Page 57 of To Wed a Wild Scot
The doting father she’d loved had slipped away so gradually she hadn’t realized it was happening until one day she woke up and discovered she didn’t know him anymore. The nightmare over Grace had begun soon after that, and since then she’d been so angry with him, she almost felt as if she’d already lost him.
Since then she’d told herself over and over again all she needed was Grace, but the truth was, she’d be grateful for the chance to have Logan as a friend.
She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. She wanted to know him better—to talk to him about whatever nonsense he liked—whisky, or the Robertson boys, or Mrs. Craig—it didn’t matter what.
She turned toward him, but the words stalled in her throat.
He was staring at her with darkened blue eyes, a flush of color on his high cheekbones. Juliana thought he’d glance away when she caught him staring, but he didn’t. Instead his gaze swept over her face, lingering on her eyes and lips.
All at once the kiss they’d shared in Widow Macaulay’s bedchamber came rushing back to her. The warmth of his mouth against hers, the surprising softness of his lips. His hands tangling in her hair, his hot tongue teasing and stroking hers. Intense heat washed over her, staining her neck and rushing into her cheeks.
He hadn’t tried to kiss her again since that night. Once or twice she thought she’d seen a heated expression in his eyes when he looked at her, but she’d dismissed it as her imagination.
If hedidwant to kiss her again, he was doing a wonderful job resisting temptation. He hadn’t even kissed her hand when they’d become betrothed. She’d kissed him, but it had been quick—no more than a peck, really—and he hadn’t tried to take it any further than that.
Perhaps he didn’t want to kiss her again. Perhaps she’d done it wrong, or made a mess of it, despite having kissed other gentlemen before. She’d kissed Hugh once, when they’d become betrothed, and Fitzwilliam half a dozen times, when they were much younger and trying to determine whether the affection between them was simple friendship, or something more.
But never before had she been kissed the way Logan Blair had kissed her that night at Widow Macaulay’s. If anyone had asked her she couldn’t have explained it, except to say his kiss had been commanding, possessive, as if he knew she’d been kissed before and wanted toerase the memory of every other man’s lips, so only he remained.
Kissing Logan had been like falling into Ruthven Burn. One moment all was firm and steady beneath her feet, and then in the next she was flying, struggling for purchase and finding nothing but air to cling to. It had been wild and terrifying and overwhelming, but exhilarating, too, until the water closed over her head and she wondered, in the split second before Logan pulled her free, if she’d ever surface again.
“When do you intend we should wed?”
Juliana jerked her attention back to Logan. “Soon.”
“How soon?”
Juliana glanced at him, surprised at the huskiness in his voice. His jaw was rigid, and his big hands were tight around his reins. Was it possible he was as nervous about their upcoming nuptials as she was? “At the end of the week, perhaps?”
“The end of the week? That’s ages from now!”
Juliana’s eyebrows shot up. “Ages? It’s four days, Logan.”
He cleared his throat. “I thought you wanted to return to England at once.”
She did want to get back to Surrey as soon as possible, but at the same time every one of her maidenly instincts shied away from a marriage to a man she’d only known for a week. Surely it would be best if they could take another few days to get to know each other before she was obliged to turn herself, body and mind, over to Logan’s protection?
Well, not her mind. She fully intended to keep possession of that herself, but the rest of her person would legally belong to Logan once they were wed, and that didn’t seem quite…well, it was a bit intimidating to think…that is, she’d just as soon not—
“Four days feels like ages to me,beag bòidhchead.”
Beag bòidhchead…
Juliana didn’t know what the words meant, but his low, hoarse murmur drifted up her spine, leaving shivers in its wake. “But we haven’t even told Fitzwilliam yet.” She and Logan had agreed to take a day or two to get accustomed to the idea themselves before informing him of their betrothal. “I thought another few days to get to know each other would be welcome. If we could become friends—”
“Friends? We’re not going to be friends, Juliana. We’re going to be husband and wife.”
The last word lingered on his tongue like a rough caress, and another shiver darted up her spine. “I know, but—”
“Are you trying to delay the wedding night, lass? You’ll only become more nervous about it if you do.”
Juliana turned to him in alarm. How in the world had he known what she was thinking? “I didn’t…I wasn’t…how did you know I was—”
“Thinking about our wedding night?” He laughed softly. “You’re as red as a gooseberry, Juliana. Nothing else could make you blush like that.”
“Well, I was just thinking…that is, I wondering if we…it’s not as if we have to—”
“Consummate? Oh, we’ll consummate the marriage,bòcan.”
