Page 15 of A Tartan Love (The Earls of Cairnfell #1)

“Ye needn’t appear so liberated.” His eyebrows flew to his hairline. “A gentleman does have his pride.”

She froze. “You cannot believe we would continue in this farce of matrimony? We are all but strangers to one another.”

Not a single muscle in his face twitched at her harsh words.

Yes. Granite, this man .

“Nae, I assumed we would pursue a divorce. I just wished to ensure that ye felt the same.” His voice radiated calm. As if this conversation were of no particular note.

“And if I had said I wish to continue in our marriage?”

He shrugged. “Then I would honor my vows to yourself.”

Unbelievable.

As if staying married or divorcing were one and the same to him.

Isla shook her head. “I shan’t require you to fall upon your sword for my sake.”

He lifted an eyebrow and gave her a slow perusal, eyes skimming her person from the brim of her straw bonnet to the toes of her boots. The heat of his gaze ignited tiny sparks across her skin.

He cleared his throat and looked away. “’Twould be no hardship, I assure ye.”

Isla willed a blush at bay. Her Tavish had never been so bold. Or had he? She supposed he had never been shy about his attraction to her. But it had never taken on this edge of . . . of what? Sensuality?

Or perhaps it had always been thus with him, but she had been too young to understand the undercurrent of his meaning.

“I am more than the sum of my appearance, Captain,” she replied with a snap. She had more than enough experience in repressing the unwanted advances of forward gentlemen.

If she thought to offend him, she was disappointed. A smile tugged at his lips, and some emotion finally glinted in his eye.

There’s my lass , his expression seemed to say.

Isla didn’t know what disturbed her more. That he would see her contrariness as proof that she hadn’t changed beyond recognition. Or that she understood his emotions so easily.

She wanted none of this.

“Ye have always been more than the sum of your appearance or your familial connections, Lady Isla,” he rumbled in his deep brogue.

His words didn’t conjure her Tavish per se, but it was a reminder of why, once upon a time, she had fallen in love with him.

Because . . . in this, he was correct.

He had never seen her as the daughter of the Duke of Grayburn with a pretty face and dowry to acquire. A possession to be passed from one man to another.

No, to Tavish, she had always been Isla—a woman who was defined by her own unique dreams and ideas.

She didn’t know how to reply to the compliment. How many gentlemen had flattered her over the years with fawning comments about her beautiful eyes or genteel manner?

None had ever seen beyond the surface of her.

Only Tavish.

Being near him was more painful than she had supposed it would be. She had thought to feel nothing.

Instead, a terrible sort of grief welled up. For the devastated girl she had been. For everything that had been splintered in the wake of his betrayal and abandonment.

He had broken them. Broken her.

And then he had left, galloping off into the world, forcing her to pick up the pieces.

Tavish hated that he still found Lady Isla so captivating.

I am more than the sum of my appearance, Captain.

The words evoked the girl he had known—fierce and determined. A shooting star of a lass, blazing through his life as rare and brilliant as a comet.

Surely that girl was still inside, clamoring to be freed from her cage of ice. And once free, how would that girl merge with the woman she was now?

As in years past, his emotions pulled at the tight reins of his control— curiosity, lust, fascination.

That hadn’t changed.

She is not for yourself . Ye have no means to support a wife, much less the daughter of a duke .

More to the point, Lady Isla no longer harbored any feelings of tenderness for him. Her relief at the prospect of their divorce more than confirmed this.

“What is your plan then?” She sat so primly, so still, back ramrod-straight, eyes fixed ahead.

The picture of a tightly-contained English lady.

Grayburn must be so proud , Tavish thought bitterly. He would regret to his dying day that he hadn’t bludgeoned the duke when he’d had the chance.

Aye, Lady Isla wasn’t the lass he had left, but then, Tavish was hardly the lad he had been. It scarcely mattered now. Soon, they would be free of one another, and he would be an ocean away.

“I take it Grayburn remains unaware of our marriage?”

Lady Isla flinched. “Of course. As you well know, my brother’s wrath burns white-hot over any matter involving a Balfour.”

“Aye, but we both know his help will be required, if nothing else to prevent the news of our divorce from reaching an ambitious newspaper editor. Grayburn might rage a wee bit, but he will be motivated to see our union disbanded.”

“Agreed.”

“Then . . . may I ask why ye haven’t told him as of yet?”

“Given that you were half a continent away and fighting for your life on a daily basis, I did not see the point in raising the matter until it became absolutely necessary.”

