Chapter Twelve

He didn't tie her hands, which was convenient. Jade's thighs ached after the vigor of last night, and she found herself walking gingerly; it was nice not to also have to worry about keeping her balance while bound.

Of course, Lord Buthert hadn't been exactly considerate of her comfort, oh no. Likely he just didn't want to attract the undue attention which parading her bound through the streets would've warranted. As it was, her bare feet were gaining more than a few stares.

Jade did rather regret leaving her shoes in the room this morning when she decided to slip outside for a bit of fresh air. But how was she supposed to know that as soon as she stopped at the gate, her head tipped back to enjoy a bit of the long-awaited sunshine, a black coach would come barreling out of nowhere and screech to a stop beside her, tossing mud all over her blue skirts?

And how in the world could she have guessed who was inside said coach, holding a small pistol and demanding she join him?

Ai-ya, what else could she do except climb in with him?

Briefly, she'd considered removing some article of clothing and dropping it into the muck beside the lane, so Cam—upon waking and discovering her missing—would know what had happened to her.

Her shoe would've been her first choice, had she actually been wearing them. Otherwise, she was limited. Dropping her skirt on the ground made little sense, and she'd been certain Buthert wouldn't allow her the time to unbutton her blouse. She was reaching for the pins holding her bun in place—hoping Cam would be able to see them amid the mud—when Buthert had growled something nasty and shoved the barrel of the pistol into her ear.

All things considered, it had made more sense to do as he said.

She had assumed she knew Lord Buthert, but the ride to the village had been an eye-opening experience. The man was…miffed.

"A week! A bloody week!" he ranted, waving the pistol about in the dim interior of his carriage as it trundled toward the village. "I have been stuck in this hellhole, this country nowhere, full of Scots and diseased livestock and chickens, for a full bloody week!"

"Diseased livestock, milord?" she murmured, knowing she shouldn't antagonize him, but unable to stop the clarification.

"There are animals in the middle of the village, wandering around, making sounds!"

Oh dear. He was speaking in italics now. Forget miffed, Buthert was irate. "What sorts of sounds, milord?"

The man—whom so many called handsome, with his thick, dark mustache—scowled as he gestured with the pistol. "You know. Moo. Cluck."

"Oink?" she offered, leaning out of the way of the barrel of the gun. She thought it was one of those small, cleverly made American derringers.

"Do not be silly, girl," he barked. "I have learned, to my chagrin over the last week, that pigs do not say oink. Rather, it is a sort of enraged mmmmrrrraaarrrrrooor."

Jade's brows rose, impressed despite herself at his impression. Under what circumstance would Buthert have heard an enraged pig?

"So you are saying, milord, these normal animals, who were roaming the village, were making normal animal sounds? Were any of them actually diseased?"

"Some of them must have been. They sounded diseased."

Since he was holding the gun, Jade thought it prudent to nod and murmur, "Good point, milord."

"And the people were no better! They are Scots!"

Jade pressed her lips together.

"And diseased Scots, I am certain! Do you know where I have spent the last week?"

She told herself this was Cam's home, not hers. It wasn't her place to become irritated by the man's insults, but she did, all the same. "I assume in the village," she managed, hiding her pique.

"In the village!" He was back to waving the gun around. "In their laughable excuse for a hotel!"

I believe there's a set of rooms over the pub, but they're often in use by one of the local whores.

It was easy to remember Cam's words. All of Cam's words—including the part about loving her—but Jade pushed those memories aside, knowing she couldn't afford to be distracted. She kept her mouth shut, not wanting to encourage Buthert's anger, but he continued his rant anyhow.

"It is not even a hotel, really! And can you believe they wanted to begrudge me a room when I arrived? Pouring down rain, and they did not think my money was good enough for their squalor!"

Unable to keep quiet any longer, Jade tried to quell her frosty tone when she said, "I believe the rooms are mostly spoken for, are they not? By businesswomen."

