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Page 22 of A Rogue in Twilight (The Whisky Rogues #2)

H e had not seen any blasted fairies out in that storm, despite Elspeth’s insistence that they had ridden through. Should he doubt her sanity—or his own?

Firelight flickered over the old canopy bed as James lay on the coverlet, still dressed but for boots. Propping an arm behind his head, he lay sleepless, staring at the embroidered fabric of the overhead canopy.

Coming to Struan House had plunged him knee-deep into fairies and whatnot, from the banshee in the foyer to Grandmother’s fairy book, to a fetching girl who saw fairies riding about at night.

He had seen trees whipping dangerously in the wind, and a strange mist filled with shapes he could not define.

This place was full of superstitions and legends, and his grandmother had ordered him here deliberately to deal with them.

At the moment, he had more immediate concerns.

Elspeth had taken over his every waking thought.

Compromise or not, he wanted her desperately—and had ever since he had met her at Holyroodhouse, the day he had kissed her behind a potted plant.

He was well and truly caught, and did not care if it was by her design or by fate.

Not long ago, he had nearly taken her on the grass in the middle of a storm.

That was how besotted and beside himself he had become.

He could not justify it, and he wanted to make it up to her.

However blithely she wanted a little scandal to free her from an unwanted suitor, she could hardly have wanted that.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. He wanted to marry the girl, and soon, but he would have to convince her.

Ridiculous as it seemed, she might qualify as the Highland fairy bride that Lady Struan’s will stipulated he find.

That was fortunate, for this marriage seemed inevitable, practical, and necessary.

That was settled in his mind, but still he could not rest. Finally he got to his feet and headed back downstairs to read for a while. He found fairy lore a true soporific.

Walking past the guest chamber where Elspeth slept, he paused, and heard a light cough, a few footsteps. So he was not alone on this strange, restless night.

He tapped on the door. “Miss MacArthur.” After a moment, he knocked again.

“Go away,” she answered.

“You need not open the door. Only listen to me, please.”

“Say what you will, then.” Her voice sounded close.

Resting his head against the door, he tried to compose his words. “What happened tonight has consequences. I want to make that up to you.”

“It is unnecessary.”

“Miss MacArthur,” he said, exasperated, “I want to marry you.”

He waited in the ensuing silence, heart slamming. He should have planned this proposal more carefully. But fate and whatever wild magic had hold of this place had put him in this position. He felt need and emotion swamp the logic he preferred.

“Elspeth.” He flattened a hand on the door. Raw need, heart more than body, rolled through him. “I want to marry you. It simply must happen. You must see that.”

“Must? That is a pretty statement of devotion.”

James wished he had saved the matter for morning and a clearer head.

“Perhaps we should discuss it tomorrow.” Must, should .

He ought to tell her that he was also obligated to meet the conditions of Lady Struan’s will, and she was a perfect choice for a fairy bride.

But he had a feeling she would not welcome that news.

“Do not feel obligated,” she said, as if she had heard his thoughts. His twin, Fiona, had the same knack with him. He frowned.

“I do,” he said. “I regret it. I apologize. I intend to compensate for it.”

“Let it be our secret. Good night.”

Our secret. The words sent a sudden plunge of desire straight through him, unexpected, enticing. His feelings were jumbled, and the passion he felt for her went against his code of behavior, keeping himself to himself and others safely distant.

“The situation demands an honorable solution,” he said.

“What good union could come of such a beginning? It is best forgotten. I am content with a wee bit of ruination. Marriage for the sake of obligation does not suit me.”

“You would rather be ruined than marry the ogre your grandfather chose for you.” The notion of her with another man made him close a fist. “I offer a far better solution.”

“He is not an ogre. He is a reputable tailor with a good income and a fine house.” 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 I him. He lives in the city and I want to stay in the Highlands. And he is more interested in my grandfather’s weaving business than in me.”

“Then he is a fool.” James closed his eyes.

“And he is not the one for me,” she said.

“And who,” he said softly, “would that be?”

“Well, no one now that I am ruined,” she said crisply.

He knocked his brow against the door. “You are not ruined, not while I am here to make it otherwise. You would be the new Lady Struan,” he added.

