“I need a temporary wife.”

Logan McLaughlin can’t lose his Scottish family estate. But to rescue it, his grandfather’s will demands he wed! Logan avoids real relationships, having failed so significantly at love before. So when housemaid Layla suggests he take a convenient wife, he’s intrigued…

Untouched Layla never imagined Logan would choose her! With her scars, she feels far from the perfect bride. Yet to protect the only home she’s ever known, she’ll wear Logan’s ring… But can she ignore the burning connection threatening to destroy their paper-only arrangement?

MELANIE MILBURNE read her first Mills & Boon novel at the age of seventeen, in between studying for her final exams. After completing a master’s degree in education, she decided to write a novel, and thus her career as a romance author was born. Melanie is an ambassador for the Australian Childhood Foundation and a keen dog-lover and trainer. She enjoys long walks in the Tasmanian bush. In 2015 Melanie won the HOLT Medallion, a prestigious award honouring outstanding literary talent.

Also by Melanie Milburne

The Temporary Mrs Marchetti

Wedding Night with Her Enemy

A Ring for the Greek’s Baby

The Tycoon’s Marriage Deal

A Virgin for a Vow

Blackmailed into the Marriage Bed

Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella

Bound by a One-Night Vow

Penniless Virgin to Sicilian’s Bride

Cinderella’s Scandalous Secret

The Scandal Before the Wedding miniseries

Claimed for the Billionaire’s Convenience

The Venetian One-Night Baby

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

BILLIONAIRE’S WIFE ON PAPER

Melanie Milburne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09786-4

BILLIONAIRE’S WIFE ON PAPER

© 2019 Melanie Milburne

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my darling little black poodle Gonzo,

who sadly passed away during the writing of this

novel. I miss you sleeping on the sofa behind me in

my office while I write. I miss your ebullient nature

and zest for life—as if you always knew, like us, that

it wasn’t going to be a long one. Your life may have

been short but you have left love footprints all over

our hearts. Rest in peace. No more seizures now.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

LAYLA CAMPBELL WAS placing dust sheets on the furniture in the now deserted northern wing of Bellbrae Castle when she heard the sound of a firm footfall on the stairs. Goosebumps peppered her skin like Braille and a cold draught of air circled her ankles like the ghost of a long-dead cat.

No such things as ghosts. No such things as ghosts.

Her old childhood chant wasn’t working any better than when she had first come to live in the Scottish Highlands castle as a frightened and lonely twelve-year-old orphan. Taken in by her great-aunt, who had worked as housekeeper for the super-wealthy aristocratic McLaughlin family, Layla had been raised in the kitchen and corridors of the castle. In the early days, downstairs had been her only domain, upstairs out of bounds. And not just because of her limp. Upstairs had been another world—a world in which she did not and could not ever belong.

‘Is anyone th-there?’ Her voice echoed in the silence, her heart thumping so loudly she could hear it booming in her ears. Who would be coming up to the north tower at this time of day? Logan, the new heir to the estate, was working abroad in Italy, and last time Layla had heard, Logan’s younger brother Robbie was doing a casino crawl in the US. Fear crept up her spine with ice-cube-clad feet, her breathing coming to a halt when a tall figure materialised out of the shadows.

‘Layla?’ Logan McLaughlin said, with a heavy frown. ‘What are you doing up here?’

Layla clasped her hand against her pounding chest, sure her heart was going to punch its way out of her body and land at his Italian-leather-covered feet. ‘You didn’t half give me a fright. Aunt Elsie told me you wouldn’t be back until November. Aren’t you supposed to be working in Tuscany this month?’

She hadn’t seen him since his grandfather’s funeral in September. And she figured he hadn’t seen her even then. Layla had tried to offer her condolences a couple of times before and after his grandfather’s service and at the wake, but she’d been busy helping her great-aunt with the catering and Logan had left before she could get a chance to speak to him in private.

But the upstairs-downstairs thing had always coloured her relationship with the McLaughlins. Logan and his brother and grandfather were landed gentry, privileged from birth, coming from a long line of aristocratic ancestors. Layla’s great-aunt and her, by default, were downstairs. The staff who were meant to stay in the background and go about their work with quiet dedication, not share intimate chit-chats with their employers.

Layla could never quite forget she was the interloper, the charity case—only living there out of Logan’s grandfather’s pity for a homeless orphan. It made her keep a prickly and prideful rather than polite distance.

Logan scraped a hand through his hair as if his scalp was feeling too tight for his head. ‘I postponed my trip. I have some business to see to here first.’ His dark blue gaze swept over the dust-sheeted furniture, the crease in his forehead deepening. ‘Why are you doing this? I thought Robbie was going to hire someone to see to it?’

Layla turned to pick up one of the folded dust sheets, flapping it open and then laying it over a mahogany table with cabriole legs. Hundreds of disturbed dust motes rose in the air in a galaxy of activity. ‘He did see to it—by hiring me. Not that I want to be paid or anything.’ She leaned down to tuck the edge of the dust sheet closer around the legs of the table and flicked him a glance. ‘You do realise this is my job now? Cleaning, sorting, organising. I have a small team of people working for me and all. Didn’t your grandfather tell you? He gave me a loan to get my business started.’

One brow came up in a perfect arc. ‘A loan?’ There was a note of surprise—or was it cynicism?—in his tone.

Layla pursed her lips and planted her hands on her hips like she was channelling a starchy nineteenth-century governess. ‘A loan I paid back, with interest.’ What did he think she was? An elder abuser? Exploiting an old man dying of cancer with requests for money she had no intention of paying back? She might share the genes of people like that but she didn’t share their morals. ‘I wouldn’t have agreed to the loan otherwise.’

His navy-blue eyes narrowed. ‘Seriously? He offered you a loan?’

Layla moved past him to pack up her cleaning basket. ‘For your information, I have never taken your grandfather’s largesse for granted.’

Feather duster. Tick. Soft polishing cloths. Tick.

‘He allowed me to live here with my great-aunt rent-free and for that I will be grateful for ever.’

She shoved the furniture polish bottle in amongst the other cleaning products in her basket. She had become closer to the old man in his last months of life, coming to understand the gruff exterior of a proud man who had done his best to keep his family together after repeated tragedy.

Logan let out a long breath, still frowning like he didn’t know any other way to look at her. Story of her life. One look at her scarred leg and her limp and that’s what most people did—frowned. Or asked intrusive questions she refused on principle to answer. Layla never talked about what had happened to her leg, not in any detail that is. ‘A car crash’ was her stripped-down answer. She never said who was driving or why they were driving the way they were, or who else had been injured or killed.