"Whores! How do you think I managed to procure a room? Buy buying their attention as well!" Muttering in anger, he slumped back against the squabs, and Jade eyed the gun. But before she could make a move, he waved his arm again. "A week trapped inside because of the bloody horrible weather, sleeping on a lice-ridden bed, fucking a lice-ridden whore!"

Unabashedly, the dark-haired man scratched at his crotch, and Jade turned her attention to the window, wondering if, were she about to vomit, she could manage to aim for his lap.

"Oh, did I hurt your delicate sensibilities, Miss Thacker?" he sneered. "Are you surprised to learn I have a temper, and am through trying so politely to woo you?"

"Not really, no," she murmured quietly, not sure if she wanted him to hear her or not.

"Yes, that's right, my little half-breed," he sneered, the pistol once more rising toward her forehead. "You're the reason I'm stuck in this diseased little piece of hell, bored to death with the same fish stew, the same watered ale, and the same whore's mouth! You!"

Yes, she'd rather been afraid of that.

"If you had just accepted my generous marriage proposal, I would not have had to follow you all the way to the middle of Nowhere, Scotland. Do you know they're proud of their little village? The place is disgustingly quaint—just another word for backward—and I would have never set foot here if I had not learned you'd purchased a ticket here, and followed you!"

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the man who'd once declared his undying love for her. Of course, since he'd also—during the course of their acquaintance—declared his undying love for Beake's Mustache Wax, pickled beets, and Disraeli's foreign policies, she hadn't given it much credence.

"Shall I apologize, milord?" She hoped she sounded far calmer than she actually felt.

"It would be an excellent start to our marriage!" He leaned forward suddenly, the barrel of the gun unerringly pointing between her eyes. "But do not think I will refrain from showing you my displeasure! Those whores only whetted my appetite, although I have been told you have spent these last days sheltering with Cameron MacKay. That useless sack of piss must have surely deflowered you by now, but I find myself in a generous mood. You will say nothing of this adventure, and Society will still accept you as Lady Buthert, as I have planned."

Ai-ya. There was certainly plenty to sift through in that speech.

Jade had bristled at the insult to Cam, and had to refrain from announcing she was in love with the man. There'd also been a brief flicker of fear—greater fear—at the mention of his displeasure. And then, of course, there'd been the marriage reference.

She opted to address that first. "You still expect to be married to me, milord?"

There, that sounded much more polite than, You complete nutter, why would I marry you?

Unfortunately, the gun didn't waver. "It is not what I expect, you little slut, but what I will be achieving. In three weeks, the rest of your inheritance will come to you. Or, if you are married, to your husband."

Jade swallowed a completely stupid lump of emotion which had somehow lodged its way in her throat. She knew Buthert was only after Gung Gung's money, but to hear it stated so blandly was maddening.

She twined her fingers together in her lap and focused her gaze on them, trying to seem harmless. In a small voice, she said, "And you need the money for your estate."

"Of course! All lords need money for their estates! That is why marriages exist between men like me, and the daughters of the middle class! Why else would I be so desperate to marry someone with such obviously inferior blood?"

Jade was eighty percent certain he was referring to her mother, but opted not to push the issue. However, hearing his plan to marry her made her feel better about the gun in her face.

"Since you plan to marry me to gain my inheritance, perhaps you might lower your weapon?" She tried for a soft smile. "You need me alive."

"And willing," he snarled, although he did lower the pistol. "Keep in mind, you will claim to be marrying me of your own free will, or I will shoot you."

"And kill the only opportunity of gaining my grandfather's money?"

He scoffed. "I'll aim for something useless, like your leg. You can still sign cheques with one leg, right?"

She was about to explain to him that no, she'd be in far too much pain and also busy interviewing lawyers to prosecute him, to bother signing over her money. But the coach had stopped, and at that moment, Buthert's servant pulled the door open with a blank expression. "We have arrived, milord."

"Excellent!" Buthert beamed, then gestured for Jade to precede him from the vehicle. "You first, and remember, I do not mind a lame wife." As she began to move, his gaze turned thoughtful. "Or perhaps infection will set in, and you will survive only a few days past your twenty-fifth birthday, upon which time you will be buried by your grieving and suddenly quite a bit wealthier husband."

