Isobel had been absolutely correct in one thing.

The moment the two of them were officially betrothed, all of the rules changed.

Well, most of them.

At least as far as their families were concerned.

For the next two months, they enjoyed close to absolute freedom. Nick spent every day with her, showing her around London—with and without her family members, and occasionally even with the Hellions, who were keen to see the Menagerie at the Tower of London at least once a week. They visited Astley’s, Covent Garden, Drury Lane Theatre, and the Opera House. And of course, they bowled daily along the path at Hyde Park.

In the evenings they attended balls, soirees, musicales, and more.

Many of these activities were orchestrated by Nick’s mother, to underscore Isobel’s new station and remind society that she was to be a duchess one day.

He preferred to ignore the fact that if Isobel had her way, this would not be the case. He knew that at some point, he would need to tell his mother what she planned or when Isobel left, she would be heartbroken, but he dreaded doing so.

Especially because his parents were so delighted.

Sorcha was over the moon. All of his siblings adored Isobel, from ten-year-old Callum—who wished he’d seen her first—to Violet and Viola, the seven-year-old twins, who wanted to be just like her.

They would all be crushed when everything fell apart.

Though no one would be as crushed as Nick himself.

Which was why he diligently applied himself in the wooing of his bride.

The extra freedom the elders allowed them was extremely helpful. On the evenings when there were no events, the families would gather for private dinners or nights of cards, and no one caterwauled if they happened to sneak out into the garden, or into the library, or elsewhere.

In fact, it seemed it was almost expected.

And it was delightful.

Nick was certain he was making progress with her when, one evening, after they had surreptitiously made love in the billiards room—and they were relaxing on the divan afterward with her in his arms—she sighed. “I love this,” she said, peeping up at him.

He kissed her lids, each in turn. “As do I.”

“Do you think they suspect what we are doing?”

He had to laugh. “I imagine they’d prefer not to think about it.”

Her laugh was a melody. Then she sobered. “How lovely would it be to make love every night?” It was not a question.

His arms tightened around her. “We can make that happen, you know.”

Her expression turned curious. And then fell as she caught his meaning. “I know you’re teasing me,” she said.

But he wasn’t. He wasn’t teasing. “Isobel—”

Perhaps his tone had suddenly gone uncomfortably serious, or something like it, because she pushed off him and bounded to her feet, brushing down her skirts. “We should get back.”

He sighed. “We should talk.”

“We can talk on the way back to the parlor. Come now. Do up your pants before someone finds us and is scandalized.”

“Isobel—”

“Edward Nicholas Wyeth. Do hush. I doona want to discuss this again.”

He put out a lip. He knew he was being childish, but he felt petulant. He loved her. He loved being with her. He wanted her as his wife. But she resisted him at every turn.

He did up the placket of his pants.

Well, perhaps not at every turn, but the ones that mattered, certainly.

He never thought he would be faced with such a problem. A woman who only wanted his body, and not his soul. Not his title. Not a future with him.

The very concept was unthinkable in his worldview and he did not know what to do. Obviously, speaking in a brogue and wearing the occasional kilt was nowhere near enough.

He needed to do something more.

But what?

He didn’t have a clue.

And to make matters worse, the Season was coming to an end, the banns had been read, and the wedding date was approaching.

Would it be naive of him to hope she would simply stay? Forget all this nonsense about leaving him and make him the happiest man on the earth?

She took his hand and led him to the door. “Do you suppose you will ever visit me?” she asked.

His mood took a downward turn, and it was a bitter one. In point of fact, his mood had become darker and darker as time passed, as his moments with her slipped through his fingers.

Which probably explained why he said truculently, “I doubt it.”

She whipped around and stared at him. He was stunned by the wounded expression in her eyes. “No? Not ever?”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “I doona think I could bear it.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“I doona think I could bear seeing the woman who dinna love me enough to marry me, Isobel. Not when I loved her so dearly.”

“Oh, balderdash.” She forced a laugh. “You canna love me.”

For some reason, fury flashed through him. “Can I no’?” Because he did. He fucking did. With all he was.

“Nick. We’ve only known each other a few months.”

Right. And he’d known back in Newcastle. Or at least a part of him had.

“So you feel nothing for me?” He regretted the words as soon as they escaped. For one thing, they were born of pain, and for another, he dreaded the answer.

“Of course not.”

His heart squeezed. She must have noticed his agony, because she touched his cheek.

“I doona feel nothing. I adore you, Nick,” she said softly, and he saw it there, in her eyes. It warmed the cold pit in his belly, but only some.

“But not enough to marry me.”

She let out a groan. “I canna believe we’re going over this again.”

