Page 97 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“I canna believe you refused me that first time, in Newcastle,” she said with a grin.

“I was a fool.”

“I thought it was sweet, though.”

“Did you?”

“Aye. You trying to protect me.”

“We’re far beyond that now,” he said, holding her closer. She was his and he was hers. Forever.

She wiggled away, just far enough to see him clearly. “What do you mean?”

He tried to pull her back and when he couldn’t, he nuzzled her chin. “Hmm?”

“What do you mean we’re far beyond that now?”

Wasn’t it obvious? “Now that we’re to be married, of course.”

Her frown should have warned him, but he was too blinded by bliss to notice. “Married?”

“We did just make love, darling.”

“Hardly for the first time.”

“It was the first time knowing each other truly, where both of us understood the consequences, though.”

She sat up then, which he did notice. It was cold where she had been.

“Isobel?”

“I thought I was clear,” she said. “We canna marry.”

A stone lodged in his belly. “What?”

“You’re English. I told you back in Newcastle I would never marry an Englishman.”

He frowned at her. Had he not spoken in a brogue? Had he not worn a kilt? “I don’t understand,” he said. Without the brogue.

“Ach. You do understand, Nick. You just doona want to accept it. You’re an Englishman born and raised—”

“Half English.”

“A viscount. One day you will be a duke.”

“You’re rejecting me because I’m titled?”

“I’m no’ rejecting you. We can still continue . . . this.”

“This?” Something cold slithered through his veins. It might have been desolation.

“Aye. Until I return to Scotland, at least.”

Holy hell. She still planned to return to Scotland?

Why had he not seen this coming? Why had he not expected it?

But then again . . . Who was he trying to fool? She’d intended to return to Scotland all along. She had told him so the day they met.