Page 52 of The Highlander Is All That

“Catherine will never say yes to Tiverton.”

Anne huffed a laugh. “That is true.”

“Though I do hope they come back soon. I miss them.”

Something in Elizabeth’s tone caught her attention. “Them?”

“Of course, them. Both of them.”

This flicker of jealousy did not become her. Surely Elizabeth didn’t have a soft spot for Ranald. She could only pray that was the case. “I suppose they have become a part of the household, in a manner of speaking.”

Elizabeth laughed and clapped her hands, which was, above all things, annoying. “I can’t believe this is you saying that! You hated having them here.”

Anne bent and sniffed a rose to hide her blush. “They grow on you.”

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear that.”

Anne eyed Elizabeth warily. She did sound pleased. Far too pleased. “Why do you say that?”

“Do you promise not to tell anyone?”

Oh. Dear. Something sank in Anne’s belly. It felt like a stone. “How can I promise without knowing what it is?”

“You have to. Or I won’t tell.”

Really. Sometimes Elizabeth was so vexing. But she had to know. Her heart pounded with some strange dread. “All right. I promise.”

Elizabeth leaned in and whispered, “I think I love him.”

Oh. Dread, indeed. Nasty bile rose to tickle the back of her throat and she swallowed it down. “Love him?” she parroted.

“Yes.” A gush.

Her mind ceased to work. Somehow she managed to say, “But you’ve only just met him. How can you know it’s love?”

It was a question she’d asked herself more than once. But now she feared the answer.

Elizabeth hugged herself and twirled around the aisles between the roses and the potted palms. “It’s the way I feel when he looks at me. When he holds me. When we kiss . . .”

Anne’s head went woozy. They’d kissed? Oh dear. This was worse than she’d thought. And now that she thought about it, Ranald had never said or done anything in the least romantic. He’d never once intimated that he felt a certain way for her. All his glances, smiles, gentle touches . . . Not the least bit amorous.

It had all been in her head.

In her imagination.

She’d thought she’d seen that warmth in his eye, but he was the one who’d insisted on friendship, hadn’t he?

Her cheeks went hot as a familiar mortification washed through her.

“I am certain he feels the same. He told me he did.”

“He told you?” Of course he would. Elizabeth was enchanting and lovely and young—

“So what do you think? Would you come and visit us if Hamish and I get married? I know you don’t like Scotland, but I couldn’t bear not seeing you at least once in a while.”

“Of course I would, darling—”

Wait. Had she said Hamish?