lifted his head and stared at her, his love shining though his eyes. “Darling.”

“I’m sorry I was so childish,” she said with a grin.

“I’m sorry I was a buffoon.”

“Never say it.” She reached up onto her toes and kissed him again, her heart full, swelling with love and joy and—

“Ahem.” It was impossible not to recognize that voice.

Reluctantly, Elizabeth turned around to face none other than Lady Jersey, who had a starchy expression on her face. She stood with Aunt Esmeralda, the Duchess of Moncrieff, and the Countess of Darlington.

Oh, lovely.

Four dragons of the ton. And she’d been caught, once more, in flagrante delicto.

It was becoming something of a habit.

Somehow Elizabeth didn’t much care. She offered them all a wide grin, and everyone but Lady Jersey grinned back.

“You, my dear,” the maven announced in stentorian tones, “have been thoroughly compromised.”

“A pity that,” the duchess said with a tsk. “You shall have to be married now.”

The countess offered a wink. “Indeed. But by all good fortune, the Archbishop of Canterbury happens to be playing cards in the salon.”

“Ah, providence,” Esmeralda gushed.

“We shall have him issue a special license at once,” Lady Jersey said. “We shall finally have you married, once and for all, Miss St. Claire.”

“That we shall.” Kaitlin tried to look stern.

As did Helena. “Indeed. Tomorrow at the soonest.”

Then the four of them whirled around and swanned back to the ballroom.

But Lady Jersey paused, glanced back at them, and murmured, with a flicker of her fingers, “Do carry on.”