Annabelle's Courtship by Lucy Monroe

impatiently next to him. “Really, must you continue harping on the unfortunate occurrence? Your resemblance to my old nurse is most regrettable.” Miss Graves gasped. “ Lady Annabelle .”
    Belle tugged her spencer to smooth it. “It’s true. Laird MacKay has a lamentable tendency to nag at me like a nursemaid.”
    He didn’t know if he would rather pull her into his lap and kiss her or turn her over his knee. The second image was so ludicrous in the face of her independent nature that he almost laughed aloud. Belle would never tolerate that form of husbandly discipline.
    “This inclination you have to laugh at me is most unpleasant, Ian.”
    “I wasna laughing at you, Belle. ’Twas something I was contemplating.”
    “Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed. They rode in silence until they reached Miss Graves’s home. Belle said good-bye to the other woman and Finchley escorted her to the door.
    As the coachman drew away from Miss Graves’s home, Belle turned to Ian. “Do not speak of me as your future wife in front of others, Ian. It is unseemly.”
    “What is unseemly about the truth?”
    She twisted the strings to her reticule. “I am not your future wife and I do not like being the brunt of gossip because of you.” Tears sparkled in her eyes.
    Pulling her near, he pressed her face into his coat and massaged her back. “Dinna cry, Belle.”

    “I’m n-not crying. It’s just that you keep saying that I’m going to marry you, but you don’t mean it and there was an article about us in the society pages in most unflattering terms, and my…my hand hurts.”
    He latched on to the last thing she said. Nothing else made sense to him. Of course he meant to marry her. Hadn’t he said so? As for the article, he had read it too and been satisfied that the ton recognized his claim on Belle. Robert had told Ian that it upset Belle to be the center of gossip. So, Ian had made an effort not to single her out or call on her too frequently.
    Pulling away from her, he lifted her hand to examine it. “Let me see, Belle.” When she didn’t resist, he drew her glove off, being careful not to squeeze her hand in the process. An ugly purple bruise marked her palm. He wished that he’d taken the time to leave a few bruises of his own on the man that had done this.
    “We’ll have the doctor look at it.”
    She stiffened, blinking away the remnants of her tears. “I’m sure that’s not necessary. It’s just a bruise.”
    “We must make sure nothing is broken.”
    “Better safe than sorry, eh what,” Finchley said.
    “If you are both going to badger me, I suppose that I have no choice.” Ian smiled at her cranky tone. “Aye, Belle, you have no choice.” And she had no choice about marrying him either. She would be his. She needed him to watch over her.

    * * *
    The Scotsman was becoming annoying again. William had thought the laird had moved on to greener pastures. For the past two weeks, he had found the field wide open.
    William had danced with Annabelle at soirees and even managed several bouts of uninterrupted conversation. The laird had been conspicuous in his absence and William was certain his suit was progressing nicely.
    Now this. Following Annabelle to the lecture had been easy. He hadn’t even had to pretend any real interest in the misguided woman speaking.
    Property rights for women. Ludicrous. Where would William be now if his dead wife had had control of her own property? She had whined enough about the sad state of her wardrobe and the house. Would she have let him sell her small properties to buy his

    hunters? Of course not. No one had the right to tell a gentleman how to spend his money.
    Especially not his wife.
    When Lady Annabelle had instigated a riot, William had been incensed. She was weak-minded like the rest of her sex. He had barely escaped the room with his skin intact.
    His coat had been ripped. A new one was unthinkable right now. His tailor was not receiving him. Him! It was infamous.