He had meant to stop Lady Grisham from berating Elizabeth.
And yet, in the span of a few moments, he’d done far more than raise his voice.
He had defended Elizabeth. Then—God help him—he had offered marriage. When that wasn’t enough to silence her vulture of a stepmother, he had gone so far as tothreatenscandal. Threatened to ruin the very woman who’d been haunting his sleep.
And to make it worse—or better?—he had promised a special license.
A wedding by week’s end. Bloody hell.
“I knew she consumed you,” came Seth’s low voice from around the corner, “but I did not expectthat.”
Alasdair didn’t even glance back. His friend always lingered when things were likely to explode—and this had been a full detonation.
Alasdair simply kept his eyes fixed on Elizabeth.
He had done it because she’d looked cornered, her eyes wide, her whole body tense like she was preparing to shatter. He’d seen women used and tossed aside by men with polite smiles and honorable names. He’d seen enough of that in his own home growing up.
He couldn’t bear the thought of it happening to her. Not Elizabeth.
“Fine, Your Grace,” Lady Grisham said at last, voice tight with fury. “Take care of her, if you must. But don’t expect my blessing. And I highly doubt you’ll get her father’s, either. Not when you’ll be rushing to make it happen.”
Alasdair’s jaw tensed. He didn’t dignify her with a smile. “I wouldnae dream of waitin’ for yer blessin’, Lady Grisham.”
Lady Grisham couldn’t meet his gaze. But the hatred in her posture radiated off her like heat. Her voice had gone colder, but he could tell she was boiling beneath the surface. No doubt already thinking of ways to twist this into her own advantage or shield herself from the fallout.
It didn’t matter.
Her words only confirmed what Alasdair had known for years: no matter his wealth, no matter his title, no matter how carefully he learned their customs or mimicked their polished London vowels, there would always be those in thetonwho looked down on him.
His blood, his accent, his Highland origins, they would never be enough. But for once, he didn’t give a damn.
Lady Grisham turned her full attention to Elizabeth, and he stiffened as her voice went venomously sweet.
“Fix your face,” she hissed. “Make it look like you’re enjoying yourself. Like someone you like has just proposed to you. Because right now, it looks as though you’re about to cry. We will return to the gathering and smile. You’ve humiliated us enough for one afternoon.”
Elizabeth didn’t argue. She simply nodded. “I’m coming.”
Her voice was too quiet. Measured. A little too still. It wasn’t the voice of someone newly engaged, or even angry. It was the voice of someone who had grown used to containing everything they felt.
Alasdair’s heart twisted. Had he just done to her what everyone else had been doing—cornered her into a decision? Even if his intentions were noble, she hadn’tchosenhim freely. Not really.
Lady Grisham gave him one last glare, then stalked off, fanning herself furiously as if trying to air out her own fury. But Elizabeth stayed. Just a few paces behind.
She looked at him like she was trying to read something in his face. And he hated how unsure she seemed.
“Are ye all right?” he asked, more gently than before.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I suppose I am. It could have been worse.”
Worse.
The word cut through him like a blade. That was how she measured her days, wasn’t it? Not by happiness or safety, but by how much she could endure.
“That’s not good enough,” he said before he could stop himself. “Ye deserve better thannot worse.”
She didn’t answer right away, and he felt the weight of her gaze on him.
“Do you mean it?” she asked. “The proposal?”