Page 13 of To Wed a Wild Scot
Logan’s grin vanished. Hewasa thief, and a liar too. The question was, how could some English chit he’d never laid eyes on before know it? “Oh? What did I steal, lass?”
She shot him an accusing look. “You stole my letter. I saw you through the window at the Sassy Lassie. It wasn’t addressed to you, but you took it, you read it, and then you tossed it into the fire.”
Logan stared at her, unable to utter a word. No, it was impossible.
Except she’d clearly said “her letter.”Herletter.
He’d only burned one letter when he’d been in Inverness.
The letter Lady Juliana Bernard had written to Fitz.
Logan had spent the better part of the ride from Inverness to Castle Kinross arguing with himself about that letter. A month ago, Fitz had received a letter from a friend in Surrey, and the man had mentioned Lady Juliana had become betrothed to some English marquess or other. That she’d found another gentleman to marry didn’t excuse Logan’s crime, but when his conscience pricked at him, he’d relieved the worst of his guilt by reminding himself she hadn’t come to any harm because of what he’d done.
Then he’d read her letter today and discovered not onlywasn’tshe married, but she was on her way to Scotland to claim Fitz.
Leaving Surrey on…arrive in Inverness in…keep your promise…
Had his dear brother Fitz promised to marry Lady Juliana Bernard if she came to Castle Kinross? If he had, he must have been urging her to make the journey in his earliest letters to her, before Logan started intercepting the correspondence between them.
If he hadn’t been so distracted by that bloody letter, he might have realized sooner that someone was following him.
Not justsomeone…
He met her gaze. “What’s your name?”
“I think you know very well who I am.”
He did know, yet even as she stood before him, her green eyes flashing fire, he could hardly credit the evidence of his own eyes. He wanted to hear her say it.
“We had an agreement, lass,” he murmured, moving a step closer to her. “I’ve set you down as you bid me. Now, what’s your name?”
She raised her chin. “Lady Juliana Bernard.”
Lady Juliana Bernard. The author of all those cream-colored letters, with the Marquess of Graystone’s crest stamped into the red wax.
Fitz’s betrothed, and the future Duchess of Blackmore.
At least, she had been once. Not any longer.
In the letter, she’d told Fitz she was coming to Scotland to find him, but as Logan had made his way over the moors tonight he’d come up with a dozen different arguments in his head as to why that would never happen.
It was nearly six hundred miles from London to Castle Kinross. English heiresses didn’t simply hop into carriages and travel hundreds of miles to retrieve their betrothed.
Even if she did take it into her head to scurry off to Scotland, the fact that she didn’t know precisely where to find Castle Kinross should have deterred her. It wasn’t more than twenty miles from Inverness, but the castle was tucked into a remote part of the moors, on the edge of Beauly Firth. It wasn’t the sort of place one stumbled upon, least of all some English lass who’d likely never laid eyes on Scottish land in her life.
But then she’d solved that problem neatly enough, hadn’t she? No wonder she’d seemed so dull-witted at Gretna Green. She’d been in shock. She must have known the moment she laid eyes on him it couldn’t be a coincidence he looked so much like the Duke of Blackmore.
She’d been quick to capitalize on her good luck.
He stared down at her, not sure what to make of her. She looked like she should be sitting in a drawing room sipping tea, or lounging on a tufted silk settee, sketching baskets of kittens, or dancing a waltz in some stuffy English ballroom. Instead, Lady Juliana Bernard was here on the Scottish moors in the dark with a stranger, defiance written in every line of her perfect face. If he hadn’t seen her with his own eyes, Logan never would have believed it.
Not many aristocratic English ladies would undertake a journey of ten days or more to chase her errant betrothed so far when she could have another marquess or earl with a snap of her pretty fingers. Lady Juliana was an heiress, after all, and there was nothing the English nobility loved more than money.
Unless it was a title.
Fitz could give her both.
Was there a chance Lady Juliana might venture so far if she believed Fitz would make her a duchess at the end of her journey? She must believe he’d marry her if she came to Scotland. No sane woman chased a man hundreds of miles unless she expected to become his wife at the end of it.