Who wanted to be reminded of the day that had changed her life for ever?

‘Why didn’t he just give you the money?’ Logan asked.

Layla’s old friend pride steeled her gaze and tightened her mouth. ‘Oh, you mean because he felt sorry for me?’

Logan’s covert glance at her left leg told her all she needed to know. Just like everyone else, he saw her damaged leg first and her later—if at all. Layla was fiercely proud of how she had made something of herself in spite of impossible odds. She didn’t want to be seen as the orphaned girl with the limp, but the gutsy woman with gumption, drive, ambition and resourcefulness.

‘No.’ His tone was weighted. ‘Because he was a wealthy man and you’re practically family.’ He moved away to look at some of the boxes she’d packed earlier. He peeled back the cardboard flaps of one box and took out a leather-bound book, fanning through the pages, his features set in lines of deep thought.

Practically family? Was that how he saw her? As a surrogate sister or distant cousin? At six feet four with a lean and rangy build, dark brown loosely styled wavy hair, a chiselled Lord Byron jaw and deep blue eyes the colour of a Highland tarn, it would be a crying waste if Logan McLaughlin were her brother or cousin.

It was a crying waste to women the world over that he hadn’t dated since the tragic death of his fiancée Susannah.

Not that he would ever date Layla. No one had ever dated her…well, not since she was a teenager. And she deliberately tried not to think of that one and only date and the excruciating embarrassment it had entailed. From that day on, she had decided her career plans would always be more important. More important than trying to go to parties or nightclubs in short dresses and heels that drew even more attention to her leg. More important than being told by a guy she wasn’t good enough. Could never be good enough.

Logan closed the book with a little snap and placed it back on top of the others. He turned to look at her.

Yep, with a frown.

‘Where will you and your aunt go if this place is sold?’

Layla’s eyes widened and her chest developed a tight, can’t-take-another-breath ache. ‘Sold? You’re selling Bellbrae?’ She could think of no bigger tragedy…well, she could because she’d lived through one big hell of a tragedy, but still. Selling Bellbrae was way up there on the list. Who would she be without the shelter of Bellbrae watching over her? Her identity had been formed here, her sense of security and safety honed within the fortress-like walls of the centuries-old castle. ‘How could you do that, Logan? Your grandfather left it to you as his eldest male heir. Your dad is buried here along with your grandparents and generations of ancestors. You surely don’t need to sell it for the money?’

His expression went as blank as one of the dust sheets on the furniture, but his tone was jaded. ‘It’s not about money. I am unwilling to fulfil the terms of my grandfather’s will.’

Layla frowned like she was in competition with him for Best Frown in Show. ‘Terms? What terms?’

He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and moved to look out of one of the mullioned windows, his back turned to her. Layla could see the tension in his shoulders even through his clothes. The breadth of his shoulders had always secretly fascinated her.

She had often seen him rowing and swimming in summer on the lake on the Bellbrae estate when he’d come home to visit. Tall and lean-hipped with abdomen muscles ridged with strength and endurance, she had been fascinated by his athleticism as it had been in such stark contrast to her young broken body. And when he’d brought Susannah home for visits, Layla had watched them both. Susannah had been supermodel stunning, slim and glamourous. Never had Layla seen two people more perfect for each other or more devotedly in love. It had set a benchmark for her to aspire to. An impossible benchmark perhaps, but a girl could dream, couldn’t she?

Logan turned to look at her, his jaw set in a taut line. ‘Unless I marry within three months, the entire estate will pass to Robbie.’

Layla licked her carpet-dry lips, her heart suddenly flapping like a loose window shutter in a stiff Highland breeze. ‘Oh…’

He drew in a breath and released it in a gust of frustration. ‘Yes. Oh. And we both know what he will do when he gets his hands on this place.’

Layla couldn’t allow her mind to even go there. No two brothers could ever be more disparate. Logan was the strong, silent type—hard-working and responsible. Robbie was a loud party boy with a streak of recklessness who had already brought shame on the family too many times to count. ‘You think he’d sell it?’

He gave a grim movement of his lips that wasn’t anywhere near a smile. ‘Or—worse—turn it into party central for irresponsible playboys like himself.’

Layla chewed her lower lip, her thoughts in a tangled knot. If Bellbrae was sold, what would happen to her great-aunt? Where would Aunt Elsie live if not here? Her great-aunt lived in a little cottage on the estate where she had spent the last forty years. Like Layla, it was the only home she knew. And what would happen to Logan’s grandfather’s elderly dog, Flossie? The dog was almost blind and would find a move to another place even more distressing than Aunt Elsie would. ‘There must be something you can do to challenge the terms of your grandfather’s will.’

‘The will is ironclad.’ He turned away to look at the view from the windows, even the sound of his feet moving across the carpet conveyed his disgust.

‘Why did your grandfather write it in such a way?’ Layla asked into the echoing silence. ‘Did he talk to you about it before he…?’ She still found it hard to believe the old man was gone.

Packing up Angus McLaughlin’s things had made her realise how different Bellbrae would be without him. Picky and pedantic, he hadn’t been the easiest person to get along with, but over the last few months Layla had made a point of ignoring his bad points and had found him to have a softer side he’d been at great pains to keep hidden.

Logan rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and partially turned from the window to look at her. ‘He’s been telling me for years to settle down and do my duty. Marry and provide a couple of heirs to continue the family line.’

‘But you don’t want to get married.’ It was a statement, not a question.

A shadow passed through his gaze like a background figure moving across a stage. He turned back to face the view from the windows; there might as well have been a ‘Keep Away’ sign printed on his back. It seemed a decade before he spoke. ‘No.’ His tone had a note of finality that made something in Layla’s chest tighten.

The thought of him marrying someone one day had always niggled at her like a mild toothache. She could ignore it mostly but now and again a sharp jab would catch her off guard. But how could he ever find someone as perfect for him as Susannah? No wonder he was a little reluctant to date seriously these days. If only Layla could find someone to love her with such lasting loyalty. Sigh.

‘What about a marriage of convenience? You could find someone who would agree to marry you just long enough to fulfil the terms of the will.’

One of his dark eyebrows rose in a cynical arc above his left eye. ‘Are you volunteering for the role as my paper bride?’

Eek! Why had she even mentioned such a thing? Maybe it was time to stop reading paperback romances and start reading thriller or horror novels instead. Layla could feel a hot flush of colour flooding her cheeks and bent down to straighten the items in her basket to disguise it. ‘No. Of course not.’ Her voice was part laugh, part gasp and came out shamefully high and tight. Her? His bride of convenience? Ha-di-ha-ha-ha. She wouldn’t be a convenient bride for anyone, much less Logan McLaughlin.

