Page 89 of Death at a Highland Wedding

“My situation is different.”

When I don’t answer, he sighs. “I suppose if it is not obvious, that is only a mark of how different things are in your time.” He looks at me. “Between my bastardy and my skin color, I would not ask any woman to marry me.”

“Oh.” I fall silent.

He exhales again. “You want to ask more and you are being circumspect. Out with it.”

I say, carefully, “I understand those are both obstacles that might… limit your choices. But you have everything else a wife could want. Health, money, a good career, stability, and…” I swallow, my cheeks heating. “You are kind. You would make a good husband.”

“Kind?” His brows rise in mock horror. “Take that back.”

He wants me to relax, to smile and break the mood, but I struggle with it and finally say, “I really don’t think the situation is as dire as you fear, Duncan. You could marry. Easily.”

“To a woman who overlooks my deficiencies in return for stability? For a husband who is unlikely to beat her? No, shockingly, I do not want anyone to settle for me.”

“I—”

“And imagine if they did marry me? If they did not fully consider the ramifications of marrying a man whose skin marks him as ‘other’ everywhere he goes? If they did not consider that their children will most likely also look ‘other’?”

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “That was thoughtless, and I apologize.”

He eases back and then his lips quirk in a tired smile. “No, that was not thoughtless. You want to think better of people. You know what I endure, and you would like to believe that there are women out there—a bevy of them, apparently—who would want me despite that.” His smile lifts a little more. “You flatter me, and I cannot complain about that. Perhaps you ought to marry me.”

I laugh, and it’s a little shrill and forced as my cheeks heat and I move into the shade of the bush to cover that. “A fine idea.”

“Perhaps it is,” he says, and there’s a note in his voice that’s almost serious. “It certainly would solve our difficulties.”

“I’m not marrying anyone to ‘solve difficulties,’ Duncan.” Is there a tightness in my voice? A note that should warn him off? Maybe.

“But it would, though.” He moves closer, voice lowering. “Marriage would be the perfect solution to our dilemma. We would not need to worry about nonsense like this.” He waves around us. “Coming up with excuses to speak together. Sneaking off at night for a picnic and then worrying we have been seen.”

“Right. Sure. We’ll get married so we can talk more openly while we’re on holiday… which happens so often.”

He rocks forward. “It is more than that. Marriage would resolve many problems. We would never need to worry about being seen alone, and no one would ever question your position as my assistant.”

“Because, as your wife, I’m expected to be your helpmeet?”

My sarcasm flies so high over his head that he actually smiles. “Precisely. Also, what if Hugh and Isla married? How would you continue to live with me? You could not.” He rocks back on his heels, still smiling. “Yes, marriage is an excellent idea.”

Dear God, he’s not joking. I watch him, standing there, almost smug, pleased with himself for coming up with this solution, not even consideringthe possibility I might object? Something roils through me, and I’m not sure whether it’s rage or hurt. Both, I think.

“So,” I say, not bothering to keep the anger from my voice, “because people think you only hired me to bed me, you’ll prove them right?”

“They expect me to bed you, not marry you.”

“Then they’ll only think you a fool for buying the cow when you could get the milk for free.”

He frowns. “Hmm?”

“You’ll be the fool who put a ring on it, and I’ll be the scheming witch who got what she wanted all along.”

“But we know the truth. Those whose opinions matter most also know the truth. It is an excellent idea, Mallory.”

“Sure. Since it doesn’t seem like Archie and Fiona can get married today, why don’t we take their place? Summon the vicar. Make this official.”

He finally seems to actually look at me and hear my tone. “You do not want to marry me.”

“Don’t pull that shit, Duncan,” I grit out.