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“You know what I mean.” Color lit her cheeks, and she clasped her hands tightly together, as though to pull herself back into order. “An ordinary marriage, a—”

  “Oh, I agree. Our marriage is anything but ordinary, but that is part of its appeal, surely?”

  She was certain he was laughing at her, which rattled her even more. He did not mean he wanted a real marriage; it just amused him to see her lack of sophistication. She glared at him. “I mean that ours is a marriage of convenience, as you said. It is nothing but business.”

  “Ah, but business can be a pleasure as well.”

  “No. That is not what we agreed to. You cannot pretend that you want to . . . to . . .” Her cheeks burned even more hotly.

  “To what?” He moved nearer, not touching her, but holding her captive somehow with his gaze, his closeness, as though his body were a magnet from which she could not pull away. “To have you in my bed? I would think that is the sweetness of wedding.”

  “Our marriage will not be sweet,” she shot back, though she knew the effect was marred by the shakiness in her voice.

  He laughed, light sparkling in his dark blue eyes. “I find that tartness is even more to my taste.” Taking her chin between his thumb and fingers, he bent and touched his lips to hers. Though his kiss was as light as a butterfly’s touch, it set up a raging storm inside her. “But do not fear. I would never force you to do aught you did not want.” He released her chin and moved back, adding with a flash of grin, “But perhaps I can persuade you to change your mind.”

  Now, my dear Miss Ro—I believe it would be quite proper to call you Isobel since we are engaged, don’t you agree?” Jack went on conversationally, as if nothing untoward had just happened. “Shall we announce the happy news to your aunt?”

  He held out his arm and Isobel took it, too distracted to refuse. She had wanted to tell Aunt Elizabeth by herself, unsure how her aunt would take the information, but she could hardly exclude him now, so they went together to break the news of their engagement. To Isobel’s surprise, Elizabeth’s face lit up.

  “That is wonderful!” She jumped to her feet and came forward to kiss Isobel on the cheek. “I have been hoping for this.” She took Jack’s hand in hers, saying playfully, “As soon as I saw you, I thought you were exactly the man for my Isobel. Who could be a better match than one of John’s friends?” She paused, frowning. “Did I say John? How silly of me. I meant . . . um, Isobel’s brother.”

  Isobel started to step in with her brother’s name, for obviously it escaped Elizabeth at the moment. But Jack smiled down at Elizabeth as if he had noticed nothing odd about her response and said smoothly, “Yes, Andrew is the Rose I know. But who is John? Have I met him? If so, I must apologize, for I have quite forgotten his name.”

  Elizabeth beamed back at him. “No, you would not have met John. He was Isobel’s and Andrew’s father. My dear brother. He passed on several years ago—such a good man; it is a shame that he is not here to see this day. You would have liked him, I am sure, and he, you. There are so few left in our family anymore. Just the children—well, and my cousin.” She disposed of Cousin Robert with a little wave of her hand. “No doubt he shall have something disagreeable to say about your engagement. I hope you will not be offended. It is his nature; I think he cannot help it. One simply has to ignore what he says. Come, sit down. Ring for Hamish, Isobel dear, we should have a little toast on this happy occasion.”

  Isobel did as her aunt requested, and as she joined her aunt on the sofa, she flashed a quick smile of gratitude at Kensington. He quirked an eyebrow at her in response and continued his light banter with Aunt Elizabeth. Isobel looked at her aunt. The sparkle that had been more and more missing from Elizabeth’s face had returned. It occurred to Isobel that her aunt seemed to have actually improved since Jack Kensington had arrived. Perhaps the bargain Isobel had struck with him would prove to help Elizabeth more than Isobel had imagined. Surely that would make up for the annoyance of his teasing.

  “When do you plan the nuptials?” Elizabeth asked, turning to Isobel, and Isobel could only stare blankly back at her.

  “We would like to wed as soon as possible,” Jack answered for Isobel, and turned to gaze at her with apparent devotion, mischief lurking in his eyes. “Isobel and I are eager to be together. Aren’t we, my dear?”

  “Yes, of course.” Isobel shot him a quelling look. “Mr. Kensington must return shortly to his obligations in London, so the date has to be soon.”

