Page 56 of To Wed a Wild Scot
Logan’s brows drew together thoughtfully. “I never thought of him like that, but he was, in his own way. He was…it’s difficult to do justice to him in words, but I worshipped him when I was a boy.”
“And as a man?” Juliana asked.
“As a man, I loved him,” he said simply. “I miss him. I wish Fitz had had the chance to know him.”
Juliana thought of the Duchess of Blackmore, how cold she’d always been to Fitzwilliam, and a small sigh escaped her. “I’m sure he wishes it, too.”
“What about you, Lady Juliana? Did you drink whisky as a child?”
Juliana laughed. “Whisky? No, certainly not.”
“What, you mean you didn’t have some wicked uncle or other who used to slip whisky into your tea?”
“No whisky for me, I’m afraid. If I’d had an uncle perhaps he would have made the attempt, but neither of my parents had any siblings.”
“No uncles, or cousins?”
“Not one. It was just me and my brother Jonathan.”
He frowned a little, as if that answer troubled him, but all he said was, “I think your brother must have been a fashionable gentleman, and you the belle of your season.”
“No, indeed. If I’d been the belle of my season, I wouldn’t have had to come all the way to Scotland for a husband.” Juliana paused, confused at the note of bitterness in her voice. She’d meant to say that lightly, but it hadn’t come out that way at all.
“You came here for Fitz, Lady Juliana. It’s not the same thing.”
Logan’s voice was unexpectedly gentle, and Juliana jerked her gaze to his face. Did hepityher? That didn’t sit well with her, and she forced a tinkling laugh. “No, it’s not the same, I suppose.”
They rode on for some time after that without speaking. Juliana tried to distract herself by admiring the early-blooming heather growing wild on the green hills of the moors, but even those pretty splashes of purple color didn’t lift her spirits.
Before she could stem the rush of emotion, an aching sadness washed over her.
She’d never had a season—never had a chance to be a belle. She’d been betrothed to Fitzwilliam from her cradle, so her father had deemed a season unnecessary. She hadn’t minded it, really. She’d never aspired to be atondarling.
Still, she hadn’t imagined it would be soverydifficult to secure a husband. For all her supposed charm, she hadn’t been able to bring either of her suitors up to scratch. There wasn’t, it seemed, a single gentleman in England who wanted to marry her.
England, or Scotland.
She jerked her reins, impatient with herself. It was pure vanity to fuss over it. She cared for Fitzwilliam and Hugh very much, but she hadn’t been in love with either of them. Neither of them had broken her heart.
But then neither of them had been in love withher, either. Perhaps thatdidbother her just a bit, as selfish as it was. Losing one betrothed to another lady was bad enough, but two? That was enough to make any lady question her appeal.
Now here she was with her third betrothed—a man she’d had to beg to marry her—and the best she could hope for from him was that he might become a friend.
A friend with firm lips, and captivating blue eyes…
Never mind his eyes.
Juliana pushed the thought aside before she could begin thinking of all his other…pleasing attributes.
Like his broad shoulders and long legs, his muscular chest—
No, no. This wouldn’t do at all. At best, Logan would become herfriend, and one didn’t dwell on the firmness of her friend’s chest.
Not that a friend was anything to sniff at. She’d welcome another friend right now. Jonathan was gone, and so was his wife, Emma, who’d been Juliana’s dearest friend since childhood. She had Grace, of course, and Hugh and his wife, Isla, but she didn’t see the two of them much, and now it looked as if Fitzwilliam didn’t intend to return to England.
And it was only a matter of time before her father…
Juliana set her face forward, ignoring the telltale sting behind her eyes.
