Leaning back in his chair, he mused, “Will the calf love ever end? In all my life, I’ve never seen a man so happy to be leg-shackled.”
Will gave him a sly grin. “Well, you have seen my lass—what doyouthink?”
“That you are one lucky bastard,” Alaric said sincerely.
“Aye, I am. Then again, it seems Fortune smiles upon the McLeod brothers when it comes to women. You’ve found yourself a fine, spirited lass, eh?”
Heat crept up Alaric’s jaw, and a foreign feeling puffed up his chest.
Pride.
When he thought of Emma’s plucky determination, her warmth and intelligence, he was astounded that he’d found her. She would make him a fine duchess, provide him with beautiful, feisty children and create a stable, caring home for them all.
As long as you don’t bollix things up.
He pushed aside the doubt that had been plaguing him since the steamy interlude in the gallery. He told himself that such concern was natural seeing as how he was facing the prospect of marriage once again. But this was Emma, not Laura. And this time he knew what he was up against—what he was and wasn’t capable of.
He’d been clear with Emma. She wouldn’t expect his love.
Wouldn’t expect him to be more than he was.
They would have passion and laughter, even affection. After the debacle of his first marriage, it was more than he expected to find with any woman. He wanted his ring on Emma’s finger as soon as possible.
“When this business with Mercer is done, I’m going to marry her,” he said.
Will gave a knowing nod. “Don’t worry, we’ll find the bastard soon. With Kent tapping his old Thames River Police cronies to help scour the ports, we’ve got tabs on the water routes—”
A commotion outside the dining room cut him off. Jarvis entered with unusual haste.
At the unflappable butler’s ruffled expression, Alaric frowned. “What is it?”
“Your grace, you have a visitor…”
“I’m not a visitor, you old fool,” said soft, imperious tones. “I amfamily.”
Alaric shot to his feet, Will following his lead.
A diminutive figure dressed in a brown velvet travelling ensemble entered the room. Beneath the brim of the feathered leghorn hat, her bright blue eyes latched onto him. She gestured him over with a regal wave.
When she held out her hand, Alaric bowed over it out of habit. He kissed the translucent, veined skin above her large carnelian ring.
“My dearest boy,” she said, sounding out of breath, “I’ve heard all the news, and I could stay away no longer. In fact, I would have been here earlier had it not been for a broken axel. Such inconvenient things, carriage wheels. Now are you well? Have you been ill? I’ve brought the medicines—”
“I’m fine, your grace.” Recovering from shock of her sudden arrival, he said, “I don’t believe you’ve met my brother.”
“Your brother?” Her gaze swept over Will, lingering on his open collar and shirtsleeves, before returning to Alaric.Sotto voceshe said, “Not much of a family resemblance is there, my dear? But I suppose all McLeods are not created equal. Different stock, you know.”
Will turned ruddy.
“Since William and I share a father, we are from the same stock,” Alaric said tightly.
Her blue eyes shimmered. “Oh dear. I’ve thought of you as my own for so long that sometimes I forget. Forgive me?”
The familiar mix of guilt and annoyance knotted his insides. Reminded him acutely of the failings Laura had accused him of. For despite all that he owed the lady before him, he’d never been able to feel more than gratitude toward her. A sense of obligation.
“There is nothing to forgive,” he said curtly. “May I present to you Mr. William McLeod? Will, say hello to Lady Patrice, the Dowager Duchess of Strathaven.”
***