  He grinned at Isobel, acknowledging her returning shot. “I am sorry to say that is true.”

  “That is too bad,” Elizabeth sympathized. “But you would want to hasten anyway; it will soon be May and you do not want to marry then, of course.” Seeing the puzzlement on Jack’s face, she added, “May is an unlucky month for marriage.”

  “Ah. I was not aware.”

  Isobel nodded.

  “The banns can be read this Sunday, so that will mean we have two weeks to plan for the wedding. Oh, goodness, Isobel, there is such a lot to do. It will have to be small, of course. It is too bad that Andrew will not be here. Do you think if we wrote him today, he could make it here in time?”

  “No.” Isobel smiled at her aunt to soften her flat response. “It will be some time before the letter would reach him, and then he would have to travel all this way. I will have Cousin Robert or Gregory give me away.” She could well imagine how her brother would receive the news of her betrothal to the man who had taken his home from him, and she had no desire to add any fireworks to the situation. “I shall write Andrew a note later, explaining.”

  “What about your family, Mr. Kensington?” Elizabeth turned to him. “You would wish your parents to come, I imagine. Brothers or sisters—I am sorry, I realize I don’t know whether you have siblings.”

  “No, pray do not worry yourself about that,” Jack told her with a charming smile. “You have a great deal to do without adding extra guests. And, as Isobel said, London is too far away. I would not want to delay our wedding day. I am sure you understand.”

  “Oh, indeed.” Aunt Elizabeth chattered on lightly about Isobel’s wedding dress, the feast, the guest list. “You can wear my mother’s pearls,” she told Isobel, then frowned a little and cast an inquiring glance at Jack. “I just realized—a wedding ring?”

  “I don’t have one,” he confessed. “Our engagement was rather . . . unexpected.”

  “If you do not mind, there is Isobel’s mother’s ring. The one John gave her— Oh!” Elizabeth’s eyes widened.

  “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  “No. No, dear. I just had a thought.” The older woman jumped to her feet. “Wait. I shall be back in a tick.”

  Isobel and Jack glanced at each other, equally baffled. A few minutes later, Elizabeth bustled back into the room, a silver object in her hand. “I realized that I had the perfect thing for you, Mr. Kensington.”

  She held out her hand, and Isobel saw a pocket watch and chain. The cover was ornate, with raised figures in a sylvan setting. Taking Jack’s hand, Elizabeth laid the watch in his palm. “This was my father’s watch.”

  He glanced at her, startled. “But, ma’am . . . you cannot wish to give this away.”

  “Please, I want you to have it. I should have given it to my brother, but I could not bear to let it go.”

  “But surely it should go to someone in your family. Sir Andrew . . .”

  “But you are in our family now.” Elizabeth smiled, closing his fingers over the watch, and gave his hand a little pat. “It should be yours. I am certain of it.”

  He sat back, looking bemused.

  “I never knew you had Sir Malcolm’s watch,” Isobel said, leaning over to look at it. Jack opened his hand, holding it out. An odd, almost wary look was in his eyes. Isobel traced her forefinger over the embossing. “It’s beautifully done.”

  “Yes, and it’s engraved on the inside with the Rose emblem.” Elizabeth smiled in the sad, fond way she did whenever she spok
e of her father. “I remember he once said that emblem was on everything he owned. Papa gave this watch to me that night when he came home from France.”

  “Really?” Isobel turned to her aunt, intrigued.

  Elizabeth nodded. “I remember it clearly. I woke up when he came into my room. He was standing beside my bed, looking down on me. He sat down on the side of my bed. I was so happy to see him. He hugged me and laughed—he had such a wonderful laugh—and he said that he had told me he would come back. How could I not believe him? But he had to go away again to help the prince. I knew Prince Charlie needed help; I had heard my mother and Uncle Fergus worrying about what would happen. But I told Papa someone else could help the prince; I wanted Papa to stay with us.” She smiled, tears of memory welling in her eyes.

  Isobel took her hand, squeezing it, and Elizabeth sent her a grateful smile.