In summary: You were far away, and I kept hoping you would die and render the entire situation moot.

Tavish pushed away the sting of her words.

“I would argue that now is a fairly necessary point.”

“Yes.” She raised her chin. “Hence my presence here.”

Something in her manner gave him pause. The way her tongue rushed through words and her fingers strangled her reticule, knuckles white with tension.

There was more to this with Grayburn. Tavish knew it as surely as raising a rifle to his shoulder and sighting down the barrel, intuitively aware he would hit his target .

Briefly, he considered letting Lady Isla keep her secret. Her relationship with Grayburn was none of his affair.

But . . .

“What are ye hiding? I sense the situation with Grayburn is more fraught than ye be letting on.”

“I cannot imagine what you mean, Captain.”

She said the words primly, spine straight and unbending.

Tavish couldn’t stem a bark of laughter.

“I’m right pleased to discover you’re still a terrible liar, lass.”

She glared at him then, blue eyes snapping. “A true gentleman would not press a lady thus.”

“Aye, well, we both know you and yours don’t consider me to be much of a gentleman, no matter my parentage nor conduct. Why are ye so afeart to tell your brother?”

Tavish relaxed back into the bench, stretching his long legs out and resting one heel on an obliging stone, his kilt fluttering around his thighs.

He didn’t miss how her eyes swept over his person, raking his body from ear lobes to ankles.

Tavish braced his hands behind his head, ensuring she could look her fill. However, one glance at his smiling face, and she turned away again, lips pressed tight.

“ Och , I ken ye might not be keen to share a confidence with myself,” he coaxed, “but I need to know what has occurred. Knowledge is our best defense at this point.”

Her shoulders slumped. The tiniest capitulation.

“As I’m sure you recall, Gray was incensed when he found out about—” She motioned at the space between them. “You and I scarcely spoke after that.”

No, they hadn’t. Just once. A spectacularly incendiary conversation that shattered everything between them.

Her fingers twisted in the ribbon ties of her reticule.

“What happened?”

Lady Isla paused for a moment and then shook her head.

“The precise particulars scarcely matter now.” Though she might have meant the words to be sharp, they emerged soft-edged and forlorn. “Needless to say, Gray was incensed over our attachment and abused me abominably. He claimed he would rather I had died than taken up with a Balfour.”

Tavish made a noise of disgust.

Damn Grayburn to hell.

“Most significantly . . .” She took in a slow breath. “Gray threatened to cast me out of the family.”

“Pardon?” Tavish reared back. “He truly said that?”

“Yes. I believe his precise words were, ‘Let this be one thing in your teetering life that you do not doubt, Isla. Should you so much as nod at a gentleman without my approval, I will see you cast from this family.’”

“I’m not sure Grayburn can do that.”

Isla laughed, a bitter crack of sound. “I assure you, he most certainly can. Dukes can do anything they wish.”

“Aye, but the scandal of such an action . . . Grayburn would wish to avoid it.”

“Perhaps, but you forget that my brother detests scandal and Balfours in equal measure. I cannot say which side his hatred would favor. Given Gray’s wrath over the mere thought of us courting, I cannot fathom his rage once he discovers we are married.

I do not think the threat of scandal will stay his hand. ”

“Why didn’t you tell me this? Ye were my—” Tavish cut off the rest— Ye were my wife.

Wife. Past tense.

“When?!” The word burst from her. “When was I to have told you? When you betrayed my trust? When you refused to listen, took your commission, and left me so very alone?”

The whip of her hurt cracked across Tavish’s skin.

“I tried to tell you, Captain .” She leaned into the honorific. “I begged you to take me away with you. To not leave me to Gray’s cruel mercy.”

A terrible sort of clanging started in Tavish’s ears. He should have listened. He should have known there was more to her furious pleading that day.

But . . . they had both been so young. So inexperienced with love and relationships and the harsh realities of life outside their own wee sphere .

“Ye should have written me,” he bit out. “I begged ye to write me. I would have found a way to send for ye.”

How, he could scarcely say. But Tavish knew his younger self and the wild pattering of his love for Isla. He would have done anything to have her with him.

“Write you? By what means? Assuming I could send a letter without Gray’s knowledge, I didn’t know where to direct your post,” she huffed, eyes glittering. “It’s not as if you wrote me or sent any word to help ease the path.”

“Ye made me swear not to write ye. I honored that vow.” Even though it nearly killed me , he didn’t add.