Eighteen
‘If only you could find a woman to marry who has no interest in actually being your wife, your problems would be solved.’
She spoke flippantly, more to divert his attention from her own tragic situation than anything else, but Innes, who had been in the act of taking another sip of whisky, stopped, the glass half-way to his lips, an arrested look in his eyes.
‘Say that again.’
‘What? That you need to marry…?’
‘A woman who has no interest in being my wife,’ he finished for her with a dawning smile. ‘A woman who is in need of a home and has no fixed plans, who might actually be looking for a respite from her current life for a wee while. You’re right—that’s exactly what I need. And I know exactly the woman.’
‘You do? You cannot possibly mean…’
His smile had a wicked light in it. ‘I do,’ Innes said. ‘I mean you.’
