How to Marry a Highlander

“Ye’d best be going nou, Miss Teresa Finch-Freeworth o’ Brennon Manor at Harrows Court Crossing in Cheshire.”

Good gracious, he’d been paying attention. He said her name with such lush Highland music that the wobbliness spread from her knees to every one of her joints. “I haven’t done anything like this before,” she said. “But it’s you.”

“Aye?”

“And I think . . . I know . . . That is . . .”

His whiskers were dark and scant and framed the most perfect lips she had ever seen.

“What have ye heard o’ me, lass?”

“Nothing.” Not true.

“Do ye ken I’ve no money? That the coffers be dry? Ye’d get nothing from me were I to take ye on, no even a solid roof over yer head.”

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘taking me on.’”

“Ye’ve run away from home?”

“No. That is, not precisely. I came here to—” She stepped back from him.

“You think I have run away from home to become an actress or some other sort of low female and am throwing myself upon you in the hopes that you will become my protector. Like your sister, Effie, said. Don’t you?”

He lifted a single expressive brow.

“I am not,” she said. “I have the most respectable of intentions toward you.

And myself.”

“I dinna suppose yer father knows o’ this.”

“My parents do not know I am here. Naturally,” she added. “They would think this as preposterous as you clearly do.”

“Mebbe because it is.” Then he touched her again, but this time not on her face. He skimmed his knuckles across her shoulder and followed the action with his gaze. A perfectly delicious little shiver wiggled through her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Lass, do ye ken what a man thinks when a leddy visits him at his home?”

That she was yearning for more touches like that one? “You mean the home he shares with his seven sisters?”

A glimmer lit his eyes. “Touche.”

“My lord, I have a proposal for you.”

“Anither?”

“Amended, since you rejected my first proposal.”

“That I did.”

“If I promised that I would not consider myself compromised and demand marriage, would you kiss me now?”

His brow grew dark. “No.”

No? What sort of man would not kiss a woman who offered kisses freely?

“Are you rejecting me because you find me unappealing?”

Slowly that single brow lifted again and he tilted his head slightly as though to suggest she was only now beginning to speak foolishly. And his gaze dipped to her mouth anew.

Her stomach did twirling tumbles.

“What if I find a husband for one of your sisters? Would you kiss me in return for that?”

“Ma family’s business is none o’ yours to meddle in, miss.”

“That is no doubt true. But what if in the course of regular social engagements I happened to introduce a suitable gentleman to one of your sisters and she subsequently became betrothed? Then I would not precisely be meddling, would I?”

He scanned her upturned face. “Yer mad as a hatter.”

“Not really.” Only desperate and somewhat infatuated. “Would you?”

A rumble of laughter sounded deep in his chest. “Aye.”

“You agree to it?”

“I’ve just said so.”

She should immediately dash away and begin planning. Diantha and her husband knew plenty of men in town, some of them noblemen. It could not be too difficult to find one who would take an interest in the sister of a Scottish earl, even a poor one. At least three of the Eads ladies were pretty, and one was stunning.

“All right then.” She turned toward the door then paused. “What if I find husbands for three of them?” An advantage not pressed was an advantage lost forever. “Would you marry me then?”

“No.”

“I could do it.” She could? She would.

“Ye willna.”

“How do you know that? I have an extensive acquaintance in town, among them any number of marriageable gentlemen your sisters could like.” A slight exaggeration, soon to be remedied.

But he knew she was speaking with bravado. Skepticism lit his eyes. He crossed his arms loosely. “Do ye, then?”

“I might very well find husbands for three of your sisters. They are lovely, after all.”

“They may be.” He nodded. “But I’ll no marry ye.”

“All right. I understand,” she said evenly, but her cheeks burned. Her hair must look ridiculous. “But what if I do find husbands for three of your sisters?

What would you do?”

“Anither kiss?” His mouth tilted up at one side. It almost seemed like he was enjoying himself.

“That would not be fair, of course.” The heat spread from her cheeks to her throat and beneath the lace edging of her bodice. “I should expect something else, something . . . more substantial as my prize.”

He waited.

“Would you touch me somewhere inappropriate for an unmarried lady to be touched by a man?” she said in a rush.

He simply stared at her.

“Without any promise of marriage,” she added quickly. She was mad. She would ruin herself with this. But she had already ruined herself. If anyone in society discovered that she had pursued an interview with a bachelor in his rooms she would be cut from every respectable house in town.

“This wee wager is getting interesting,” he murmured, and his voice sounded somehow deeper. It sent a delicious little thrill of sensation right up the center of her belly.

“I’m not planning to set myself up as anybody’s mistress,” she clarified.

“It’s only that . . .” She straightened her shoulders. “Well, it’s really none of your business, especially if you won’t marry me.”

“I’ll agree to it.”

Her breaths hitched. “You will?”

He nodded slowly. “Aye.”

Her throat got caught on several swift swallows. “All right.” Press the advantage. “What about five?”

“Five touches?” His eyes glimmered with something new, something hot and intentional.

“Five husbands,” she said thickly. “For your sisters. What if I find husbands for five of your sisters?”

“Ye willna.”

“I might.”

“Unlikely.”

“But not impossible.”

“Nearly.”

“Do you have such a poor opinion of your own siblings?”