Page 4 of Sweet Home Highlander
“It’s time I marry,” he began. “I’m nearly thirty andMamanwants it done. You know I can’t deny her anything.”
Aisla felt her shoulders relax. There it was—the truth of the matter. Julien’s mother, Lady Haverille, had grown tired of waiting for her only child to marry. And yes, Aisla did know that he had trouble denying his lovely mother whatever she wished. Lady Haverille was a fine woman, one Aisla adored beyond measure. It still didn’t explain why he’d chosenher. She hadn’t given him, or any other man for that matter, any signal that she was remotely open to marriage.
For one very good reason.
“Thank God,” she said, panicking slightly. “Perhaps we can find you someone else. One of those debutantes, for example.”
He nearly choked on his sip of champagne. Coughing lightly, Julien set his glass on the wide shelf of the balustrade. “You know I don’t have the constitution for a debutante. We are much better suited, and I confess I’ve grown attached to you. I also haven’t helped but notice how you’ve remained whollyunattached these last few years.”
Julien was right. When she’d first joined her aunt in Paris, the offers had come in abundance. And when she’d turned her back on them without hesitation, it had caused a rash of whispers and scandal, wherever she went. But as the years passed, each one tucking Aisla further and further upon the shelf, the scandal had fallen off. So had the offers. No one seemed to care much anymore that she was a ‘spinster.’
If only they knew the truth.
“Julien,” she said with a sudden quiver in the bottom of her stomach. “I cannot marry you.”
She knew rejecting him would not injure his feelings, only his plans. Yet, she still wished she didn’t have to.
“We could be friends,” he said quickly. “Married friends. To be completely honest, Aisla, I’ve not met one woman here, or anywhere, to whom I could picture tying myself for the rest of my life. Except for you.”
Aisla felt a rush of warmth on her cheeks, and with a start, she realized she was blushing. She hadn’t blushed in ages. “You don’t understand,” she said, clasping her hands and twisting her fingers in a burst of nervousness.
“What is there to understand?” He propped an elbow on the balustrade and leaned toward her. “I need a wife, and I’d prefer her to be a friend. We scrub along, don’t we?”
“Of course we do, magnificently, but—”
“Do you find me attractive?” he asked. Aisla’s eyes widened, and she forgot what she’d been about to say. “Because I find you very pretty, and it wouldn’t be troublesome at all, at least not on my end, to…produce an heir.”
“Jules!”
He laughed at her shocked expression. “Very well, if such a thingwouldbe troublesome for you, I have loads of cousins in England and any one of them will do to inherit my fortune. Or we can give it to your family or to charity for all I care.”
The last bit was said with some bitterness. He took her clasped hands and pried her fingers apart to weave them with his own. “I’ve given this a great amount of thought, and I want you to be my wife. Trust me, this will be the perfecttonmarriage of convenience with a little fun thrown in for posterity. It will be a grand old laugh, and we’ll be content with our lot and each other.”
Aisla held his gaze, feeling the warmth of his hands through their gloves, and let out a heavy sigh. For the first time in six years, she swallowed the instant rejection that had leaped onto her tongue after a proposal. To her astonishment, she could see the possible future Julien was offering: a content marriage between friends. Love and lust, and all the messy and disastrous ramifications those two emotions stirred, would never have to enter the equation. Not with Julien. She could have a future…one that allowed her a modicum of true freedom, unlike the act she’d performed for the last six years.
Because the truth was, herfreedomcould end at any minute.
And Julienwasher best friend. Aisla couldn’t remember exactly how they had come to be such good friends. Her aunt, Lady Griselda Sinclair, her mother’s younger sister who had married a Frenchman, had introduced her to Julien at a ball, just like this one, and they had simply fallen in together. He had liked her Scottish brogue, and she had liked his self-deprecating humor. And she had also liked that he’d never thrown in his hat with her other luckless suitors. In fact, he’d gotten a good laugh at all the earls and dukes and counts who had continued to pursue her, only to be rebuffed. She’d never imagined that he’d now be the one standing here, proposing.
He frowned at her. “You’re thinking much too hard about this.”
“It’s just…” she began, though she still felt thrown off-center by the strange notion running through her mind. That maybe this could be a blessing in disguise.
She’d become so used to the idea of growing old, alone. It had, for so long, been preferable to what she had thought was the only possible alternative: a return to Scotland, and to the world she’d left behind. But even after years of living in Paris, Aisla couldn’t leave behind the lingering knowledge that she was running away. That she was hiding. And she was suddenly exhausted. Perhaps what Julien was suggesting could fix that.
“It’s just what?” he prompted, squeezing her fingers.
She shoved away the sobering thought that by traveling this path, she’d be evicting the only man she’d ever loved from her heart. For good.
Aisla shook herself. Hard. She didn’t need love—that road had only brought her heartache and misery. She needed peace. “Very well, I’ll consider it.”
Julien’s smirk vanished. In its place appeared a broad and gleaming smile of victory. “Did you just sayyes?”
Aisla bit her bottom lip and shook her head. “Not exactly. First, there’s something I must tell you. It’s important, and a bit complicated. And it may completely reverse your good opinion of me. You may wish to retract your proposal, in fact.”
“Now, I’m intrigued, little minx.” Julien grinned wickedly and brought her hands to his lips to kiss the back of each one. “Do you have a secret lover I don’t know about? A dark, erotic past full of scandalous secrets?”
“Don’t joke, Jules.” She drew her hands from his. “It’s much worse.”