It might have been terrifying, to hear his plan spoken so boldly. But instead, Jade had to swallow down laughter. Slightly maniacal and demented laughter, certainly, but laughter at his plan, because it was impossible.

She couldn't marry Buthert, because she was already married to Cam MacKay.

And yes, last night had been…

Well, it had frankly been a riot of emotions, hadn't it?

First there'd been the way he opened up to her, told her so much. He'd been hiding so much of himself—who he really was—from everyone. Everyone but her. She'd been so bleeding happy he'd trusted her enough to share the truth about his life with her.

And then, of course, the sex had been spectacular. Beyond spectacular, but there was no need to belabor the point, really.

And then after previously indicated spectacular sex, she'd learned…he hadn't told her everything. Oh, he'd apologized, but she'd just been so angry—at him, and at herself for being angry—she'd punished them both by locking him out of the bedroom.

Which, about thirteen minutes later, she was able to admit was a stupid and cruel decision. But she was stubborn and proud, and so she went to sleep cold and lonely.

But not before having a really good cry, and deciding she was being unreasonable. Cam had apologized about keeping his involvement a secret, and if she were being honest with herself, there hadn't really been all that much time between the confessing-all and the spectacular sex, so she shouldn't be too miffed he hadn't got around to telling her everything.

By this morning, she'd been ready to apologize to him for her reaction…but when she crept into the dining room to see him stretched out on the floor so pitifully, well, she felt guilty all over again. Perhaps it was cowardice which convinced her she so desperately needed a calming walk in the fresh air to soothe her spirits.

Either way, had Cam awakened, she would've told him she loved him, and while she was still shocked at the strange way their lives had become intertwined before they even knew each other's names, she wasn't sorry for it.

No, in fact, quite the opposite. If she was going to take on a partner for her business, she could think of no one she'd rather have than the man she'd chosen for her partner in life: her husband, the man she loved.

The man who'd better get around to figuring out where she was, so he could come facilitate the rescue, before she had to explain to Buthert why she couldn't marry him.

That's when she felt the barrel of the pistol dig into her back, which returned her to the present, and the fact she was strolling along—barefoot!—through the local village, garnering all sorts of stares as they dodged perfectly healthy pigs and chickens, on their way toward…

A blacksmith's shop.

A legitimate blacksmith's shop.

As if the last fifty years of technological advancements hadn't been made, and metal was still shaped by burly shirtless men in leather aprons pounding with hammers. Barbaric.

Actually, there was a sign over the admittedly quaint door: Ye Olde Fashioned Blacksmith Shoppe (inquire within about tours and souvenirs).

Hmm.

Buthert snapped, "Hurry! I heard the man takes a lunch break!" as he nudged her toward the blacksmith shop.

Why in the world would he be bringing her to a blacksmith now? It was impossible to deny he was marching her toward the door, but why? She couldn't even imagine him commissioning a ring from such a place, not when London was full of jewelers who could likely produce any number of engagement rings on short notice.

"Smith!" he called as soon as he followed her into the darkened shop. "Smith, we have need of you!"

As Jade's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she was surprised by what she saw.

This really was an "old fashioned blacksmith shop", in the same way The Cottage was actually a cottage.

There was a wide, open floor of pounded dirt and scattered hay, and the place was lit, not by lanterns or lamps, but genuine torches. Like, dipped-in-tar, stinking-up-the-place, staining-the-roof-joists torches.

There were weapons lining the walls; swords and maces and even a few shields hanging on display. Along the back wall was a cold forge and anvil, roped off with heavy string, as if to keep back curious onlookers, if a blacksmith did decide to perform a demonstration or something.

"Smith!" bellowed Buthert again.

And this time, he was answered by a call from behind the little door which led from the rear of the building. "Coming, coming!" When the man stepped through, Jade caught a peek of the room behind—it looked like a home—but was rather more distracted by the man himself.

This was not a blacksmith.