A strange silence crept from the far corners of the room, stealing oxygen particles, stilling dust motes, stirring possibilities…

Logan walked back to where she was hovering over her cleaning basket, his footsteps steady and sure. Step. Step. Step. Step. Layla slowly raised her gaze to his inscrutable one, her heart doing a crazy tap dance in her chest. She drank in the landscape of his face—the ink-black prominent eyebrows over impossibly blue eyes, the patrician nose, the sensually sculpted mouth, the steely determined jaw. The lines of grief etched into his skin that made him seem older than he was. At thirty-three, he was in the prime of his life. Wealthy, talented, a world-renowned landscape architect—you could not find a more eligible bachelor…or one so determined to avoid commitment.

‘Think about it, Layla.’ His tone was deep with a side note of roughness that made a faint shiver course through her body. A shiver of awareness. A shiver of longing that could no longer be restrained in its secret home.

Layla picked up her basket from the floor and held it in front of her body like a shield. Was he teasing her? Making fun of her? He must surely know she wasn’t marriage material—certainly not for someone like him. She was about as far away from Susannah as you could get. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

His hand came down to touch her on the forearm, and even through two layers of clothing her skin tingled. She looked down at his long strong fingers and disguised a swallow. She could count on one hand the number of times he had touched her over the years and still have fingers left over. His touch was unfamiliar and strange, alien almost, and yet her body reacted like a crocus bulb to spring sunshine.

‘I’m serious,’ he said, looking at her with watchful intensity. ‘I need a temporary wife to save Bellbrae from being sold or destroyed and who better than someone who loves this place as much as I do?’

But you don’t love me.

The words came into her head at random but she had no way of getting rid of them. They were like gate-crashers at a party, unwelcome, intrusive. Forbidden. Yep, she definitely had to switch reading genres. Layla slipped out of his hold and moved a couple of steps back, still holding her basket in front of her body. ‘I’m sure you can find someone much more suitable to be your wife than me.’

Someone beautiful.

Someone glamourous.

Someone perfect.

‘Layla, I’m not talking about a real marriage here.’ His frown was back, his voice as steady and calm as a patient teacher speaking to a slow student. ‘It would be a marriage on paper and would only last a year, max. We wouldn’t even have to go through the charade of a big wedding. We could marry privately with only the minimum witnesses required to make it legal.’

Layla rolled her lips together, her gaze slipping away from his. Her mind was wheeling round and round like a hamster on performance-enhancing drugs. A short-term marriage to Logan McLaughlin to save Bellbrae. To save her great-aunt and Flossie the geriatric dog. Layla would wear Logan’s ring but not be a real bride. Given her dating record, it might be her only chance to be anyone’s bride. Could she agree to spend the year being ‘married’ to Logan? Living with him for all intents and purposes as if they had married for all the right reasons?

But who would ever believe she was the love of his life?

Layla brought her gaze back up to meet his. ‘Aren’t you worried what people might say? I mean, the upstairs-downstairs thing? I’m the housekeeper’s orphaned great-niece. You’re the Laird of the castle. I’m hardly what anyone would consider a suitable bride for you.’

His frown carved a trench between his midnight-blue eyes. ‘Why are you so hard on yourself? You’re a beautiful young woman. You have nothing to be ashamed of.’

Wow. A compliment.

A warm glow flooded through her body, her self-esteem waking from a coma. Beautiful, huh? That certainly wasn’t what her mirror told her, but then Logan had never seen the full extent of her scars. But a compliment was a compliment and she was going to take it at face value for once. She brought her gaze back to his, keeping her tone even. ‘And what happens when the year is up?’

‘We have the marriage annulled and get on with our lives as before.’

Layla put down the cleaning basket and wiped her suddenly damp palms on her thighs. She had suffered temptation before and mostly resisted. Mostly. But walking past a bowl of her great-aunt’s Belgian chocolate mousse was clearly not in the same league as agreeing to be Logan’s temporary bride. She would be in close contact with him, not sleeping with him but living with him.

Sharing his life for a Whole Year.

How was she going to stop herself from developing feelings for him? Feelings that were already lurking in the background like a secret smouldering coal that only needed a tiny whiff of oxygen to leap into a scorching hot flame. She could feel it now—the slow burn of attraction that made her aware of every movement he made. Every time he took a breath, every time he frowned, every time his gaze meshed with hers.

‘I don’t expect you to do this for nothing, Layla. I’ll make sure you are financially well compensated.’ He named a figure that made her eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly flew off her face.

Now was probably not the time to tell him she would have done it free. There was probably never going to be that time. Logan had loved and loved deeply and had tragically lost that love. No woman would ever take the place of his fiancée and any woman who thought she could would be a silly romantic fool.

But the amount of money he was offering would allow Layla to expand her cleaning business into a household concierge service as well. She could take on more staff so she didn’t have to do so much of the physical work, which increasingly tired her. It would mean she could be at the helm of her business playing to her strengths instead of her weakness.

Layla raised her chin, keen to portray a cool and steady composure she was nowhere near feeling. ‘I’d like a day or two to think about it.’ She was proud of the evenness of her tone given the pitty-pat, pitty-pat hammering of her pulse.

His expression barely changed but she sensed a restrained relief sweeping through him. ‘Of course. It’s a big decision and not without its risks, which brings me to a difficult but necessary discussion.’

Layla knew where he was going with this and it annoyed her that he thought her so gauche for it to even be a possibility for her to fall in love with him. She was definitely no Jane Eyre. She might find him ridiculously attractive and her pulse might go a little crazy when he was around but that’s as far as it could ever go. As far as she would let it go. She had willpower, didn’t she? She would send it to boot camp ASAP.

She raised her brows in twin arcs of derision. ‘Oh, the one about me not getting any silly ideas about falling head over heels in love with you?’

Heels? Now that was the stuff of fantasy.

If he was taken aback by her bluntness, he didn’t show it. ‘I would hate you to get hurt in the process of helping me save Bellbrae. We both love this place but it doesn’t mean we have to fall in love with each other.’

Layla painted a stiff smile on her lips but something inside her shrivelled. Of course, he would never fall in love with her. Why would he? She was more or less invisible to him and had been for the past fourteen years. But for him to rule the possibility out at the get-go was still a slap in the face to her feminine ego. ‘Message received loud and clear.’

He gave a slight nod, the quiet intensity of his gaze unsettling her already shaky equilibrium. ‘Here—I’ll carry your basket downstairs for you.’

