Her Playboy's Proposal

She nodded. ‘Sometimes the islands feel as far away as Australia.’

‘The islands?’ he asked, not sure what she meant.

‘The Western Isles,’ she said.

So she was from the Outer Hebrides? You couldn’t get much more different from London, he thought: mountains, pretty little villages and the sea, compared to the capital’s urban sprawl and the constant noise of traffic.

‘It isn’t that bad really,’ she said. ‘I can fly from here to Glasgow and then get a flight to Lewis, or get the train from Glasgow to Oban and catch the ferry home.’

But the wistfulness in her tone told him how much she missed her family. Something he couldn’t quite get his head round, because he often felt so disconnected from his own. And how ironic that was, considering the size of his family. Eight siblings, with another one on the way. OK, so he didn’t have much in common with his two youngest half-brothers; but he wasn’t that close to the ones nearest his own age, either. And he always seemed to clash with his middle sister. Guilt made him overprotective, and she ended up rowing with him.

‘But we’re not talking about me,’ she said before he could ask anything else. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘You’re very direct,’ he said, playing for time.

‘I find direct is the best way.’

He sighed. ‘Considering how much you clearly miss your family, if I tell you what’s bugging me you’re going to think I’m the most selfish person in the universe.’

She smiled. ‘Apart from the fact that there are usually two sides to every story, I very much doubt you’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met.’

There was a tiny flicker in her expression, as if she was remembering something truly painful. And that made Harry feel bad about bringing those memories back to her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Look, never mind. Let’s just have a drink and talk about—oh, I dunno, the weather.’ Something very English, and very safe.

She laughed. ‘Nice try. Iain—my brother—squirms just like you do if we talk about anything remotely personal.’

‘I guess it’s a guy thing,’ he said, trying to make light of it and wishing he hadn’t started this.

‘But sometimes,’ she said gently, ‘it’s better out than in. A problem shared is a problem halved. And—’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘No, I can’t think of any more clichés right now. Over to you.’

Despite his dark mood, Harry found himself smiling. He liked this woman. Really, really liked her. Which was another reason why he had to suppress his attraction to her. He wanted to keep her in his life instead of having to put up barriers, the way he normally did. ‘I can’t, either.’ He blew out a breath. ‘I hate talking about emotional stuff. And it’s easier to talk when you’re stuffed with carbs. They do fantastic pies here, and the butteriest, loveliest mashed potato in the world. Can we talk over dinner?’

‘Pie and mash.’ She groaned. ‘Don’t tell me you’re planning to make me eat jellied eels or mushy peas as well.’

‘Traditional London fare?’ He laughed. ‘No. For vegetables here I’d recommend the spinach. It’s gloriously garlicky.’

‘Provided we go halves,’ she said, ‘then yes. Let’s have dinner. As friends, not as a date.’

Why was she so adamant about not dating? He guessed that maybe someone had hurt her. But he also had the strongest feeling that if he tried to focus on her or asked about her past, she’d shut the conversation down. ‘Deal.’

Ordering food gave him a little more wriggle room.

But, once their food had been served and she’d agreed with him that the pie was to die for, he was back on the spot.

Eventually, he gave in and told her. Because hadn’t that been the point of meeting her this evening, anyway? ‘My dad’s getting remarried,’ he said.

‘Uh-huh. And it’s a problem why exactly?’

‘Speaking like that makes you sound like Yoda.’

She gave him a narrow-eyed look. ‘Don’t try to change the subject.’

‘You’re a bossy lot, north of the border,’ he muttered.

‘And you Sassenachs have no staying power,’ she said with a grin. ‘Seriously, Harry, what’s wrong? Don’t you like his new wife-to-be?’

Harry shrugged. ‘I don’t really know her that well.’

‘So what is it?’

‘This is going to stay with you?’ he checked.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course it is.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of being a gossip. I know you’re not. I don’t …’ He blew out a breath. ‘Well, I don’t tend to talk about my personal life.’

‘And I appreciate that you’re talking to me about it now,’ she said softly.

He sighed. ‘Dad wants me to be his best man.’

‘And you don’t want to do it?’

‘No. It’d be for the third time,’ Harry said. ‘And I really don’t see the point of making such a big song and dance about the wedding, considering that in five years’ time we’ll be going through the exactly same thing all over again.’

She said nothing, just waited for him to finish.

He sighed again. ‘My father—I don’t know. Maybe it’s a triumph of hope over experience. But this will be his seventh marriage, and this time his fiancée is younger than I am.’

His father’s seventh marriage? Seeing that many relationships go wrong would make anyone wary of settling down, Isla thought. ‘Maybe,’ she said softly, ‘your father hasn’t found the right woman for him yet.’

‘So this will be seventh time lucky? That’d go down really well in my best man’s speech. Not.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude to you or take it out on you.’ He grimaced. ‘My father’s charming—that is, he can be when it suits him. He can be great company. But he has a seriously low boredom threshold. And I can’t understand why none of his wives has ever been able to see the pattern before she actually married him. Well, obviously not my mum, because she was the first. But every single one after that. Get married, have a baby, get bored, have an affair, move on. Nothing lasts for Dad for more than five years—well, his last one was almost seven years, but I think Julie was the one to end it instead of Dad. Or maybe he’s slowing down a bit now he’s in his mid-fifties.’ Harry sighed. ‘I really liked Fliss, his third wife. Considering she had to deal with me as a teenager …’ He shrugged. ‘She was really patient.’

‘Did you live with your dad when you were growing up?’ Isla asked.

Harry shook his head. ‘I stayed with him for the occasional weekends, plus a week or so in the long school holidays. I lived with my mum and my three half-sisters. My mum also has a marriage habit, though at least she’s kept husband number four.’ He paused. ‘Maybe that’s it. Dad only has sons—six of us. Maybe he’s hoping that his new wife is carrying his daughter.’

Isla added it up swiftly. Harry was one of nine children, soon about to be ten? And he’d said something about his mum being his father’s first wife. ‘I take it you’re the oldest?’

He nodded. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I like my brothers and sisters well enough, but there’s a whole generation between me and the littlest ones, so we have absolutely nothing in common. I feel more like an uncle than a brother.’ He gave her a thin smile. ‘And let’s just say the best contraception ever is to get a teenager babysitting for their younger siblings. I definitely don’t want kids of my own. Ever.’

‘Remind me to tell my brother Iain how lucky he is that he only had me and Mags tagging around after him,’ she said.

‘You’re the baby of the family?’ he asked.

‘Yes, and I’m thoroughly spoiled.’

He scoffed. ‘You’re far too sensible to be spoiled.’