Her gaze slid to the painting Mac had just finished, and beyond that to the stack of the nude paintings he’d turned to the wall so that no servant who chanced up here would see them.
Mac had painted all of those pictures of her from love. Payne had painted from crazed jealousy and a strange need. There was a difference, and it was plain to see from the picture that now rested on Mac’s easel.
Mac loved Isabella, truly loved her.
It was obvious in everything he did.
“Mac,” she said in a quiet voice. “Being with you has always been my choice.”
Mac looked up at her with such stark astonishment that her eyes brimmed with tears. “No, I forced the choice upon you,” he said.
She smiled, feeling her mouth shake. “No. You never did. I chose.”
Isabella touched Mac’s face, loving the hardness of his jaw, the rough of his whiskers.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered.
“Poor Mac. You are on your knees for nothing.”
A sudden, rakish smile split his face. “Not for nothing, my sweet. I’ve decided to do it properly this time.”
He was decadent, which made Isabella adore him. He was also half-naked with a gypsy scarf on his head, which made her crave him. She suddenly wanted more than anything to fall against him and have the pair of them land in a happy tangle on the floor.
“Do what properly?” she made herself ask.
“Court you. I’m supposed to be the model gentleman courting a lady, remember? Spilling out my heart in my studio is not the way.”
“I like it,” Isabella said. “It’s perfect.”
Mac’s eyes darkened. “Do not tempt me to ravish you until I’ve done this properly. I’ve never done anything properly with you.”
“Very well, if you must.”
“Isabella Mackenzie.” Mac took her hands again, still on his knees. “There is something important I would like to ask you.”
Isabella’s heart beat swiftly. “Yes?”
“I’ve asked some friends to help me. Will you walk with me over to the window?”
“As you wish.”
It was difficult to be calm while he was being so mysterious. He rose with some difficulty, and Isabella pretended she didn’t notice the soft grunt as he got to his feet. She followed him across the room to the window, whose curtains had been pulled back to let in the light.
Mac flung open the window, and early November air poured into the room. He leaned out and shouted, “Now!”
A band struck up a tune. Isabella peered around Mac and saw the little Salvation Army band, directed by the lady sergeant, pumping away enthusiastically. Next to it stood Cam and Daniel and Mac’s club friends.
They were holding something. At Mac’s bellow, they unrolled and held up a banner that read: “Will You Marry Me?—Again.”
Isabella burst into tears. She turned around to find Mac next to her on one knee, something clutched in his hand.
“The first time I had no engagement ring,” he was saying. “I made you wear one of my rings, remember? It was so big you had to hold it on.” Mac opened his hand, which contained a thin gold ring encrusted with sapphires and one large diamond. “Marry me, Isabella Mackenzie. Make me the happiest man in the world.”
“Yes,” Isabella whispered, and then she turned and shouted it out of the window. “Yes!”
The crowd below cheered. Daniel whooped and punched the air, and Cam was laughing as he dropped the banner, drew out his flask of whiskey, and toasted them.
Mac got to his feet and crushed Isabella against him. “Thank you, my love.”
“I love you,” Isabella said, her heart in every word.
He nuzzled her. “Now, about that baby we were trying to conceive.”
Isabella went hot with excitement. She’d kept the secret for a week now, wanting to make certain Mac was fully healed before she sprang the news on him. “I don’t think it will be necessary to try any longer.”
Mac jerked back, a frown on his face. “I don’t under—” He stopped, not smiling, not angry, just still. “What exactly do you mean?”
“I mean what you suppose I mean.”
The tears that flooded Mac’s eyes were echoed by her own. “Oh, God.” Mac clasped her face between his hands and pressed a hard kiss to her lips.
He released her, turned back to the window, and shouted out of it, “I’m going to be a father!”
Daniel started dancing around, using the banner like a matador’s cape. Bertram Clark cupped his hands around his mouth. “Quick work, old man!”
Mac slammed down the window. He pointedly snapped the curtains across it, shutting off the view, though Isabella could still hear the happy sounds of the brass band.
Mac scooped her to him in strong, strong arms. “I love you, Isabella Mackenzie. You are my life.”
She simply looked at him, beyond words.
They never made it to the bedroom. The paint-smeared gown and Mac’s kilt came off, and he slipped the ring onto her finger as he kissed her on their way down to the floor.
Epilogue
Lord Roland F. Mackenzie and his wife announce the birth of a daughter, Eileen Louisa Mackenzie, in the small hours of the twenty-second of July, Anno Domini Eighteen Eighty-Two.
SCOTLAND, NEAR KILMORGAN CASTLE,
SEPTEMBER 1882
Mac slathered paint on the canvas, ignoring the screams echoing around him. His entire being was transfixed by the green and black shadows of the valley that stretched all the way to the loch in the distance.
Nearby, his wife, younger brother and sister-in-law, nephews, and two children fished, watched fishing, or ran about screaming. At least, Aimee ran about. Ian’s little boy and Mac’s little girl were old enough only to lie in their baskets waving their fists. All three were screaming, however.
Ian was in the painting, standing in a stream in a kilt and loose shirt, his fishing pole steady. Beth and Isabella were the picture’s foreground, two ladies sitting on a picnic blanket, heads together. The two babies’ baskets lay next to them. Daniel headed after Aimee, making her squeal in delight as he chased her. Dogs milled about, all five of them, loping from the ladies to Ian to Daniel and Aimee to Mac, and then starting all over again.
Mac painted with vigor, trying to capture the exact moment of shadow before the ever-changing Scottish sky turned the picture into something new. At last he gave a sigh of satisfaction, threw down the brush, and stretched his arms.
“Gracious, it’s about time you finished,” his lovely red-haired wife said. She’d left off her mourning black for her father about the same time their baby had been safely delivered. Today Isabella wore a gown the color of the summer sky, while Beth sat next to her in bright pink. Two flowers on a Scottish meadow. “I’m famished.”