He stepped forward to pick up her basket at the same time she bent down to get it. Their hands met on the handle and a jolt of electricity shot up Layla’s arm and straight to her core, fizzing like the ignited wick of a firework. She pulled hers out away and straightened but in her haste, she lost her balance and would have fallen if it hadn’t been for the quick action of Logan grabbing her arm to hold her steady. His fingers overlapped on the slim bones of her wrist and another wave of heat coursed through her body. Heat that simmered and sizzled in all her secret places.

His gaze locked with hers and she got the strangest sense he was seeing her for the first time. The slight flare of his pupils, the gentling of his fingers around her wrist less of a steadying hold, more like that of a caress. She could smell the cool fresh lime top notes of his aftershave and the base notes of cool forest wood and country leather. She could see the various shades of blue flecks in his eyes, reminding her of flickering shadows over a deep mountain lake. His lean jaw was lightly sprinkled with regrowth; the dark pinpricks a reminder of the potent male hormones surging around his body.

His mouth…

Her heart skipped a beat. Her stomach flip-flopped. Her female hormones started a party. She should not have looked at his mouth. But she was drawn by an impulse she had zero control over. His lips were more or less even in volume with well-defined contours that hinted at his determined, goal-achieving personality. She wondered what his mouth would feel like pressed to her own. Wondered and wanted and wished for it to happen.

‘Are you okay?’ His voice was husky and low—as low as an intimate lover’s voice.

Layla stretched her lips into a polite smile that felt shaky around the edges. ‘I’m fine. Thanks.’ She stepped out of his hold to create some distance between them but she couldn’t help noticing he was opening and closing his fingers as if to remove the same tingling sensation she had felt. Or maybe he hadn’t felt tingles. Maybe he was disgusted…as disgusted as her teenage date all those years ago when he’d seen her damaged body.

‘I’ll go and see to your room.’ Layla injected housekeeper briskness into her tone. ‘I assume you’re staying for a night or two?’

‘It depends.’

‘On?’

His unwavering gaze held hers. ‘On your decision.’

‘And if I say no?’

A fault line of tension rippled along his jaw and an embittered light came into his eyes. ‘You and your great-aunt will no longer have a home here. Not if my brother Robbie has his way.’

Logan waited until Layla had left before he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. But truth be told, he felt like he’d been holding his breath ever since he’d found out the contents of his grandfather’s will. Nothing could have come as more of a shock than finding the survival of the Bellbrae estate was dependent on him finding a wife. A wife, he had resolutely decided seven years ago, he would never have.

Not after the suicide of his fiancée Susannah.

Logan went back to the windows that overlooked the estate. His chest ached and burned with the thought of losing his family’s ancestral home. Generations of McLaughlins had lived and loved and died here. Every Highland slope and crag, every bubbling burn had watched him grow from baby to boy to man. Every tree was like an old friend. There were trees on the estate his great-great-grandfather had planted. There were gardens his own father had designed before he had been taken by pancreatic cancer when Logan was eighteen. Logan had learned the skills of landscape design from his father and developed it into a global career that gave him more money than he needed and fame he didn’t want.

He drew in a breath as rough and uneven as Highland scree. There was no other way but to marry if he was to save the estate from his reckless and foolish younger brother.

And who better to marry than Layla Campbell, who had lived here since she was a child?

Logan would be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed how beautiful she was. Perhaps not in a classical sense, but with her waist-length chestnut hair and creamy complexion and grey-green eyes, she had an ethereal quality about her that was just as captivating—maybe even more so. For years she’d just been a cute but somewhat annoying child lurking around the estate, spying on him and his brother.

But it was impossible not to notice her now.

But he would have to, because he wasn’t entering into a long-term relationship.

Not now.

Not again.

Not ever.

Logan walked back over to the boxes Layla had packed and opened the lid of one that contained his grandfather’s clothes. It didn’t seem real that his grandfather was no longer here. He lifted out a Shetland island sweater and held it against his face, breathing in the faint smell of his grandfather’s old-fashioned spicy aftershave.

If the estate was sold, there would be no trace left of his grandfather or his father. They would be gone. Lost. Erased.

For years, Logan had spent hours in his father’s study at Bellbrae, sitting at his father’s desk, reading the books his father had read, writing with the pens he had used—just so he could feel close to his dad. To hold onto the memory of his dad for as long as possible.

Logan put the sweater back in the box and closed the cardboard flaps, wishing he could close a lid on his guilt and regret. He hadn’t been as close to his grandfather as he should have been. But losing his father on the threshold of his own adulthood had made Logan resentful of his grandfather’s old-school parenting style. He hadn’t wanted his grandfather to be a stand-in dad. He’d wanted his father to still be alive. He’d resented the way his grandfather had tried to control every decision he made, everything he did and who he did it with. It had been suffocating and had only made him miss his father more.

It had hit Robbie even harder and Logan blamed himself for the way his younger brother had rebelled. Logan had been too lenient with him, allowing the pendulum to swing too far back the other way to compensate for his grandfather’s strict authoritarian style. But hadn’t he always been too lenient with Robbie? Ever since their mother had left, Logan had tried to fill the gaping hole she’d left in their lives. But, of course, he had failed.

What was with him and relationships? Why was he destined to screw up each and every one?

But maybe he could repair some of that damage by saving Bellbrae.

He had been straight with Layla on the terms of the deal. Brutally straight, but he was unapologetic for it. He had no intention of hurting her by giving her false hope. A marriage of convenience was the only way he could save his family’s home. A home Layla had loved from the moment she’d arrived to live with her great-aunt Elsie. If Logan thought his brother would do the right thing by Bellbrae he wouldn’t have bothered with the messy business of fulfilling the terms of the will.

But lately he’d become aware of Robbie’s gambling habit. A disturbing habit that had run up some eye-watering debt. Robbie saw Bellbrae differently from him. He didn’t have the same deep-in-the-DNA connection with the estate Logan had. Once his brother got hold of Bellbrae he would sell it to the highest bidder and walk away from the estate that had been in their family for centuries.

But selling Bellbrae wasn’t going to happen if Logan could help it. He would enter a short-term marriage to protect a long-term estate. To protect the legacy his father had handed to him on his deathbed.

‘Always do the right thing by Bellbrae.’

And he would do the right thing by Layla by making sure she had no illusions about their marriage from the get-go. He would pay her generously for her time as his wife. They would marry as friends and part as friends. He knew how much this place meant to her—how much she used it as a base when she wasn’t in Edinburgh, where she ran her small business. Any niggling of his conscience he settled with the conviction he was helping her in the long run. He was offering her a staggering amount of money to be his temporary wife.

How could she possibly say no?

CHAPTER TWO

‘BUT YOU HAVE to say no,’ Layla’s best friend Isla said on the phone later that evening. ‘You’ll get your heart broken for sure.’

