Dougal proudly introduces me to dozens of people, and I play the newlywed, looking up at him adoringly. When I see our first target, I squeeze his arm. “Darling, you promised me a drink?”
He nods goodbye to the couple we’re speaking with, and the wife calls out, “Isla, we should do shopping and lunch soon!”
“I’d rather eat anchovies with frosting than be one of the Ladies Who Lunch,” I tell Dougal, who laughs.
“What a waste of your talents.” His words warm me in a way I didn’t expect. I shouldn’t care about his opinion. I do, though, more than I can say.
“Dougal, old boy, good to see you!” Robert Johnson says. He’s already three or four drinks in and his bodyguards are hovering close. “So the rumors are true, a Blackwood marrying a MacTavish?”
“Aye, I am a fortunate man,” Dougal gives him a shark smile. “My lovely bride, Isla MacTavish. Darling, this is Robert Johnson, a genius in the shipping industry.”
“A pleasure,” I simper, holding out my hand. I barely control an eye roll when he kisses the back of it and his lips are wet. I just manage to wait until he’s turned back to Dougal before I wipe it on my dress.
Dougal works him over expertly for the next half an hour, and I can see Robert’s about to capitulate. “I need to visit the ladies’,” I whisper to Dougal, who nods and kisses my cheek.
Sliding between the expensively dressed bodies crowding the ballroom, I think how easy it would be to pull the vintage Chopard diamond watch from that woman’s wrist, or the bulging wallet from the man hectoring the server who’s just trying to give him his drink. I keep my hands to myself, my jobs are only for the rare and precious jewels that can’t be sourced any other way. It’s how our family made its name in the diamond industry. There is no jewel we can’t provide.
“Isla! Sweet Jesus, you’re here! I’ve been so worried.” Gideon Wallace is blocking my way, reaching his arms out like he wants to crush me to his chest. His earnest brown eyes are wide with concern and I squirm.
“Gideon, how lovely to see you,” I smile weakly. “How have you been?”
“How have I been?” he asks incredulously. “How have Ibeen?I’ve spent every day since you disappeared trying to find you! MacTavish must be feeling mighty confident to bring you out in public.” He looks down at my wedding ring like he wants to tear it off with his teeth and swallow it.
Groaning silently, I hold out an elbow to keep him from that intended hug. “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong idea. Dougal and I had a private courtship, given our clan’s… rivalry. But I couldn’t be happier.”
He’s not buying it.
“Impossible. I know you were taken that night. At the fundraiser at their home? You disappeared, you can’t tell me it wasn’t forced.”
“How do you know that? Uh, know that weelopedthe night of the party?” Shite, almost slipped.
“I want to look after you,” he says earnestly, “protect you. Look…” He looks around us and lowers his voice. “I have a car and security just outside. We can walk through the east hall and right out the service exit.”
Why does it feel like a chunk of his mental processes is missing? When did Gideon get this worked up about me? He really thinks I’ll run off with him? “You are very sweet to be worried about me,” I insist, checking where Dougal is in the room. “You are wrong, though. This is a love match, and I am happy.”
“That can’t be right.” He’s shaking his head firmly like that’s going to change my mind. “I can save you. You canna tell me in all honesty that you want to stay in this marriage.”
That’s when it hits me. I do want to stay married to Dougal. I want to see what our future together could look like, and if there could be peace between our clans.
Squeezing his arm with a kind smile, I say, “I’m sorry that this isn’t what you imagined. I love Dougal and that is not going to change. We’ll speak another time as friends, aye? Goodnight.”
Heading for the gilt-covered ladies’ room, I wrap my arms around my stomach, enjoying the warmth glowing there. I don’t want to run.
Numpty - Scottish slang for an idiot
Stonner - Glaswegian slang for an erection.
Jobby-flavored fart lozenge - Scottish slang for “You turd-flavored suppository.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In which we visit Dougal's Lair.
Isla…
By the time I’ve freshened up and I’m back in the gilt-covered ballroom, Dougal has finished with Robert and he’s moved on to our second target. He’s spouting off construction technical shorthand with Knowles and it sounds like another language.
“Ah, there she is,” he smiles down at me fondly. “Isla, this is an old friend from London, Michael Knowles.”
