Page 135 of Wicked Highland Heroes

Eve nodded. “In truth, she will make him a terrible wife. He has no real love for Society. He wants a real wife.”

“A real wife?” He repeated the words slowly. “Unlike what your husband wants, you mean?”

“I am not Grace, as you know,” she said.

“Thank God for small mercies.”

“You may have erred, my lord.”

He turned in his swivel chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Indeed, how?”

“You would have done better with Grace.”

His gaze remained steady on her face for a long moment. “She would gladly return to England with me, whereas you are making plans that will keep you here through next week. Have you plans beyond that, next month perhaps, or maybe even next year?”

“You are making plans to resume your business in England.” She nodded toward the lawyer’s letter—and the note from his mistress. “You are returning to life as usual.”

He didn’t bother to glance at the papers, but said, “I never lied to you, Eve. You knew my life was in England.”

Eve nodded, but feared if she uttered even a whimper she would burst into tears.

They stared at one another in silence for a long moment before he turned his chair back to the desk and picked up the document he’d been reading. “When you go shopping tomorrow, buy what you need to furnish the suite here to your taste.”

Her heart began to pound. “I see.”

“I have been away too long and you made it clear that London was not to your liking. You have the trip to Scotland with my mother and you said you wanted to meet Jean’s daughter—and lest we forget, all the other MacLean relatives who have yet to welcome you into the fold.” He looked up and added, “It seems you’ve found your home, Eve,” then returned his attention to his work.

*****

Erroll tightened the cinch on his horse’s saddle, then pulled the stirrup from the saddle and lowered it to the beast’s side. He grasped the reins and led the horse toward the stable door. His father appeared in the doorway. So his mother had informed the marquess Erroll was leaving. He should have simply left her a note. But he knew he was lying to himself. He wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to so cold a parting.

“You are determined to leave?” his father said when Erroll reached him.

“You knew I would return to England.” Erroll continued out the door and the marquess fell in step on the moonlit path. Though, if he were honest, he hadn’t planned on leaving tonight—or tomorrow, for that matter.

“I assumed you would take your wife with you.”

“She prefers to stay here.” Without me.

“The harvest isn’t for some time yet. Why go so soon—or so suddenly?”

So soon? After his conversation with Eve an hour ago, he had wanted to jump into the saddle and ride until he couldn’t think. He should have done just that.

“Riding at night is not wise,” the marquess said.

“I know every rock on the road to Tobermory,” Erroll answered. “What is there to keep me here?”

“Your wife.”

“I believe a wife is obligated to follow her husband.”

“Can I expect a grandchild next January?” his father demanded.

Erroll gave a mirthless laugh. “You have a great deal of faith in my abilities, sir.”

“I have faith in your inability to stay out of your wife’s bed.”

His father had a point, and it was going to be hell not having her in his bed. “I consummated the marriage.” Several times over. “As to a grandchild, that is in Fate’s hands.”