  “Of course, he did not stay. But he promised that he would return as soon as he could. And he gave me his pocket watch. He kept the winding key, though, and he said he was stopping time until he came back to me. It was his pledge to return.” Elizabeth let out a little sigh. “He never did.”

  “But this is proof that my grandfather returned from France!”

  “Yes, dear, I told you that many times.”

  “Yes, but . . . you said that the others didn’t believe you. How could they not when you had his watch?”

  “I didn’t tell them. I should have, I know.” Elizabeth sighed. “I was afraid that if I showed it to them, they would take it away. I was just a child, and I thought they would not let me keep so valuable an object. Besides, Papa had given it to me and told me it was our secret, his pledge that he would return. In my child’s mind, I feared that if I told anyone, he would never return. If I held it close to me and kept it safe, he could still come back.” She shrugged. “Foolish, I know, but children think differently.”

  “No, not foolish,” Isobel assured her. “I understand.”

  “After I was older . . . well, it always made Mother sad to talk about him. She said she had not seen him that night. I thought, What if he really hadn’t gone to see her? Or if he slipped into her room to see her as he did with me, but she had not awakened. I thought she would feel worse, knowing she had missed the chance to see him again. Besides, I wasn’t about to give people the satisfaction of trying to prove my words. Let Uncle Fergus and the others think what they liked. I knew the truth.”

  “Look.” Jack, who had been examining the watch, held it out to Isobel, opened to reveal the works beneath the face. “There is its trademark beside the number: Le Roy. And at the bottom: Paris.”

  “Did he purchase it while he was in France?” Isobel’s voice rose in excitement.

  “I don’t know.” Elizabeth frowned. “I cannot remember whether he had always worn it or not. Perhaps he did buy it there. It would make sense.” She gazed off into the distance, then shrugged. “But that is all past. Now is what is important. What do you think—is there time to make you a new dress? David Grant’s wife is very quick with a needle, but have we any material suitable?”

  “I am sure one of my dresses will do fine.”

  “Oh, but we must! A bride must have a dress made for the occasion—though you must not see it until you put it on, of course, but we can fit it from one of your other dresses. I am sure Mr. Kensington would want to see his bride in something lovelier than ‘fine.’ ”

  “He will not care,” Isobel put in, which earned her a quizzical look from her future spouse.

  “Miss Rose,” he said smoothly, “you are quite right. Isobel deserves the most elegant of frocks. However, I would hate to delay the wedding for the dress. My eagerness to make Isobel my own outpaces my desire to see her clothed as she deserves. Besides”—he looked toward Isobel with the lazily teasing smile to which she was growing increasingly accustomed—“I know that Isobel will be beautiful whatever she wears.”

  “Very prettily put,” Isobel retorted with some asperity.

  “Yes, it is.” Her aunt beamed at Jack. “But we will manage it, never fear. Mrs. Grant and I shall put our heads together.”

  Isobel’s eyes drifted over to Jack, who had returned to studying her grandfather’s pocket watch, absently rubbing his thumb over the raised figures. He was not, she thought, as immune to emotion as he chose to believe.

  If her aunt had not reacted to the engagement in the way Isobel had expected, there were certainly no surprises in Cousin Robert’s reception of the news. The day after the banns were posted, she saw Robert’s carriage lumbering up the road to the house.

  “Cousin Robert is here,” she announced to her aunt, who was happily embroidering the neckline of a lawn nightgown.

  “Bother!” Elizabeth poked her needle into the material and set the hoop aside. “I knew that man would make a fuss.”

  “I suppose we might as well go down. ’Tis pointless to put him off.”

  They had reached the foot of the stairs just as Robert handed his hat and gloves to Hamish. “Isobel!” he barked, striding over to her. “What can you be thinking! Posting banns! To marry that English usurper!”

  “You should be thankful, Cousin,” Isobel told him lightly. “After all, now you will not have to worry about my reputation, sleeping under the same roof as an unmarried man.”

  “Do you dare to make light of this—this travesty of a marriage? Your father must be turning in his grave.”

  Isobel’s face hardened, but she said only, “I suggest we take our conversation into the drawing room—unless, of course, you relish airing our family quarrels to the world.”