‘But it will break my heart to see Bellbrae sold,’ Layla said. ‘This is the first real home I’ve ever had. I’ve spent the last fourteen years here—it’s made me who I am today. I can’t bear the thought of it going out of the McLaughlin family. It belongs to Logan. It was wrong of Angus to make his will in such a way.’

‘Do you know why Angus did it that way?’

Layla sighed so heavily her shoulders slumped. ‘Logan has made it pretty clear over the years that he has no intention of settling down again. Losing Susannah was such a terrible shock to him—as it would be to anyone. I’ve overheard a few conversations where Angus insisted Logan move on with his life but Logan isn’t someone you can tell what to do. Once his mind is made up, that’s it.’

‘So, he’s made up his mind to marry you in a marriage of convenience?’

Layla pulled at her top lip with her finger and thumb as she thought about her conversation with Logan in the north tower. ‘Yes, well, I think I kind of planted the idea in his head. But we both love Bellbrae and we both know how impulsive Robbie can be. He doesn’t love the place the same way we do. He thinks it’s boring and cold and too isolated. We have to stop him inheriting the estate even if it means giving up a year of our lives in a paper marriage.’

‘Are you sure it’s going to be on paper? Logan’s a full-blooded man. You’re a young and beautiful woman. Living together is going to test the boundaries surely?’

Layla affected a laugh. ‘Calling me beautiful is a bit of a stretch. Anyway, can you imagine him being attracted to me? I’m hardly what you’d call his type. I’m not anyone’s type.’

‘You’re way too hard on yourself,’ Isla said, echoing Logan’s words. ‘You shouldn’t let what happened in your teens colour how you see yourself now. But the whole friends-to-lovers thing can happen, you know. It doesn’t just happen in romance novels.’

‘I’m not sure how to describe our relationship,’ Layla said. ‘Friends is probably too generous a description. We’re distant and polite to each other. I sometimes think he doesn’t even register I’m around now that I’m an adult. I’m like part of the furniture.’

‘I just hope you don’t get hurt in the long run,’ Isla said. ‘I want you to be as happy as I am. I still can’t believe how wonderful it is to be married to Rafe, knowing he loves me more than anything. We’re both so excited about our Christmas baby.’

‘I’m excited about your baby too.’

It was hard not to feel envious of her best friend’s happiness. After a rough start, Isla and Rafe had finally come together again and were eagerly awaiting the birth of their ‘accidental’ baby. But would Layla’s marriage to Logan have an equally happy ending?

The odds were stacked against it and the sooner she got that straight and clear in her mind, the better.

Logan walked through the south garden at Bellbrae, the scattered leaves of the ancient deciduous trees crunching under his feet. The vivid reds and golds and bronze and yellows were like wild splashes of paint. The autumn air was crisp and redolent of the smell of cooling earth and leaf litter with a hint of the harsh winter to come. Each season at Bellbrae held its magic for him. The gardens and fields and Highlands beyond could be blanketed in white as thick as a pile of duvets and still stir him to the marrow. But unless Layla agreed to a marriage of convenience, he would have to say goodbye to this place. The land and home of his ancestors, the place where he felt deeply rooted to the estate as surely and securely as the ancient trees around him.

Logan waited for Flossie, his grandfather’s old Border collie, to keep up. She was sniffing around the tendon-like roots of an old oak tree. ‘Come on, Floss.’ He patted his hand against his thigh and the dog slowly waddled over to him, her tail wagging, her tongue hanging out of her mouth in spite of the chill in the air. He leaned down to scratch behind her ears, a pang jabbing him deep in his gut at the thought of what would happen to her if Robbie inherited the estate. The old dog would not cope with a move to another home and Robbie wouldn’t want to keep her.

Logan straightened from petting the dog and caught a glimpse of a slim figure walking through the archway of trees in the distance. With her wild chestnut hair and creamy skin and irregular gait, Layla looked as much a part of this landscape as heather on the Highlands. For years he had seen her moving about on the estate, reminding him of a faery or other mythic person. Touching her on the arm the day before had sent a shockwave of awareness through him—an awareness he found faintly disturbing. He would have to try harder not to touch her unless absolutely necessary.

The boundaries were not to be blurred and especially not by him.

Layla turned her head as if she had suddenly sensed him nearby. She clutched the front of her jacket around the front of her body and began to walk in his direction. ‘I was looking for Flossie,’ she called out to him, sweeping the cloud of her hair back over one slim shoulder. ‘I thought she might have gone out alone and got lost.’

Logan met her more than halfway across the wooded garden to save her from negotiating the treacherous tree roots. ‘I took her out with me earlier. Sorry to worry you.’ He turned back to look at the lumbering Border collie. ‘She’s slowed down a lot, hasn’t she?’

Layla bent down to ruffle the dog’s ears just where his hand had been moments earlier, her hair tumbling from behind her shoulders. He suddenly had an urge to run his fingers through her hair—to see if it was as soft and silky as it looked.

He curled his hands into tight fists and gave his willpower a pep talk. No touching. Hands off. Paper relationship only.

‘Yes, I noticed a big change after your grandfather passed,’ she said. ‘She misses him, don’t you, sweetie?’ She addressed the dog affectionately and was rewarded by an enthusiastic tail wag. Layla straightened and met his gaze. ‘We all miss him.’

For a moment, Logan wondered if his grandfather had planned this all along—a marriage between him and Layla. The old man had spent a lot of time with her over the last months of his life. And his grandfather had given her that loan she’d mentioned. After all, she had been the one to suggest he enter a marriage of convenience when they’d spoken in his grandfather’s suite in the north tower. Had that been deliberate on her part or just a throwaway line borne out of her love for Bellbrae?

And why the hell was he suddenly so cynical about her? She was part of the family—or close enough to being so. He couldn’t imagine Bellbrae without her.

Logan had taken it a step further by suggesting she offer herself as his paper bride. He still didn’t quite believe he had done that, but it had seemed a solution he could live with at the time. The only solution he could live with. ‘Did you ever speak to my grandfather about his intentions regarding the will?’

Her grey-green eyes widened in affront and her chin came up at a proud angle. ‘What are you suggesting? That I somehow put him up to changing his original will?’

Logan shrugged one shoulder with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. ‘You stand to gain quite a lot if you marry me. You said it yourself—the upstairs-downstairs thing.’

She coughed out a derisive laugh. ‘Newsflash, Logan. I’m not going to marry you. It would be beneath my dignity to marry someone who’s such an appalling snob.’ She swung away to walk back the way she had come but Logan caught up in one or two strides and clasped her by the wrist and turned her to face him.