For one thing, he looked younger than her. He was dressed neatly in a brown suit, and his hair was smoothed back—likely with the same pomade Buthert loved so dearly. One of his spindly arms rose to push his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose, then tapped against the clipboard he carried.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir, madam," he said with a faint brogue, "but today's tour has been cancelled."

Due to lack of interest, Jade would have to say.

"Fool!" snapped Buthert, jabbing her again with the pistol and forcing her forward a few steps. "We're not here for the tour! We're here to be married!"

It was difficult to say who was more surprised.

The young caretaker's eyes widened so much, his spectacles were in danger of falling off again. Jade herself stepped forward—out of gun-poking distance—and turned to Buthert.

"Married?" she repeated, just as the young man blurted, "Ye cannae be married here!"

But Buthert scowled, hurrying to hide the small pistol between his palm and thigh, as if hoping to perpetrate the falsehood she was here willingly. "Of course we can be married here!" He gestured with his other hand toward the forge. "That is an anvil, is it not? You are a blacksmith? I know this is not Gretna Green, but you can marry us. Quickly, now!"

The young man must not have noticed the gun after all, because he was shaking his head, a superior, intellectual smile settled across his face. "Sir—"

"My lord," snapped Buthert, clearly at the end of his patience.

"Milord," began the caretaker again. "I am no' a blacksmith. My grandfather was the last full-time smith in the area, and my father performs some farrier work as needed—"

"Then get him in here to marry us!"

Despite his quickly unraveling temper, Jade cleared her throat, trying to turn the man's attention to her. "Lord Buthert, do you mean to say you've brought me here to be married. Now? Today?"

The dark-haired, spoiled lordling snarled and stepped forward, his arm jerking as if he wanted to raise the gun, but remembered at the last moment why he could not. "You will not defy me, Jade! I told you what would happen!"

"Oh, yes," she managed with a completely bland tone, glancing toward their witness. "Any woman would be thrilled to become Lady Buthert. But this isn't a church."

The caretaker raised a finger unhelpfully. "It's a smithy."

"I can tell it's a smithy, you dolt!" Buthert wheeled on the other man. "And this is Scotland! Anyone who reads knows that fast marriages can be performed in Scotland! Over an anvil in Gretna Green! There is an entire genre of literature predicated on this fact!"

Face beginning to go purple, Buthert was stalking toward the young caretaker, who was retreating. Jade used that opportunity to sidle closer to the wall, where the displayed weapons really weren't all that well secured.

She didn't have time to be picky, so she carefully—without turning fully away from her captor—managed to remove what looked like a two-handed saber.

A claidheamh.

Ai-ya, had it only been yesterday she'd teased Cam about his training? She'd never held such a weapon, of course, but as she tucked it behind her back, hoping her skirts would shield it, she decided the heft was similar to the sabers her father's man had sparred with.

Across the room, the poor young man looked ready to bolt, as he stammered out an explanation for why all of Buthert's plans were absolute rubbish.

Feeling rather more certain of herself now she had a blade in hand, Jade found herself grinning as she called out to him, "Milord, a question, please?"

Her captor whirled about. When he saw her grin, he took two steps toward her.

"Buthert," she began, still smiling. "Am I correct in assuming this entire asinine misadventure—your presence in this village, your abduction of me—is grounded in the belief that Lord Brougham's Act of 1856…just never occurred?"

He turned toward her, brows drawn in like a confused hedgehog, and she continued. "Since its passing, Scotland requires two people who are attempting to be married here also live here. I don't remember how long."

"Three weeks," squeaked the young caretaker.

Jade nodded, her eyes on Buthert. "It's been years since you could just abduct an heiress and take her over the border and bribe a blacksmith to wed the pair of you."

Buthert was sputtering, but she couldn't tell if it was because of her lack of deference, her announcement in front of a witness that she was being abducted, or the realization his scheme was failing.

In order to help him decide which reason to be angry about, she added a, "You idiot," for good measure.

That worked. His dark eyes hardened, then narrowed, as he stalked toward her. "Lord Bingbang's Marriage Act, bitch? I pay no attention to such nonsense."

