Page 58 of The Highlander Is All That

But lord, she hoped he did not.

* * *

By the time they got home, Elizabeth was starving. She marched over to the bellpull and gave it a yank.

“I say,” Esmeralda said. “What are you doing?”

“Ordering sandwiches. And cake.”

“We just came from a banquet,” her aunt sputtered.

Victoria sniffed. “Hardly a banquet.”

“I couldn’t eat a bite.” Elizabeth glared at Victoria when she sniggered.

“Too nervous in front of your earl?” her sister said coyly.

“He is not my earl.”

“He could be.” There was no need for her aunt to remind her.

“His pomade makes me ill.”

“Really?” Esmeralda stared at her. “That is an easy thing to change.”

“Is it?” But it hardly mattered. It would not be enough.

Unless there was a magic wand that could turn Twiggenberry into a tall, nut-brown Scotsman with laughing eyes, she would not be interested.

And even if such a wand existed, she would still want Hamish.

She couldn’t help it.

Her sisters and aunt sat with her as she had her tea tray—which had been delivered by Jamison—and she tried not to be annoyed when each of them snagged a sandwich or two.

They had already eaten.

She was nearly finished when a voice in the hall captured her attention.

Captured. It.

Low and mellifluous. Familiar. Dear.

Her heart flew into her throat and her head jerked up and . . . ah.

There he was.

She wanted to run to him, throw herself into his arms, and kiss him.

But of course she couldn’t.

Instead, she sat up straight, fixed a blasé expression on her face, and nodded to him. She probably imagined the hint of hurt on his face at her formal greeting.

“You’re back!” Victoria cried.

Apparently she could fling herself into his arms.

And Mary too.