“You live in the city. You have work there. My work is here.”

“I would live here part of the time.” The more he tried to persuade her, the more he craved this marriage. Hope, that silly, storybook feeling, bloomed in him as never before. With her, his life would be better. With him, hers could be better too.

“Well,” she said.

“It would benefit both of us. You need a secure situation. I… need a wife.”

“I am sure several ladies of your acquaintance would be happy to hear that.”

“I am not asking anyone else to marry me.”

“Perhaps you should. They would be happy to live in the city.”

“Is that part of your infernal stubbornness? I have to stay in the city. I am a professor at the university. We could spend the rest of our time here.”

Silence. “I do not want to leave this glen. I would stay here.”

“You came to Edinburgh. We met there.”

“I was anxious to go home. But meeting you—was very nice.”

“Listen to me, Elspeth MacArthur. I am a viscount. I own a fine estate,” he said, and began to tick off on his fingers.

“I have a respectable yearly income, or I will have if certain requirements are met. I have a house in Edinburgh and a respected position. I’m not unpleasant to look at, despite the bad leg.

And I have written a volume on geology that weighs nearly as much as you do.

” He was surprised by his fervor. He was not one to tout himself or show desperation.

Certainly he had never courted a girl with so much insistence. “Surely that counts for something.”

“Impressive. You will have no difficulty finding a bride, sir.”

Shoving a hand through his hair, he blew out a breath. “That is more difficult than you know. Marrying you would solve—some other issues.”

“Legal…issues?”

She had an uncanny ability to ferret out his innermost thoughts. “Promise to marry me and I will tell you the whole of my…legal issues.”

“No.”

He leaned his forehead against the door. “I will not beg. Give me your answer tomorrow—before anyone arrives back at the house, aye?” He sighed. “I am not very good at this confounded courting business.”

“Better than you think,” she said. “I am honored that a titled gentleman who is very, very handsome, would ask me. I do not care if he is wealthy or not. I care where he wants to be, and if he loves me. And I do not mind the bad leg at all. I have a bad ankle myself. In fact, I must rest it now. So good night, sir.”

“Blast it all,” he muttered. Love. He had not mentioned that, and it was crucial. But he was still sorting that out. Oh, it was there. He needed to come to terms with it. Sentiment was not his strong point.

“You swear too much. It is a plague in your personality.”

“Elspeth,” he growled. “Please.”

“Listen, James MacCarran. I want to stay in the Highlands, and you are a Lowland man. And I think you are eager to be away south again.”

“Edinburgh is not that far south. You would have a comfortable life with me.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I know it. But let us be done with it for now, Lord Struan. It is late.”

The more she denied him, the more he wanted her. “But tell me this.” He leaned close to the door, speaking low. “Is there someone else? Is there a Highland man who has your heart?” Fool, he had never thought to ask.

“I wish he lived in this glen,” she whispered. “He is a fine man. We loved sweetly with the fairy magic upon us, and he has my heart. But he thinks of obligations and legal issues and forgets to look into his own heart.”

James went still, heart thumping. A lightning strike of hope went through him. “This fine man, is he the one for you?”

“So he likes to think. Away with you, James MacCarran,” she said crisply.

He sighed, head bowed. He felt touched deep, changed somehow. Stepping back, he went along the dark corridor.

He was not quite the same man who had knocked on that door a quarter-hour earlier. He was a man in love who finally knew it, and needed to set other matters aside and say so.

Elspeth smoothed the skirts of her green woolen gown that had dried beside the hearthside overnight.

She had brushed away the dried mud; some stains might be beyond saving but could be hidden with some new trim here and there, perhaps plaid bands and ribbons.

Best hurry now, she told herself, for the morning was growing late.

She had slept longer than she wanted, and ought to leave for home soon, or for Margaret Lamont’s house—that had been her plan before she had slid down a muddy hill in Struan’s garden.

Outside, rain still pattered against the window glass. Truly, she wanted to stay. Struan’s marriage proposal echoed in her mind. The memory of his honest words and intimate voice sent a thrill through her. Refusing his offer had been harder than James could ever know.

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