The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(53)

“I need to talk to you.”

Hamish nodded to his bags. “I’m busy.”

“This is important.”

Honestly. Nothing was more important than getting packed and getting the hell out of this house. His soul couldn’t take much more. That one conversation with Elizabeth had nearly destroyed him. She’d looked nearly as miserable as he was.

Yet there was nothing he could do to save either of them. And that was the worst part about this whole catastrophe.

“I have an idea.”

Hamish sighed. Obviously she was not going to go away. He dropped onto his bed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “All right.”

“I know Elizabeth is sacrificing herself for us—”

“How on earth do you know that?”

“She told me.”

To his consternation, Mary sat on the bed beside him. Absolutely inappropriate, but he didn’t have it in him to protest. “She told you?”

“She didn’t mean to, of course. It just slipped out, don’t you know.”

“I see.”

“I don’t want her to marry Twiggenberry if it will make her unhappy. And it does seem to.”

“I can imagine.”

Her button nose wrinkled. “He does . . . smell.” This last bit she whispered conspiratorially.

“I had noticed.”

“Anne doesn’t want to marry.”

“Aye?” His brow quirked, not sure how this signified.

“Victoria is in love with Peter Ross.”

Hamish nodded. He’d noticed the mutual interest the two seemed to have for each other, and after a conversation with Duncan, Peter’s new brother-in-law and guardian, all Hamish’s concerns about the boy’s previous wildness had been laid to rest. “And?” he prompted when Mary did not seem inclined to continue.

“And . . .” She grinned. “That leaves me.”

Suddenly, he understood.

What a sweet, sweet lass. She was talking about the barriers keeping Elizabeth locked into a betrothal she did not want. What a pity her clever plotting would be for naught.

“What about you?” he had to ask.

“I couldn’t care less about a society wedding,” she said. “In fact, I have much . . . simpler tastes.”

Simpler tastes? He had no idea what she was alluding to, but judging from her expression, she assumed he was following.

“What if I ran away? Say, with a footman?”

He blanched. “Doona even jest about that.”

“It could help.”

“It will no’ help.”

“Of course it could. If Elizabeth’s indiscretion could ruin my reputation, then my indiscretion could ruin hers. Twiggenberry would have to toss her aside.”

“Not necessarily.”

“But she could refuse him then, couldn’t she? If she were not trying to protect us? Her sisters? Three women who neither want nor need such protection?”

Was he mad, or was she starting to make sense? Or was his rising hope engulfing his reason?

“There is still the duke’s reputation to consider,” he found himself saying. “You owe better to a man who took you in on trust. We all owe it to him to honor his reputation.”

She peered at him as though she could see far too much of his soul.

“What do you owe the duke?” she asked.

“Everything.” He’d saved Hamish’s life and livelihood.

Mary put out a lip and kicked her feet, making her look very young indeed. “You know him. Do you think he would care so much what high society thought of his relatives?”

Hamish nearly laughed. Lachlan would probably like them better if they did mutiny. But he could hardly say that to this child. She was far too volatile. “I canna, in good conscience, advise you to ruin your life with such folly.”

“Pfft. You know I don’t give a fig.”

“Nae doubt your aunt would.”

Mary smiled. It was a horrifying smile for a man to see because he had no idea what it meant, but it made little skitters dance up his spine. “She would forgive me.” Then she patted him on the hand, hopped to her feet, and quit the room. But not before smiling again and saying, “Thank you for the talk.”

He wasn’t sure if he’d made things better or worse.

But if he were a betting man, he’d go for worse.

*

He fully intended to relay the conversation to Ranald and ask for his take on it, but when he came over from Ross House the next morning, the household was in an uproar.

Mary, it seemed, was as good as her word.

She had, indeed, run away.

And Jamison, the handsome young footman without two farthings to rub together, had gone with her.





Chapter Nineteen


“I knew she was planning something.” Elizabeth honked into a handkerchief. Since she’d gone to wake Mary and discovered her closet in a riot—with key items missing—she hadn’t been able to stop crying. “This is all my fault.”

“It is not your fault,” Victoria insisted. “We all know how impulsive Mary is.”

Elizabeth gaped at her. “She ran away. With a footman!”

“My point exactly. And incidentally, she is in love with Jamison.”