Matt inclined his head. “Just Matthias will do. We are to be brothers, it seems. I’ll have my solicitor contact you, Balfour, regarding Malton Hill and the contracts.”
“I look forward to it.”
Matt smiled at Isla, love in his warm brown eyes. “I am glad to see you happy, Isla. You deserve every joy. Let me know when the marriage will occur. I should like to attend.”
Isla rushed forward and wrapped her brother in a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Matt.”
He gathered her close with his arm. “My pleasure.”
Isla pulled back with a smile.
“You are a good sort, Lord Matthias.” Colonel Archer crossed to the door. “I will see myself out.”
Matt nodded and followed. But he paused in the doorway, glancing into the entry hall. “I’m going to close this door and give you a few minutes of privacy before Gray boots you both out. I’ll ensure your trunks are sent over to Castle Balfour, Isla.”
He left . . . closing the door behind him.
Not one to waste time, Isla raced back to Tavish and pulled him in for a hungry kiss.
“I missed ye, lass,” he murmured against her lips.
“I missed you, too.”
Happiness ballooned under Isla’s breastbone, stretching outward and swelling her heart nigh to bursting.
“I can’t believe Malton Hill might be mine. It’s almost too much joy to accept.”
“Personally, I believe Grayburn’s hostile reaction is all the proof ye need, my love. Were Fletch’s tale not true, your brother would have simply denied it. And I have a feeling Matthias will ferret out all of Grayburn’s secrets regarding your parents’ wills and what ye are owed.”
Isla couldn’t stop the tears then.
“I get to keep you and Malton Hill . . . the first and second dearest desires of my heart.”
She kissed him again, slow and lingering.
“There is the wee matter of our marriage,” he whispered against her lips.
“Gray did burn our marriage lines.”
“Pity that. I very much liked those marriage lines.”
“Me, too.”
“What say ye, my love? Shall we do this again?”
Isla smiled through her tears. “If you’re asking me to marry you once more, I insist you do it proper-like, Tavish Balfour. No shirking, no matter how many times we must perform this play.”
Grinning, Tavish dropped to a knee, her hands tucked into his. He gazed up at her, adoration glowing in his gray eyes.
“Lady Isla Kinsey—formerly Mrs. Isla Balfour—I have loved your beautiful self for nigh upon a decade. I delighted in calling ye my wife for seven of those years, and I should love nothing more than to call ye my wife between now and the end of time. I love ye and would be deeply honored if ye would agree to marry me once—”
Someone pounded on the drawing room door.
Isla and Tavish exchanged a wry look.
“Blast!” He stood up and pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. “I suppose I shall simply have to show you the depth of my affection later.”
“I look forward to it.”
