Page 129 of The Highlander's English Bride

“Because I’m never wrong.”

Grant rolled his eyes.

“This is different, though,” Graeme added. “I swear I can see the answer at the edge of my vision, but when I turn, it’s not there.”

“Maybe it’s not at the edge. Maybe it’s right in front of you. And it’s notit. It’sher.”

“Och, it’s bad enough to have both Angus and Nick riding me. I don’t need you piling on as well.” When his twin raised an incredulous eyebrow, Graeme sighed. “Sorry.”

“I always stand with you, no matter what the rest say,” Grant said, very seriously.

“I know. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

“And you don’t deserve Lady Sabrina? She clearly has feelings for you. And you just as clearly have feelings for her. That is splendid, if you ask me. Not something to be avoided.”

“You know why it won’t work,” Graeme tersely replied.

Grant blew out an exasperated sigh. “And you know how I feel about this issue. But clearly I have failed to convince you. Which is insulting, since I’m your twin.”

“It’s not that, ye ken,” Graeme gruffly replied. “Your opinion matters the most.”

While it was true that Grant knew him better than anyone, it was also true that Grant refused to find any fault in Graeme. Because his brother’s love and loyalty was boundless, it made him a bad judge of character when it came to his twin.

“You need to stop punishing yourself for these stupid imaginary crimes,” Grant insisted.

“They’re not imaginary.”

His brother actually began to look annoyed, which took some doing. “If you’d simply talk to Nick or Royal—”

“God, no. They don’t need me mewling like a gouty old bachelor.”

When a thumping sound came from inside the hall, Grant quickly straightened up. “Royal understands our family better than anyone. And he saw everything, too. I can think of no one better to explain exactly why you deserve to be happy, like the rest of us.”

Graeme eyed his twin. “And are you happy?”

“I’m not unhappy, which means I’m in better shape than you.”

When another thump sounded from inside, Graeme frowned. “What the hell is going on in there?”

When he started to brush past, Grant held up a hand. “Promise to speak with Royal, will you, laddie?”

Graeme shrugged. “I promise, not that it matters. With any luck, I’ll never see Sabrina again.”

“Bad luck then, I’m afraid.”

“What are—” The words froze on his tongue as a familiar feminine voice, giving orders, of course, floated out to them.

Graeme pushed his smirking twin aside and stalked into the hall, where he encountered an enormous pile of luggage and Lady Sabrina Bell. She was directing two footmen in the proper disposal of trunks and bandboxes.

“What the hell are you still doing here?” he barked.

Sabrina turned to him with a blindingly cheerful smile. “Ah, Mr. Kendrick. Did everything go well at the docks? No problems, I hope?”

“The only problem is that you’re not on the bloody yacht with the bloody king.”

“Graeme, do stop yelling,” Ainsley said as she joined Sabrina.

Both ladies wore carriage dresses, half boots, and plain bonnets, as if garbed for travel. Of course, the mountain of luggage suggested travel was imminent. Just not to England, apparently.

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