Page 32 of The Scot is Hers
they could go rot.
“Ye’d best get going before the ninnies come banging on my door, demanding ye return.”
He looked at her; his features pinched as though he were in pain. She wanted to soothe that obvious distress, but there was nothing she could do. She wasn’t his, and he wasn’t hers.
“What if I did no’ have to worry about them?” He let go of the handle and turned to face her fully.
Giselle squinted, trying to read his mind, but nothing was forthcoming from him. “What do ye mean?”
“What if I was already spoken for?”
Giselle laughed and clapped. “Ye would make up a pretend bride-to-be? Oh, how devious.”
“Nay, ye misunderstand. I would no’ make her up. She would be verra real.”
Giselle frowned, pursing her lips. “Oh, then where would ye find her on such short notice? I daresay the ladies below stairs are in it for the money but won’t agree until the amount has been negotiated and the ink dried on the contract.” She shook her head. “Anyone else would take a day or more to arrive, but I suppose it could be worth the wait.”
“Ye are quite right about the ladies downstairs, and the timing no’ being ideal. But I was no’ suggesting any of them.”
“A maid then? Good idea. They will be more than willing to agree and probably will no’ even ask for a signed agreement. Though your mother might throw a fit.” She nodded at that thought, imagining the countess’s fury when her son came to her with a servant on his arm. His mother was every cliché listed for an aristocratic woman.
“No’ a maid.” Alec’s voice had taken on a strange tone.
Giselle tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Ye have me at a disadvantage, sir. Give me a clue. Is she here at Slains?”
“Aye,” he drawled out. He seemed to think she’d guess the answer right away.
“Ah, so we are to play a game of clue. I verra much enjoy that one. Is she a lady?”
“Aye.” He made a gesture with his hand for her to keep guessing.
“Have I met her?” She picked up a sandwich and took a tiny bite.
“Aye.”
“Hmm…” Giselle tapped her chin, thinking about every female in the house. This was a conundrum. Were any of the lasses in attendance not downstairs? Perhaps this was a trick question.
Alec let out a long-exaggerated sigh. “For the love of God, woman. I am proposing thatyeandImake a match.”
“What?” Giselle dropped her plate of sandwiches.
Alec grimaced. “I see that was a mistake.” He started to turn, but she stopped him.
“Alec, ye have to stop running away.”
“This, coming from ye?” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
Giselle waved away the obvious. “Please do explain, sir. Ye merely surprised me is all.”
“Ye need out of your engagement, and I need into one. I am proposing a business deal.”
A business deal. A transaction. A marriage of convenience.
Giselle had hated so very much that her first engagement was an exchange of her person for a coffer of coins, and yet, for some reason, with Alec’s proposal, it felt as if she had control in the matter. Could a marriage of convenience free them both from their unwanted troubles, or would the arrangement become incrediblyinconvenient?
Then again, if she didn’t agree, her parents would eventually find her, and there was still the chance they would force her to wed Sir Joshua. That would be a fate far worse than being tied to Alec. Still, she couldn’t help the rib that came to mind when she imagined walking into the parlor, and the announcement was made that she had won the earl’s hand. For that was what it would be, a game that she’d won.
“Are ye telling me that no’ even Lady Mary could convince ye to become her husband?” She smiled teasingly.