‘No, wait,’ he said, suddenly aware of how tiny her wrist was, tiny enough for his fingers to overlap. Aware too, of the bergamot and geranium fragrance of her hair. Her eyes sparked with chips of ice, her rose-pink lips tightly pursed. It was a mistake to look too closely at her mouth. For years he had avoided doing so. It was soft and plump with her top lip shaped in a perfect cupid’s bow, with dimples either side when she smiled, which she was not currently doing.

‘I’m sorry, Layla. That was crass of me.’ He sighed and released her wrist, his fingers feeling strangely restless and empty when she stepped back.

She rubbed at her wrist as if he had given her a Chinese burn, her eyes still flashing. ‘I find your accusation deeply insulting. The last thing I want is for you to lose Bellbrae but I refuse to marry a man who is so deeply distrustful of my motives.’

Logan had always secretly admired her stubborn streak of pride. She hadn’t had the easiest start in life but she had made the most of the opportunities that had come her way after coming to live on the estate. She was a hard worker—too hard, he thought, given her leg—but it was a brave person indeed who took it upon themselves to tell her to slow down.

‘I can only apologise again. It was a stupid thing to say.’ He held her gaze, watching for any softening of her expression.

She appeared to be slightly mollified. Slightly, not fully. Her lips were still tightly compressed but the daggers in her eyes had been sheathed. For now. ‘Apology accepted.’ Her voice sounded a little gruff and she delicately cleared her throat and added, ‘But there’s another thing I find annoying. You’re assuming I don’t already have a partner.’

An invisible punch hit him in the chest and for a moment he couldn’t take a breath. He’d heard nothing about her love life recently…in fact, he couldn’t remember hearing anything about a boyfriend for years. But she spent heaps of time in Edinburgh these days with her cleaning business. She could have any number of lovers. And why shouldn’t she?

‘Do you?’ he asked, not sure he really wanted to know. But a current partner would be a problem. A big problem in more ways than he wanted to think about.

Her eyes fell away from his and twin spots of colour darkened on her cheeks. ‘Not at the moment.’

There was a small silence broken only by the rustling of the leaves at their feet as a cool breeze passed through the copse of trees. Some remaining leaves fell from the craggy branches overhead, floating down like over-sized confetti. What was it with the wedding imagery? Weddings were something he never thought of. He never even attended them, not if he could help it.

Layla’s gaze went to the elderly dog who was now lying down at Logan’s feet. ‘What do you think will happen to Flossie if Robbie inherits Bellbrae?’ Her tone contained a chord of disquiet, the same disquiet he felt about his ruthless younger brother’s intentions. ‘Would you take her to live with you?’

‘She’s too old to travel and I’m on the road too much in any case.’ He exhaled a long breath. ‘He’ll probably have her put down.’

She gave an audible swallow and her wide eyes met his. ‘We can’t let that happen. She might be old and mostly blind but she still enjoys life. Your grandfather would spin in his grave if—’

‘If my grandfather was so concerned about Flossie, then why the hell did he write his will like that?’ Logan couldn’t strip back the frustration in his voice. His grandfather’s will had put him in an impossible situation. He felt cornered, compromised, blackmailed.

Layla’s teeth sank into her lower lip. ‘If I were to marry you, what would we tell people about us? I mean, are we going to pretend it’s a real marriage, or—?’

Logan rubbed a hand along the side of his jaw before dropping his hand back by his side. ‘I would prefer people to think it’s a genuine love match. I’m not sure who’s going to buy it, but still.’

Her chin came back up and the daggers were back glinting in her eyes. ‘Thank you.’ Her tone was distinctly wry.

Logan could have thumped himself for being so insensitive. ‘That came out wrong. I was thinking more about in terms of myself.’

A small frown appeared on her smooth-as-cream forehead. ‘Because of what you felt for Susannah?’ She paused for a beat and added, ‘What you still feel for her?’

Logan had never discussed with anyone the complicated relationship he’d had with Susannah. He didn’t even like thinking about how badly he had handled things. It was better to let people think he was still grieving the loss of his fiancée, but in truth he felt guilt rather than grief. Gut-shredding guilt that gnawed and clawed at him with savage teeth and talons.

So many mistakes he had made, costly mistakes that had ended in tragedy.

‘It’s pretty common knowledge I never intended to settle down with anyone after Susannah’s death,’ he said. ‘I guess my grandfather decided to take the matter into his own hands and force me to face my responsibilities as the eldest McLaughlin heir.’

The frown on her brow deepened. ‘So, who will your heir be? Or will you eventually leave Bellbrae to a nephew or niece if Robbie has children at some point?’

Logan hadn’t got to thinking that far ahead. His sole goal had been rescuing Bellbrae from being auctioned off to settle his brother’s gambling debts. Marrying to save the estate was a big enough step, siring an heir was a giant leap he wasn’t sure he was ready to even consider. Yet. He gave one of his carefully rationed smiles. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to help me with that?’

Her cheeks burned a fire-engine red and her plump rosy lips flattened to a thin disapproving line. ‘No.’ Her tone was as starchy as a prim Victorian Sunday schoolteacher’s.

‘Only joking.’ It was no joking matter but he refused to think about having a child. Hadn’t he done enough damage with his brother?

Layla shifted her gaze, but he noticed her small white teeth resumed their savaging of her lower lip. ‘I need to get back to help Aunt Elsie with something.’ Her voice was not much more than a mumble.

‘I need your final answer, Layla. Tonight, if possible. There are legal documents to arrange before we—’

‘I’ll see you tonight. At dinner.’

Logan nodded in agreement. ‘It’s a date.’

It had been a heck of a long time since he’d had one of those.

Layla sat with her great-aunt at the Bellbrae kitchen table half an hour later with a pot of tea and freshly baked cupcakes.

‘You’re not eating,’ Aunt Elsie said, pushing the tiered cake stand closer. ‘Is something on your mind?’

Layla took a cake from the stand and peeled the polka-dotted paper case off the cupcake. ‘I’m not sure how to tell you this…’ she began.

Her great-aunt paused in the action of sipping her tea, her light blue gaze wide with interest. ‘You’ve met someone?’

Layla only just resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. ‘No. It’s a little more complicated than that.’ She took a deep breath and added, ‘Logan’s asked me to marry him.’

Her great-aunt’s cup gave a tiny rattle as she placed it back in its saucer. ‘And what was your answer?’

Layla wasn’t sure what to make of her great-aunt’s mild expression. ‘Aren’t you surprised he proposed to me?’