"No, clearly," she agreed dryly, edging out of his way while keeping the sword hidden. "You're not a woman with a fortune to protect from unscrupulous men, like you."

His breath hissed. "Unscrupulous?"

"Oh, pardon me." She turned fully to face him, now that she stood in the center of the open space, and pulled the sword from behind her. "I should have called you a sack of diseased cow shite. I believe that's the local colloquialism."

She was mad. Or deliriously happy. That was the only explanation for why she felt like laughing now, remembering Cam's description of the spoiled, disgusting lordling. Feeling full of power, she settled into a guard position.

But Buthert, to give him his due, was supremely unimpressed by her sword. "You think to threaten me, bitch?" he scoffed. "I am a member of the London Fencing Club! I have faced off against the best."

"But you didn't beat them, did you?" She had no way of knowing that, but judging from the way his face purpled once more, her mocking had been aimed true.

He whirled toward the wall and ripped down the first blade he could reach, a wicked rapier design which had been popular two hundred years ago. He settled easily into en guard, and Jade began to regret choosing a heavier sword.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the caretaker scurry away, and breathed a little sigh of relief. Hopefully he was running to get help. At least she didn't have to worry about hurting him.

Because she had plenty of other things to worry about already.

With a wild yell—possibly intended to intimidate his opponent, although it made him sound like a constipated walrus—Buthert attacked. His swing was clearly a feint, and Jade parried easily, giving ground in order to test his skill.

He was good, but not as good as her. Unfortunately, he had chosen a weapon he was actually familiar with, and was stronger than she was. After a few moments of steel clashing against steel, it became apparent she wouldn't be able to last very long against him.

He's not nearly as much fun to spar with as Cam.

Cam! She only had to get out of this mess, and she vowed she'd run back to The Cottage to tell him how much she loved him. How much she wanted to spend the rest of her life sparring with him, sharing with him. And of course, making love to him.

"I cannot tell where you trained, bitch," Buthert was panting, "but you have passable skill for a woman."

She pressed her lips together, determined not to waste her breath on answering his mocking, and concentrated on a backhanded swing. He only just managed to block it, but she'd anticipated that.

Instead of retreating, she dropped the point of her blade downward, sweeping across the back of his left hand, which still held the gun.

Not for long, though. With a startled squawk, Buthert dropped the pistol into the dirt, already stepping back, which allowed her to dart forward.

The pistol was heavier than it looked, and hurt like the blazes when she kicked it out of the way. Her hiss of pain accompanied her sudden shift to her other foot to accommodate the pain in her bare foot.

Taking advantage of her distraction, Buthert shook the blood from his hand and advanced.

Without a choice, Jade limped backward, the claidheamh held low, prepared to meet his attack. But she didn't have to.

Because she backed right into a solid wall of chest. A chest she recognized even without turning around.

Cam.

"Picking on lasses now, Buthert?" her love drawled. "I wish I could say I was surprised."

That's when a blade rose beside her, and she realized Cam had either come prepared, or he'd pilfered from the ancient smithy as well. She found her shoulders relaxing, her guard dropping.

He was here. He would take care of this.

For once, she was happy not to have to be in control. Happy to let him take command, happy to have him tell her what to do.

Not the only time.

Ai-ya, of course there was the making love. Come for me, Treasure. How could she deny that order?

"Are ye well, love?" he murmured, as she pressed back against him.

"Aye." She took a deep breath, and felt her tension ease as she released it. "Now I am."

But Buthert sneered. "What a touching reunion. But you must know I will not allow Lord Binglebam's Act of 1865—"

"Fifty-six," she corrected.

"—to ruin my plans!" he snarled, as if she hadn't interrupted. "You will be my wife, Jade Thacker, and your inheritance will be mine. And your father's shipping company will be mine as well."

"First of all…" She placed the tip of her blade in the dirt, which she knew was a major faux pas, but was feeling cocky. "It is my company, not my father's. Second, you cannot possibly own all of it, ever, because my silent partner owns a large share, and I trust him implicitly." Behind her, she heard Cam's breath catch. "And finally…"

With a big smile, she stepped out of the way, so Cam could face Buthert directly. "Finally, milord, I am married already. To Cam MacKay, the finest man I know."