  Robert scowled, but swung around and strode down the hall to the drawing-room door, belatedly stopping and stepping aside to allow Elizabeth to enter the room before him. Isobel hung back to take Gregory’s arm and strolled more slowly down the hallway.

  “I am sorry,” Gregory told her ruefully. “I tried to stop him, but you know how he gets when he is convinced he’s right.”

  “I’m sure you did your best.” Since Gregory’s father was always sure he was right, Isobel could not imagine how he acted otherwise.

  “Isobel . . .”

  She glanced up at Gregory and saw that her cousin’s usually cheerful face was creased in a frown. “Oh, Gregory, not you, too!”

  “Is this really what you want to do?” he went on in a rush, his voice low and urgent. “I cannot think that you care for this man. He is a stranger.”

  “Don’t be absurd. Of course I don’t care for him. But most people do not marry for love.”

  “Perhaps not. But you! I hate to think that you must. It is not right that you should be placed in such a position.” He set his jaw manfully, his expression one of preparing to take his medicine. “Isobel, you know that . . . that you have only to say the word. That is, I would be most honored if you would agree to . . . to become my wife.”

  Isobel let out a gurgle of laughter. “I can see that you have ‘screwed your courage to the sticking place.’ But there is no need for such a sacrifice.”

  “’Tis no sacrifice,” her cousin protested. “You know that I have always loved you.”

  “Yes, of course. Just as I love you. We both know that it is not in the way of a husband and wife.”

  “No, of course not, but—hang it, you need not do this to put a roof over your head. My father is not the easiest of men, but he would welcome you into our home.”

  “It is not the solution, as you are well aware. Cheer up.” She gave his arm a squeeze as they stepped inside the drawing room. “It isn’t as if I am going to the guillotine.”

  Robert, who had been striding impatiently up and down the room, wheeled around and glared at her. “How could you do this?” He turned to pin Elizabeth with the same scowl. “How could you let her?”

  “I think it is a wonderful idea,” Elizabeth retorted. When he snorted, she added, “It’s time we had some new blood around here.”

  “New blood! That’s what you call joining one of the oldest
, proudest names in the Highlands to some English rabble? You have no idea who his family is or what sort of gutter he crawled out of.”

  “I know who he is,” Isobel shot back, her eyes flashing. “He is the man who is about to become my husband, and I will not allow you to speak ill of him under his own roof!”

  Robert blinked, taken aback, but he was not silent long. “Have you written Andrew about this?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “Why?” He gaped at her. “He is your brother. The Laird of Baillannan.”

  “Not any longer. He lost Baillannan—tossed it away like an old shoe. It is his fault we are in this position. He hadn’t the sense to even hold on to his inheritance; I certainly don’t intend to seek his advice. And I do not need his permission to marry. He is not my keeper.”

  “You need a keeper if this is the kind of decision you make.”

  “I am doing what is best for me and my aunt, as well as what is best for this land and the people on it. You have nothing to say about the matter. Nor does Andrew. He is my brother, and I love him, but he does not rule me—nor Baillannan, come to that.”

  “She is right.” A voice came from behind them, and Isobel swung around to see Jack Kensington standing in the doorway, his face as hard as granite. “I am the owner of Baillannan. And if you have objections to me or to our marriage, then you had best say them to me.”

  I will not have you upsetting Miss Rose,” Jack said, crossing the room to Robert.

  Robert’s eyes bulged, his color rising dangerously, and he spluttered, “Why . . . why . . . how dare you! She is my niece, and I will speak to her as I please.”

  “No. You will not. Isobel is my wife.” He slanted a glance at her and a smile touched his lips. “Or as near to it as matters.” His gaze returned to the other man, and nothing of a smile was left on his face. “If you berate her again, I will tell the servants to toss you out on your ear. Have I made myself clear?”

  The older man gaped at Kensington, and there was utter silence in the room. Isobel came up beside Jack, saying, “I believe you’ve made it amply clear.” She laid a hand on his arm and turned to her cousin. “I suggest we all sit down. Aunt Elizabeth, why don’t you ring for tea.”