Hit Me With Your Best Scot (Wild Wicked Highlanders #3) - Suzanne Enoch Page 0,102

considered what you’re doing?”

Drat. “Jane, you heard Lord Hurst. Am I supposed to marry that?”

“And if you don’t?”

Amelia-Rose leaned into the library. Finding it empty, she pulled Jane inside and closed them in. “Explain yourself. And if you mean to tell my mother what happened today, I will—”

“Yes, you won’t be happy. I know.”

“Jane.”

“Amelia-Rose, at this moment you have two men. One who offers you excitement, and one who offers you acceptance. Yes, Lord Hurst is a bit less … cerebral than I expected, given his appearance, but he is well respected. It is a good match. You’ll have those things you’ve been lamenting about since before your parents spoke with Lady Aldriss. You will also have a mother who is pleased and proud of you.”

“But Niall—”

“Yes, Mr. MacTaggert is a force of nature. Heaven knows if he looked at me the way he looks at you, I might well have fallen for him, myself. He is also a youngest son, dependent on his mother for his income and standing, because he has no reputation here at all except for being a barbarian Highlander. He may have promised you a Season in London, but that still leaves another nine months of the year in Scotland. Living in a house, I assume, with his bachelor brothers and his English-hating father.”

After what he’d spoken about the night before last, that prospect seemed much less dire. London was a delicate spiderweb of social engagements, where one misstep could cause one to fall forever out of favor. The idea of a community, of being able to help guide a young man or lady toward a better future than they might find on their own, or of teaching someone to read—that had a mighty appeal.

“What do you suggest, then, for heaven’s sake?” she asked aloud anyway, because Jane would expect it.

“I suggest, cousin, that you stop weighing what you’re willing to give up, and see who most closely gives you what you want. And then keep your window locked.”

With that Jane left the room. Amelia-Rose went to sit in one of the deep windowsills that overlooked the tiny Baxter House garden. Her cousin’s rather wise advice surprised her; for too long she’d thought of Jane as a necessary evil, a dour presence meant to help keep her from misbehaving.

Was that what it came down to? Giving up her status or giving up her happiness? It didn’t seem that she could have both. So would being with Niall continue to make her happy? When she faced those nine months a year in the Highlands without the friends and parties with which she was familiar, when it rained for days and days on end, would she still be happy?

Oh, this was so complicated. The problem with dreams, she was beginning to realize, was that they only made sense when one’s eyes were closed. In the light of day they were as fragile and fleeting as clouds. And she couldn’t wager the rest of her life on a cloud.

Chapter Fifteen

Niall crouched beneath a stand of ferns, his gaze on Baxter House above him. The bastard Hurst had appeared about seven o’clock and had stayed until nearly midnight. Aden had ridden by once, but Niall wasn’t about to pop out of the shrubbery and announce his location to anyone.

His legs were stiff, even though he’d spent longer hours waiting for a buck to cross his trail. More significantly, the apple and trio of biscuits he’d stolen from the Oswell House kitchen were long gone and he was damned hungry.

The downstairs lamps began going out in succession, and he shifted a little. The windows of Amelia-Rose’s bedchamber remained lit, as did the one beside it. She might have left the light on for him, but he doubted it. Either she wasn’t in there yet, or someone was in there with her.

Finally her light went out, and then the one in the neighboring room. Niall waited for a late coach to rumble by, then straightened and made his way to the front door. He put a foot on the large pot holding some sort of flowers, then jumped up, catching the eave of the portico with his fingers.

Hauling himself up, he moved from there to the narrow windowsill beside it, then the decorative fleur-de-lis and the next window. If his reach had been any shorter he would have had to try shimmying up the drainpipe instead, but without much effort he traversed the next pair of windows until he reached Amelia-Rose’s.