"Married?" Buthert sputtered.

Her grin grew. "By proxy."

"How is that legal, when the anvil and the blacksmith and all that is not?" The dark-haired lord was turning almost apoplectic.

Was it her imagination, or did she see Cam wince as he shifted into a guard position? She didn't have a chance to consider, because at that moment, Buthert released another yodel, and attacked.

Her eyes followed Cam's swift parry, then his lunge, and she realized she was holding her breath. This wasn't for points, wasn't for sport. This was a bloody battle, and it frightened her more now that Cam was involved, than when it had been her facing Buthert's blade.

"It's no', ye ken."

The announcement, spoken in a low voice from behind her, had Jade's attention jerking about to see Cam's father, looking chagrined and not at all concerned for his son.

"Uncle Argus!" She threw her arms around her aunt's husband, while keeping her attention on Cam's battle. "What isn't?"

"Marriage by proxy, with neither party present, and neither one consenting."

She stole a glance at him. "What?"

"It's no' legal, lass. I'm sorry for lying to ye both, to get ye to The Cottage."

At that moment, Buthert lunged, and Jade's heart jolted as she realized what that meant. "We're not married?" she whispered as Cam's steel clanged.

The sound dragged her attention back to the fight, eyes wide and heart in her throat, to see Cam thrust forward, his weight on his front leg in a risky move, and slam his sword hard against his opponent's blade.

Buthert dropped his rapier.

Before she could blink, Cam was in front of him, the edge of his blade resting against the spoiled lordling's throat, both of them breathing heavily.

She stepped toward them, unsure what she could do, but knowing she couldn't allow Cam to ruin his future. His future with her. Whether or not they were married.

But it was Buthert who stopped her.

"You think you could kill me?" he sniffed haughtily. "A half-breed Scottish layabout whore?" His eyes flicked to Jade. "You two deserve one another."

"Thank ye," growled Cam, but Jade was already moving again.

"Yes, thank you, milord," she declared, flattening her palm against Cam's lower back in a show of support she hoped he understood. "Because we have found one another, and there's nothing you can do about it. You've lost."

Buthert's chin rose imperiously, obviously trying to detract from the fear in his eyes as the blade at his neck never wavered. "Do not be ridiculous. I cannot lose, not to the likes of him. I'm a lord, and you cannot hurt me."

"Nay," growled Cam. "I cannae kill ye. But I wouldnae want that stain on my soul, anyhow. But I can hurt ye."

"Wha— " Before Buthert could stammer out the question, Cam's fist cocked back and he let fly.

Thank goodness he moved his sword away from the other man's neck, or there might've been accidental bloodshed after all.

As it was, Buthert went sailing backward, slamming into the wall of the ancient smithy hard enough to rattle the weapons hanging there. Blood streaming from his nose, he sank to the floor.

And to Jade's surprise, Uncle Argus marched up to him and toed him in the side. "I'm a lord too, laddie, and I'm allowed to hurt ye all I want, because I can meet ye in court. Dinnae forget that."

Then he turned and plopped himself down atop the supine man, his elbows resting on his knees as he grinned up at Cam and Jade. "He's still out cold, but it was a fine speech, eh?"

"Aye, Da." Cam's voice sounded hoarse.

Uncle Argus made little shooing motions. "I'll keep an eye—and an arse—on this puddle of piss. The pair of ye have some things to say to one another, I think."

Jade didn't need any more encouragement.

She immediately threw her arms around Cam. "I'm so sorry."

"Nay." His voice was hoarse, his body stiff, as he pulled her against him. "It is I who should be sorry. Treasure, I should've told ye sooner—"

"Hush," she commanded, pushing herself upward to brush her lips across his. "I trust you. I should've trusted that you would have told me, I just hadn't given you enough time."

His expression softened. "That…is true. So ye forgive me?"

"Aye," she drawled in imitation of him. "But only if you kiss me again."