“As many times as it takes.”

“I’m no’ the marrying type, Nick. I’m no’ obedient or subservient—”

“Did I ever say that was what I wanted?” His mother was hardly either of those. Nor was hers.

“I’m no’ duchess material.”

“You are exactly duchess material. Only look at how the ton has accepted you.”

“They would accept a washerwoman if you married her.”

How untrue that was. And unfair.

“Can you imagine me holding court over morning calls with the likes of Lady Jersey and Countess Graves?”

Yes. He could.

“Or being kind to vipers like Lady Swofford? I doona know how your mother does it.”

“My mother wasn’t always a duchess, either, Isobel. She learned the role. And she will teach you.”

She stilled then and settled a somber look on him. “Nae. She won’t. Because I willna be here.” And with that, she turned and swept from the room.

It would have been a dramatic exit, except he’d locked the door when they’d entered and still had the key.

In a huff, she turned and scowled at him until he opened it for her, and then she swept down the hall and back to the parlor where the others were embroiled in a game of cards.

It was a trial responding to their cheerful greetings.

“Where have you two been?” her mother asked ingenuously.

“Oh, playing billiards,” Isobel said casually, dropping onto the divan.

Nick, who was feeling contrary, sat in the Chippendale across the room. She frowned at him.

“I hope you had a pleasant game,” Mother said, before slapping down a card with a jubilant crow. All the others groaned.

“That’s it for me,” Father said. He glanced at Andrew Lochlannach. “They’ve trounced us.”

“They always do,” Isobel’s father said amiably.

Mother stood and took Father’s arm. “Darling, I think we should tell them now.”

“Now?” His father grinned. It was such an unusual expression for him, it caught Nick’s attention.

He glanced at them curiously, though his mind was still embroiled in the fight he and Isobel had just had. Not a fight—because she refused to fight—so much as a very unsatisfying conversation.

“Aye.” His mother waved everyone over to the sitting area, and then she and Father stood at the mantel. He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a piece of parchment.

“Edward,” he said with a solemn expression on his face. “We are delighted that you and Isobel will be married. Delighted to welcome the Dounreay and Lochlannach families into our own, and your mother and I would like to give you both a gift befitting of such a union.”

Something cold slithered up his spine. He shot a glance at Isobel, who appeared surprised and, if he was being honest, a little discomfited.

“Really,” she said. “There is no need—”

“Och, but there is,” Mother insisted. “We know how much you love Scotland. Both of you. And we want you to have this.”

With that, his father came forward and handed Nick the paper, with an amount of circumstance that made his stomach queasy.

He took it, and opened it slowly.

His heart stalled. He swallowed heavily.

“What is it?” Isobel asked.

He caught her gaze and smiled, but it was a wobbly effort. He was deeply moved by his parents’ generosity, their hope and trust, their open hearts.

“Well?” Susana prompted.

Mother, apparently, was too excited to wait for Nick to answer. “It’s the deed to Stirling Manor, our property in Scotland.”

Father put his arm around his wife. “Edward has always admired the stables there.”

“And of course, you will need a home in Scotland, for Isobel to be happy.”

Damn. Mother looked so pleased. Father, so proud.

He hated that this was all based on a lie.

But he couldn’t hurt them further by rejecting the gift. He stood and crossed to them, then pulled them both into a long hug.

“There’s no need to cry, son,” Mother said, wiping an errant tear from his eye.

“I’m not crying. I’m just . . .”

“What?” she asked softly.

“So humbled.”

To which, of course she laughed.

“What do you think, Isobel?” her mother asked, calling everyone’s attention to her.

She had paled and her fingers were trembling, but she smiled. Only Nick realized what a travesty it was. “That is verra thoughtful of you.” Dutifully, she rose, and hugged his parents as well.

“Now you’ll be able to spend time near your family,” Mother said, so pleased with herself it was nearly heartbreaking.

“I imagine you’ll only need to be in London when Parliament is in session,” his father added.

“That is perfect,” Susana said.

Andrew Lochlannach shook Father’s hand, then slapped him on the shoulder. Then hugged him. There might have been a suspicious glint in his eye as well. “Verra thoughtful, indeed. I was worried I would hardly ever see her once she wed.”

“Of course you will see her,” Mother responded. “And you’ll see us a bit more, too, I imagine.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Susana said on a sigh. “Absolutely lovely. Isn’t it lovely, Isobel?”

She met Nick’s gaze before she answered and he recognized that hint of guilt in her eyes. “Aye,” she said. “Perfectly lovely.”

But it was clear to him she wanted to sink into the ground and disappear.