“I did as of yesterday.”
“Well . . . facts change.” Grayburn shrugged. “A marriage doesn’t exist without evidence and witnesses, and I assure you there are neither where my sister is concerned. You are nothing to her. Now, again, you will leave before I have you arrested.”
“I will see my wife—”
“Archer.” Grayburn turned to Fletch, dismissing Tavish entirely. “I must admit I am somewhat disappointed to see you in Balfour’s company.”
Fletch didn’t so much as flinch. “As I’ve said from the beginning, Grayburn, Balfour is the most honorable gentleman I know. That fact remains true.”
Grayburn snorted. “Surely, you have bettersense—”
“My wife, Duke!” Tavish snapped. “I would see Isla and—”
“That isLadyIsla to the likes of you.”
“AsLadyIsla might be currently carrying my bairn . . .” Tavish paused to let that tidbit of information land, “I would like to speak with her.”
Grayburn’s expression blanched before the red of rage reappeared.
“If you so much as touched her—”
“I’m her bloody husband, Grayburn. Of course, I touched her! I intend to touch her again!”
Grayburn took two steps toward Tavish.
“Tavish?” Isla’s bright voice sounded from the entry hall.
Relief washed over Tavish, as miraculous as rain on dry soil.
“Isla! Love!” he called.
Isla walked through the doorway, a cheery smile upon her lips. Tavish’s chest swelled at the sight.
As ever, she appeared as dazzling as a summer afternoon. The setting of Dunmore suited her, he noted. The elegance of the drawing room accentuated the expensive cut of her sprigged muslin dress and the intricate braiding of her coiffure.
How had it been scarcely a day since he had seen her? He took two steps forward, eager to swing her into his arms, only to be stopped by Grayburn’s warning hand.
“Tavish?” Her gaze darted between Tavish and Fletch, questioning. “Colonel Archer?” She curtsied in greeting.
She did not appear to be in any distress.
Nor did she push past her brother’s warning hand and cross to Tavish.
His heart trembled in his chest. What had occurred? What had Grayburn done?
“Did you not get my message, Tavish?” she asked.
“Message?” was all he could push past lips gone numb.
“Yes. The one I promised to send. I sent two, actually.”
“Two?”
“Yes. One last night and then another this morning.”
“I received nothing.”
She frowned. “I sent them. I gave them to McPherson . . .” Her smile melted away.
