ople look askance at the Countess of Appin. “A princess who stinks of straw and saddle soap – and worse.”
Emily smiled back. “That’s the best sort of princess.”
“Hear, hear,” Quentin said.
Emily’s humor faded until she looked deadly serious. “Which brings me to the other reason I asked to speak to both of you.”
Foreboding gripped Kit. “What is it?”
Emily’s grip on her hand tightened. “Kit the stableboy could spend a night alone in a hut with the laird’s nephew with no questions asked. Not so much the Countess of Appin.”
Kit ripped her hand away and sprang to her feet once more. “But nothing happened.”
Quentin remained by the hearth, but his expression turned troubled. “On my honor, Aunt Emily, we did nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I happen to believe you.” A faint smile hovered around Emily’s lips. “You only call me your aunt in moments of extremity.”
His perturbed expression didn’t ease. “The countess is as pure as the day she was born.”
Emily’s stare was uncompromising. “You’re talking like a child, Quentin. You know it’s appearances that count. Everyone in the glen knows you and Kit were together all night. Kit’s going to have to do her best to smother a scandal anyway, once she takes over her inheritance. Having her painted as a scarlet woman will be a step too far.”
Kit couldn’t help noting through her own horror that Quentin didn’t seem too eager to accept the consequences of his actions. It shouldn’t hurt, but it did.
“The countess is hiding at Glen Lyon to avoid a marriage she doesn’t want. It would be too ironic if she’s forced to make one anyway,” Quentin said hotly, straightening away from the mantelpiece. “The clan will keep quiet about anything that happened last night.”
Emily shook her head with a fond exasperation that did nothing to discount the gravity of their dilemma. “Too many people are privy to the facts. We might restrict the knowledge of Kit’s identity to people on Glen Lyon for a few days. No longer. News of Kit’s night with you will spread out across the Highlands sooner rather than later, and her reputation will be ruined.” Emily glanced between Kit and Quentin. “I’m afraid you two need to get married.”
Chapter 7
Quentin stared across to where Kit – Christabel – stood straight and still in front of the window. He read the frozen horror on her face.
By heaven, what else could he expect? She’d launched this whole dangerous enterprise to escape an unwelcome husband. Now here she was staring down the barrel of a forced marriage. No wonder she looked as sick as a dog, poor wee lassie.
Although he’d thought she liked him. He squashed an unworthy pang at seeing how little appeal the idea of marrying him held. Especially as for him, the idea of life with Christabel Urquhart was infernally appealing.
“Would…would a betrothal not serve as well as a marriage?” Kit asked in a quavery voice that didn’t sound at all like the valiant girl who had been such a stalwart companion through last night’s vicissitudes. “At least until after Christmas when we’ve had a chance to assess how bad any scandal is likely to be.”
“I’m afraid not, Kit. A broken engagement after the fact will only fuel gossip.” Compassion softened Emily’s face. “Being stuck like this isn’t the end of the world, even if it might feel like it right now. Quentin knows how my marriage started out, but you probably don’t. Hamish and I wed to scotch a scandal, too, and we were as innocent of wrongdoing as you are. In fact, you and Quentin are better off than we were. At least you two seem to get along. Hamish and I had known each other for years and we’d spent most of that time fighting like cat and dog.”
Kit’s eyes rounded with astonishment. Those lovely blue eyes that betrayed her every emotion. How in Hades anyone had ever believed this exquisite girl was a boy continued to leave Quentin flabbergasted. Not just a boy, but a rough-and-tumble stable lad at that.
“But you’re so happy together,” Kit said.
Emily’s smile widened. “We are, but we spent most of our first year of marriage living apart. I thought marrying Hamish was the greatest mistake I ever made, yet it’s turned into a glorious blessing from heaven.”
This encouragement didn’t seem to reassure Kit, who looked like a fox facing a slavering pack of hounds. “You were lucky.”
“We were. But that doesn’t mean you won’t be, too.”
“It doesn’t mean we will be either,” she said flatly.
Emily sent them another of those searching looks that seemed to see things Quentin couldn’t. “You’re starting out ahead of us. You like each other.”
“Her ladyship is everything that’s admirable,” Quentin said. “How could anyone fail to like her?”
He saw Kit hide a wince at the use of her title. “And of course I like Quentin.”
Quentin hid his own wince at the lack of conviction that statement conveyed.