If You Give A Girl A Viscount

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The hot bath had restored a healthy glow to Daisy’s cheeks. Now she lay in her old bed in the left turret at Castle Vandemere, safe and warm, bundled up and sipping a steaming mug of whisky punch Hester had concocted for her.

Charlie couldn’t believe how close she’d come to being taken away from him.

“You’ll stay here,” he said, doing his best to sound stern. “No going off to Rose Cottage.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “All right. I’ll stay in my room one night, and then go back.”

Not if he could help it.

The ceilidh had disbanded—again. His family had returned to the Keep. He was here alone with her, except for Hester, knitting in her old kitchen, and Joe, who was busy putting back all the whisky from the secret cellar he’d removed not an hour before. Charlie told him he wanted everyone to return to Castle Vandemere and so there was no need for Joe to confiscate it in the first place.

Charlie pulled Daisy’s new slipper out of his coat. “Here,” he said, feeling awkward. “I found this at the Stone Steps.”

Daisy sucked in a breath. “Mr. Glass’s slipper. I kicked the other one off by accident, before Perdita got me to the bog.”

He chuckled. “We’ll find it in the morning, you can be sure of that.”

“Thank you.”

Her expression was drawn, and she was so quiet. So meek. It worried him.

He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you changed your mind and were planning to come to the ceilidh.”

Her smile was tentative. “Your grandmother—my godmother—came to visit me. She brought me a beautiful gown”—her eyes filled with tears, and he took her hand and squeezed it—“that my … my mother once wore.”

Charlie held on to her hand. “Grandmother told me the story. And she showed me the gown. I’m so sorry it was ruined.”

Daisy wiped a tear away from her eye with her free hand. “I’m sad about the gown, but it saved me, in a way. My sleeve got caught on the branch Perdita was using to prop me up. It was like a hook, and I was the fish. A very grateful fish.”

“You always were the fish I wanted,” Charlie told her.

“Yes, Mona tried to tempt you with more elegant fish that day we ate the trout we caught together, but you were stubborn.”

He grinned, and she grinned back.

A little.

Actually, not very much.

He suppressed the feeling of panic that swelled in his chest and contented himself with the knowledge that she hadn’t released his hand.

He mustn’t be selfish. She’d just been through a horrible trauma. He shouldn’t expect to see her happy grin so soon after.

But the truth was, her happy grin was what he lived for.

He wanted her to be his lover and his wife, his companion and his very best friend. And he wanted her to know all this … but was it the right time?

Or a very wrong time?

She sat quietly watching him.

“So you liked the slippers?” he asked her.

She nodded. “They were exquisite. And such a gift. It’s uncanny how well Lucy knows me—even though she hasn’t seen me since I was a baby.”

Charlie took a deep breath. “I commissioned those slippers.”

Daisy’s eyes widened, and she pulled her hand out of his. “You?”

“Yes,” he said. “I bought them for you. With money.”

“That’s the usual way you buy something,” she said pertly. “Oh, unless you’re in the Highlands. And then you can buy things with whisky. That’s what Joe says.”

This time her grin was definitely a grin.

“I was too green to know that,” Charlie replied, his heart warming. “And even if I had, I wouldn’t have done it. I wanted to use money. I wanted to lose the bet I made with my friends in London.”

“The bet,” Daisy murmured. “You aren’t supposed to use money, especially to help Lucy’s goddaughter.”

“Yes, I know. Because if I do, I’ll be thrust onto the Marriage Mart.”

“Poor you,” Daisy said, some of her old sparkle reemerging.

He pulled a tendril of hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. “You see, there’s this girl I love. And I was very afraid to love her, even though she’s the most perfect girl in the world.”

“She is?”

“Oh, yes. Perfect for me. But I was hiding behind a silly mask—the mask of the misunderstood man of wealth—and I was using it to avoid facing the truth.”

“What is the truth?” Her face was so close to his, her breath warmed his cheek.

“The truth is,” he said, rubbing her shoulders, “that I was afraid I was worth nothing beyond my riches. But it was easier to blame the opportunists who longed to pilfer my wallet than to blame myself for allowing my life to mean nothing.”

She nodded.

“Remember you asked me what kind of man I was?”

“Yes, I do.”

“At the time, I really didn’t know.” She reached up and stroked his cheek with her palm. He grabbed her hand and held it over his heart. “But I know now. It’s why I’m rebuilding Castle Vandemere and the Keep. I’m building a life for my perfect lady and me, right here in the Highlands. I’m no longer afraid she won’t love me without my riches. I know she loves who I am, the man who is poor without her.”

“Charlie.”

They kissed—a sacred, wondrous kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, a haven for his hungry soul.

Just as he’d wrapped her in his arms, a droning began beneath the turret window. It was like a swarm of sleepy bees buzzing out of tune.

Daisy pulled back, a question in her eyes.

“I told three pipers to stay,” he whispered. “You haven’t forgotten The Legend of the Two Lovers at the Ceilidh on the Last Night of the Hunt, have you?”

She shook her head, her eyes bright.

He got down on one knee next to the bed and pulled her father’s ring from his coat pocket. “Darling Daisy, I love you with all my heart and soul. I long for you to do me the great honor of being my wife, to have and to hold for the rest of my life, with many of those years spent right here at Castle Vandemere with the children and grandchildren I hope to share with you. Will you marry me, my Golden Girl?”

“Oh, yes, my Golden Prince,” she said softly, tears in her eyes.

His heart nearly burst with happiness at her answer, and he slid the ring on her finger.

She stared at it, her mouth agape. “Papa would be so happy!” she finally said. And then she laughed and wriggled up through the bedclothes to her knees and flung her arms about Charlie’s neck. “I love you to pieces,” she said with the grand abandon he’d come to cherish.

And when their lips met again, the poignant, wild notes of “Will Ye Go, Lassie” floated up to them on the brisk mountain air, a Highland song celebrating a braw, bricht love—the kind that lasts forever.