Sammy deserved better. He needed a place to work off that excess energy, a place to roam and explore, to shoot and fish. He needed a place like her estate north of Glasgow. Elise straightened as she mulled over the idea. She hadn’t visited the property since her injury last autumn, having purchased the place at Zander’s urging with the finances she had received after her grandmother’s passing.

Zander had set up a corporation for her and placed the mansion, land, and mill within it to avoid future death taxes. Her “business” encompassed raising sheep, manufacturing wool into tartan, and selling the fabric to Highland outlets and online shops. Though lucrative, Elise had very little to do with the business’s day-to-day operations.

Harry came through the line, preceded by Zander Matthews. Both men bowed to her parents. A photographer snapped a photo of her family, the flash blinding Elise. She whipped her head in her father’s direction, internally seething at the exposure. Father met her eyes, his expression apologetic.

“I’ll see to it,” Father mouthed.

He had better. If that photo hit the papers or online articles, Elise’s cover could be blown.

She exhaled loudly when Harry arrived at her side.

“Relax. I’m sure it’s fine.” Harry took her hand and sent enough sparks through her system to electrocute a four-ton elephant.

“This is why I avoid these affairs whenever I can,” she added, trying not to drool at the handsome picture he made.

During her weekend in Bascombe, she had heard more rumors about Harry’s investment in Nick’s start-up business and how well-off he’d become. Add decorated war hero and MI6 to his repertoire, and Mr. Harry Benson was quite a catch. If Harry weren’t such an absentee father, he’d be the whole package for anyone lucky enough to capture his heart.

After witnessing Jack’s happy home, a yearning for a family of her own had taken hold of Elise, an impossibility with her current physical situation. But the longer she spent away from MI6, the more her priorities vacillated, until she had no idea which mattered most to her.

“I’ll look for you inside the ballroom,” Harry whispered in her ear. “Do you know what kind of music your parents are playing tonight? String ensemble or deejay?”

“Deejay. They like to dance.” Her parents loved American rock and roll.

“Save me the slow songs. I’d hate to fight Ahern in front of this crowd.”

The air thickened around them.

“All of them?” Elise asked faintly, her insides wobbling at the intensity in his gaze.

“All of them,” Harry affirmed with a quick nod. “Will there be any reels?”

“You’re in Scotland, laddie. What do you think?”