Aunt Elsie reached for the teapot and topped up both of their cups with the rich brew. She placed the teapot back on its heat protector before responding. ‘Not one bit surprised. He’s known you since you were a wee child. He’s watched you grow up into a fine young woman. You’ll be a good wife for him. Loyal and steady and stable.’ She peered at Layla over the top of her bifocals. ‘You said yes, didn’t you?’

Layla nibbled at one side of her mouth. ‘I’m still deciding…’

Aunt Elsie sat back in her chair, lifted the little milk jug to pour some into her tea and then set the jug back down on the table. ‘You’d be mad to refuse, my girl. He’s a good man. A bit on the quiet side but you don’t want a husband who talks more than he listens. He’ll take good care of you.’

Layla broke off a piece of cupcake with her fingers. ‘He only wants to stay married for a year to secure the estate. If he doesn’t marry within three months, Bellbrae will automatically pass to Robbie.’ She put the small portion of cake in her mouth, chewed and swallowed, continuing to gauge her great-aunt’s reaction.

Aunt Elsie stirred her tea into a small whirlpool, glancing at her again. ‘I know about Angus’s will. He told me before he died.’

Layla frowned. ‘And you didn’t try and change his mind?’

Aunt Elsie sighed and picked up her cup again. ‘There isn’t a person alive or dead who could change that man’s mind. Angus was frustrated Logan hadn’t moved on from losing Susannah. Sure, he has casual lovers occasionally but his grandfather wanted him to settle down and do the right thing by Bellbrae. If marrying you is the only way Logan can see fit to do it, then so be it. You love this place and you love him.’ She made a toast of her last words by taking a sip of her tea.

‘Excuse me.’ Layla gave a choked laugh. ‘Not like that!’

Aunt Elsie arched her eyebrows. ‘Are you sure?’

Growing up, Layla had idolised Logan from afar. He had been a romantic fantasy any teenage girl would have drooled over. But it was a bit of a leap to describe her feelings now as love, or at least that sort of love. Although…that tiny secret smouldering coal inside her was still there waiting, waiting, waiting for enough oxygen to fan it into life.

Layla looked down at the cake crumbs on her plate and expelled a long breath. ‘It wouldn’t matter how I felt about him. It’s not going to be a proper marriage.’ She pushed the crumbs into a neat pile and then glanced back at her great-aunt. ‘It will be on paper only.’

Aunt Elsie’s eyes began to twinkle like they were auditioning for a new constellation in the northern hemisphere. ‘Of course it will.’

Layla gave an eye roll and stood to take her plate and cup and saucer to the sink. Her great-aunt was suffering a massive delusion if she thought Logan would be remotely interested in sleeping with her. She had seen photos of Logan’s casual lovers. She had seen his fiancée Susannah in the stunningly beautiful and unscarred flesh.

How could she ever hope to compete with that?

CHAPTER THREE

LATER THAT EVENING Layla fed Flossie and let her out for a comfort walk. When she got back, the old dog began to snore almost as soon as she settled back in her wicker basket in front of the fire in Angus’s study a few doors away from the kitchen. There was a pet door in one of the back doors off the kitchen, but Flossie was too arthritic these days to get through it.

It was sad to see the old girl’s decline. Layla had only been at Bellbrae a couple of weeks when Angus McLaughlin had brought Flossie home as a playful and needle-toothed puppy. She had often wondered if he had bought the dog to help her settle in. She had asked him once but he’d dismissed the suggestion in his gruff and off-hand way.

Layla had spent many a happy time playing with Flossie, brushing her silky coat and taking her on walks about the estate, which had seemed so huge and terrifying when she had first arrived. But with the company of the ebullient puppy it had suddenly become a home. A home she could not imagine losing. Her happiest memories—the only happy memories she possessed—had been crafted and laid down here at Bellbrae.

Layla was putting the finishing touches to dinner shortly after when Logan strode into the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder and turned back to the pot she was stirring on the cooktop. ‘Dinner won’t be long.’

‘Where’s Elsie?’

Layla put the cooking spoon down on the ceramic spoon rest and turned and faced him, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘I gave her the night off. She hasn’t been doing so much cooking now your grandfather’s no longer with us.’ She waited a beat and added, ‘She knew about the change to his will.’

Logan frowned. ‘Thoughtful of him to share it with the household help but not with me.’

Layla pursed her lips. ‘You might think of Aunt Elsie as little more than a humble housekeeper but she has supported your family through every high and low of the last three decades.’ She whipped off her apron and flung it on the benchtop.

‘When your mother left when you and Robbie were little, when your father died, when Robbie went off the rails that first time in his teens. And when your grandmother died when you were away at university. Aunt Elsie has cooked and cleaned and consoled everyone, working long hours and forsaking a normal life of her own. Don’t you dare refer to her as just the help.’ Her chest was heaving like she had just run up one of the Bellbrae turrets. Three turrets. Possibly all twelve of them.

He closed his eyes in a slow blink and sighed. ‘All I seem to do lately around you is open my mouth and change feet.’ He twisted his lips into a rueful grimace. ‘I meant no offence. My only excuse is that I’m still reeling from being so much in the dark about my grandfather’s intentions. I hate surprises at the best of times and this was one hell of a surprise.’

There were surprises and there were surprises. Layla could only imagine the surprises Logan had received over the course of his life were not the pleasant type. His mother abandoning him and his brother as small children to go and live with her lover abroad, the sudden death of his father from pancreatic cancer, the terrible shock of his fiancée’s suicide and now his grandfather’s odd conditions on his will. She could hardly blame him for wanting a little more predictability in his life. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I told Aunt Elsie about your proposal.’

Logan’s gaze was steady and watchful. ‘And?’

‘She told me I’d be a fool not to accept.’

‘And have you accepted?’

‘Just to be clear—I don’t want you to lose Bellbrae much more than I want to be your wife. Think of my acceptance as an act of charity, if you will.’

If he was relieved by her answer he gave no sign of it on his features. They might as well have been discussing the weather. ‘I appreciate your honesty. Neither of us want this but we have a common goal in saving Bellbrae.’

Layla kept her chin high, her gaze level, her pride on active duty. ‘She also thinks it won’t be a paper marriage for very long.’

One side of his mouth came up in a vestige of a smile. It took years off his face and made something in her stomach slip sideways. It had been years, seven years at least, since she had seen him give anything close to a smile.

He approached the island bench on the opposite side from where she was standing.

‘Why would she think that?’ His voice had gone down to a rough deep burr.

Her gaze flicked away from his, her cheeks warming like she’d been standing too close to the oven. She gave a little shrug. ‘Who knows? Perhaps she thinks you’ll be overcome with uncontrollable lust and won’t be able to resist me.’