He did, but the kiss was…well, frankly, thoroughly unsatisfying.

"What was that?" she muttered as he pulled away, and she unconsciously followed him.

"That, my insatiable bride, was to whet yer appetite."

Blinking, she frowned up at him. "I'm already hungry." She pushed her hips forward so he'd understood what she meant.

"Fine." He blew out a breath as he rolled his eyes. "Then it was to remind ye that my father is right over there, watching us."

"Keep it up, laddie!" Uncle Argus called from across the room. "Ye've almost got her convinced!"

"He can't hear us," she assured Cam with a grin, "but he can see us!"

Cam pretended to frown, but she could see the sparkle in his eyes. "So please try to refrain from kissing me."

"I shall try," she promised with a dramatic sigh. "Besides, there's something important we must discuss."

"Aye, Treasure. My father told me—"

"I love you, Cameron MacKay."

Well, that shut him right up. His jaw dropped, his mouth actually open enough she could see his tongue trying to form words, and his blue eyes…

The look in his beautiful eyes slowly turned from shocked and disbelieving to awe-struck.

His mouth closed, his throat worked as he swallowed. Finally, he whispered, "Ye do?"

Made suddenly shy by his response, Jade felt her cheeks warm, but she held his gaze. "I'm so sorry I took so long to tell you, Cam. You are a special man. A brilliant, caring man, who deserves all the love in the world. And the fact you're surprised by this makes me love you even more."

"Nae one has ever—" He shook his head. "Ye're certain?"

"Of course." Her lips softened into a smile. "Cam, I love you, and I am honored and humbled you feel the same way about me. I look forward to spending the rest of my life with you."

He was staring down at her, and she could see his mind working frantically behind his gaze. Slowly, his lips began to curl. "Ye ken what I think?"

"What's that?" she whispered.

"I think I ought to kiss ye after all."

She was already pushing herself up on her toes. "Uncle Argus will understand."

This kiss was long and deep and tender, and eventually interrupted by Cam's father whooping in excitement from across the room.

"Did she say aye, laddie?" he bellowed. "Get her to say aye for real this time!"

Cam rolled his eyes, but his arms tightened around her.

"Treasure, ye've already given me a true gift. But…" Surprisingly, he seemed ill-at-ease, and glanced at his father. "I received some bad news with Da's arrival. He admitted he—Well, I'm no' quite sure how to tell ye…"

Jade smiled, knowing exactly what he was trying to confess. "I think, all things considered, we'd better go visit a vicar. A real one, who can really marry us."

Cam's expression cleared. "So ye ken the truth?"

"Aye, yer father confessed while ye were in the midst of yer daring-do."

His lips twitched, and he squeezed her once. "Ye really arenae hurt? I'm sorry ye had to deal with him for so long."

"I'm fine." She poked him in the side. "Stop changing the subject."

"The vicar?"

"We've already been living in Scotland together for well over a week. Another fortnight, and even Lord Brougham's Act won't object."

But he was shaking his head. "Three weeks, Treasure. We must wait until after yer birthday." When her eyes went round, he hurried to explain. "Yer inheritance is yers, Jade. I might own a share in Thacker Shipping, and I hope ye'll no' object to me being a silent partner—"

"I do," she interrupted, and when he winced, obviously thinking she meant she still objected to having to take on a partner, she softened her tone. "I don't want you to be silent any longer, Cam. If you're to be my partner, I want the whole world to know what a smart, thoughtful, caring man you are."

"Ye…ye really mean that." His eyes were searching hers, and he sounded…awestruck.

"I do. And the fact you care about me enough to want the world to know you're not marrying me for my inheritance…" She shook her head, then pushed herself up once more to brush a kiss across his lips. "I love you, Cam. Will you marry me?"

The grin which split his expression was earth-shattering, mind-numbingly beautiful. Dimples. Would their children have dimples? For the first time, she found herself looking forward to a future in which other people had control of her life.

And she couldn't be happier.

"Aye, Treasure," he drawled, his lips dropping toward hers. "I accept. I'll make ye my bride."