Page 99 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“Most probably, yours,” Ewan said helpfully. “Apples and trees and all.”

Which resulted in another screech.

Mother tipped up her chin. “The point being, if my son says he dinna besmirch your daughter, I believe him.”

“He’s lying,” Lady Swofford spat. “How can you explain the fact that I found the two of them in his room in the wee hours, and she was completely naked?”

“Because I made the mistake of not locking my door?” This Nick said sarcastically, but even to his own ears, it came out wrong. He meant he hadn’t locked his door when he left, not when closeted with Celia in there. And damnation, it was just the fuel Lady Swofford needed.

“I demand satisfaction,” she said in a lofty tone.

Uncle Ewan tipped his head to the side, and his brow wrinkled. “You want a duel?”

“No, I don’t want a duel, you filthy barbarian. I want a proposal.”

Nick’s gut clenched. Bile licked at the back of his throat. Panic made his blood grow cold.

Celia Swofford as a wife?

It would be untenable.

He would be miserable.

And Isobel . . .

Well, there would be no Isobel, would there?

He glanced up at that moment, as though drawn to her by fate, to see her step into the room. Her expression was somber. Her hands were twined. Her face was pale. They shared a speaking glance, one of regret and desperation and bitter defeat.

It was over between them.

There was no escape.

“You expect my son to propose?” Mother looked a trifle wan.

Uncle Ewan bristled. “You canna prove he’s taken her.”

“You can’t prove he hasn’t,” Lady Swofford said smugly.

Sadly, she was right.

And then a glorious voice rang out, cold and clear in the room. “He wasn’t with Celia last night.”

Nick whipped around and gaped at Isobel. Something cold coiled in his gut. He knew what she was going to do, just knew. And he knew the consequences to any confession, even if she thought she could flout them. And it could destroy her. “Darling. No—”

Susana Lochlannach stood up and stared at her daughter. “What are you saying, Isobel?”

She swallowed heavily, tipped up her chin, and said, “He was with me. All night long.”

Gasps rounded the room, accompanied by Lady Esmeralda’s whispered, “Good show.”

Isobel’s father stood then, as well, and glowered at Nick, making a growling sound at the back of his throat.

Lady Swofford snorted. “Liar!” And then, inconsistently, “Whore!”

Andrew Lochlannach turned his glare on her, which was a relief, but only for a moment. Nick knew it would be back. Perhaps accompanied by a fist.

“I can prove it,” Isobel said, and the cacophony in the room fell silent.