There was a loaded silence. A silence with an undercurrent of unusual energy vibrating through every particle of air. Energy that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck and along her arms tingle at the roots.

Layla sneaked a glance at him and found him looking at her with a contemplative frown.

After a moment, he appeared to give himself a mental shake and then raked his splayed fingers through his hair, dropping his hand back by his side. ‘I would hope you know me well enough to be reassured I am a man of my word. If I say our marriage will not be consummated, then you can count on it that it won’t be.’

Why? Because she was so undesirable? So repugnant to him as she had been to her first and only boyfriend when she was sixteen? So unlike the gorgeous supermodel types Logan had occasional casual flings with?

‘Right now, I don’t know whether I should be reassured or insulted.’ The words slipped out before her wounded ego could check in with her brain.

Logan’s gaze dipped to her mouth, lingering there a fraction longer than was necessary. His eyes came back to mesh with hers and her heart gave an odd little thumpity-thump. She had to summon every bit of willpower she possessed and then some not to glance at his mouth. She wondered if he kissed hard or soft or somewhere in between. Her mind suddenly filled with images of them making love, her limbs entangled with his, her senses singing from his touch, his mouth clamped to hers in passion. A passion she could only imagine because she had never experienced it herself.

‘It would only complicate things if we were to have a normal relationship.’ His voice had a rough edge as if something was clogging his throat. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to you.’

Layla turned and went back to the pot simmering on the cooktop behind her. Her body was simmering too. Smouldering with new sensations and longings she had no idea how to control. Had his ‘proposal’ unlocked something in her? Made her aware of herself in a way she hadn’t been before? Aware of her needs, the needs she had ignored and denied, always telling herself no one would ever want to marry her.

She took the lid off the pot, picked up the spoon and gave the casserole a couple of stirs. ‘Will you continue to have casual lovers during our marriage?’

‘No. That’s something else that wouldn’t be fair to you. And I would hope you would refrain from any dalliances yourself.’

Layla put the spoon down again and placed the lid back on the pot with a clang. ‘You don’t have to worry on that score. I haven’t had a casual lover my entire adult life.’

Why did you tell him that?

There was another pulsing silence.

Logan came to her side of the island bench and stood next to her near the cooktop. Her body went on high alert, every nerve and cell aware of his closeness. Not touching, but close enough to do so if either of them moved half a step.

‘But you’ve had lovers, right?’

Layla turned her head to glance at him, hoping he would put her flaming cheeks down to her proximity to the simmering pot in front of her. ‘Not as many as you might think.’ No way was she going to announce she was a twenty-six-year-old virgin. She moved from the cooktop to gather the serving utensils. ‘I haven’t opened any wine for dinner. Do you want to grab a bottle? We’ll be eating in the small green dining room since it’s just the two of us.’

‘I’ll bring something up from the cellar.’

Just the two of us.

How cosy and intimate that sounded, but it wasn’t true. He would never have asked her to marry him if it hadn’t been for the strange conditions on his grandfather’s will. She had to remember that at all costs. This was a business deal. Nothing personal. Nothing lasting.

Nothing.

Logan spent longer than he needed to choosing a wine from the well-stocked Bellbrae cellar. He remembered the bottle of vintage champagne he’d selected when he’d got engaged to Susannah. How excited he’d felt, how ready he’d felt for the commitment he’d made. How he had imagined himself to be in love and Susannah in love with him. He had been Layla’s age—twenty-six. Susannah had been two years younger with a host of issues he had been completely oblivious to until it was too late.

Losing his father after a devastatingly brief battle with cancer had compelled him to settle down as soon as he could. With hindsight, he could see now how many signs he’d missed about the suitability of Susannah, even his own readiness for such a permanent commitment. He’d had no way of knowing how that night of celebrating his engagement would end less than a year later in Susannah’s death. How could he have been so ignorant of the demons she’d battled on a daily basis?

What did that say about him?

It said he wasn’t relationship material, that’s what it said. Or at least, not that sort of relationship. Promising to love someone no matter what, making a long-term commitment were things he could no longer do. Would never do.

But a paper marriage to save his beloved home was something he could do and do it willingly.

Logan selected a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge in the cellar next to the racks of vintage wine. His upcoming marriage to Layla might not be a real one in every sense of the word but it was surely worth celebrating their joint commitment to save Bellbrae.

Layla wheeled the serving trolley into the green dining room rather than risk carrying plates and dishes. Because of the muscle grafts performed to keep her leg functioning as best as it could, it was often weaker and more painful at the end of the day. And the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself by losing her balance again and needing Logan’s assistance. She was already feeling a little nervous about having dinner with him.

In the early days, Aunt Elsie had been very old-school about dining with the family upstairs and had always insisted Layla eat in the kitchen with her. But since the death of Logan’s grandmother the rules had been relaxed as Angus McLaughlin had appreciated the company at dinner to get him through the long lonely evenings.

But she had never dined alone with Logan.

The green dining room was one Layla’s favourite rooms in the castle. It had windows that overlooked the loch on the estate and the Highlands beyond. She left the curtains open as the moon had risen and was shining a bolt of shimmering silver across the crushed silk surface of the water.

Logan came back from the cellar just as Layla was straightening the settings on the table. He was carrying a bottle of French champagne in one hand and holding two crystal glasses by the stems in the other.

‘I seem to recall you like champagne. But if you’d prefer wine…’

‘No, I love champagne. It’s my favourite drink.’ She raised her brows when she saw the label. ‘Gosh, that’s a good one. But should we be wasting it on an everyday dinner?’

He placed the glasses on the table and began to remove the foil covering and wire from the cork. ‘This isn’t an everyday dinner. Tonight, we’re celebrating our success in saving Bellbrae. That’s worth ten thousand bottles of this drop.’

Layla watched as he deftly removed the cork and poured the champagne into the two crystal glasses. He handed her a glass and raised his own glass in a toast. ‘To saving Bellbrae.’

She sipped the champagne, savouring the honey and lavender notes as they burst on her tongue. ‘Mmm…lovely.’

Logan put his glass down and reached for something inside his trouser pocket. ‘I have something for you.’ He took out a vintage emerald-green velvet ring box and handed it to her.

Layla knew exactly what was inside the box. She’d helped Aunt Elsie pack away Logan’s grandmother’s things when Margaret McLaughlin had died from complications after routine surgery. The collection of beautiful heirloom jewellery had fascinated Layla so much she had secretly looked at it on many occasions when no one had been around. She knew the code to the safe where it was kept, and had even tried various pieces on, looking at herself in the mirror, pretending she was a princess about to be married to the handsome prince of her dreams.

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