Isla bit her lower lip, anything to tame the jittery energy banding her chest.
Why, after all this time, had Tavish chosen now to return home? And her most pressing question—did he intend to publicly claim her as his wife?
Her pulse thumped, anxiety acrid on her tongue.
“Do I need to order you to steer clear of Balfour?” Gray asked as the carriage lurched into motion.
“Of course not.” Isla stared out at the green hills and the purple heather just beginning to flower . . . anything to prevent Gray from seeing her rising panic. “I have no intention of repeating the indiscretions of my youth.”
That was only a partial truth.
Isla would never rekindle the wild, frenzied affection she had once felt for Tavish Balfour. It had scarcely been love at all. More like a feveredmadness. A reckless slide into starry-eyed infatuation that, in her youth and inexperience, she had labeledlove.
Could any girl know her heart at barely seventeen years of age?
Now facing her twenty-fourth birthday, she rather thought not.
In hindsight, Isla considered it a mercy that she and Tavish had shattered apart as spectacularly and quickly as they had fallen in love. Or, at least, that was how she envisioned it—a torch to a powder keg, obliterating the whole in one violent billow of flame and ash.
However, staying away from Tavish would be impossible given the pesky matter of their marriage—a fact known only to herself, Tavish, and the doctor and his wife who witnessed and signed the lines of their handfasting. A marriage that Isla had long regretted.
She now had a clear understanding of her own desires for the future.
One that would not involve a Balfour.
She could only pray Tavish felt the same.
Please feel the same!
Gray stared out his own window, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He tugged irritably at his constricting neckcloth. Despite his finery, her brother loathed the feeling of clothing tight against his skin. On an irritated huff, he ran a hand through his hair, turning it from respectable to a lion’s mane, tawny-colored and shaggy around his face. His inner anger was fast unraveling his exterior.
It was astonishing, really, how quickly a Balfour could get under his skin.
In London, Gray relaxed into an urbane gentleman. He smiled with ease and always said the proper thing at the proper moment. He laughed over dinner and bestowed ladies with the exact right amount of charm. He tended to his responsibilities in the House of Lords just as meticulously as he managed his lands and tenants.
But when at Dunmore, that gentleman became harder for Gray to capture. The constant presence of one Balfour or another in the village of Pettercairn, combined with the lingering memories of their mother at Dunmore, had him frequently on edge.
“Are you still considering Colonel Archer and his suit? He would make you an excellent husband,” Gray finally said, voice level.
Ah. Changing the subject, I see.
“I agree.” Provided Isla could convince her current husband to divorce her and somehow keep the fact of their divorce quiet. “I am eager to deepen my acquaintance with him.”
“Excellent. As I mentioned earlier, we have been invited to a house party with Colonel Archer and his parents at their hunting lodge in Aberdeenshire in about two weeks’ time. I shall send them our acceptance.”
“Please do.”
Isla clasped her hands together, anything to mask the fine tremor that had started there.
Colonel Edward Archer was the second son of the Earl of Milmouth. Despite the similarity of title to Tavish—both men being the second sons of an earl—the Archers were everything the Balfours were not, namely English, wealthy, and highly respected.
Isla had met Colonel Archer last autumn in London. He was all a lady could wish in a suitor—kind, handsome, genuine. The consummate gentleman. Theirs had been a slow courtship, moving from acquaintances to friends at a snail’s pace—Isla terrified to encourage him too much as she knew her former marriage to be a barrier. She refused to add “bigamy” to her list of sins.
Gray approved of the match as he was eager to form an alliance with Lord Milmouth and gain a powerful ally in the House of Lords.
Gray’s support meant Isla would retain her dowry.
Which meant Malton Hill would be forever hers.
