Page 79 of To Wed a Wild Scot
Since she’d lied to her father about marrying Fitzwilliam, neither she nor Logan seemed to know what to say to each other. His new wife had told her dying father she’d married his brother. What was there to say, after that? They could hardly even look at each other now.
So, Juliana avoided him, and Logan brooded over it.
He wanted to tell her the lie didn’t matter to him. He wanted to reassure her he understood why she’d done it, but he couldn’t make the words leave his lips.
Itdidmatter. It mattered so much he hadn’t been able to make himself forget it.
He had no right to be angry with her. No right to be seething with hurt, and…yes, damn it, jealous, but that lie had been echoing in his head since the moment he’d led her from her father’s room the night Lord Graystone died.
Over the following week he’d made dozens of excuses for her. He’d told himself Juliana was overwhelmed with grief and shock—that she hadn’t meant what she’d said. He’d reasoned that she’d only been trying to ease her father’s final hour. But no matter how much he argued with himself, Logan couldn’t quite convince himself there wasn’t more to that lie.
Lord Graystone had died believing Juliana was married to Fitz—that she’d become the Duchess of Blackmore—and there was a part of Logan that wondered if she wished it were the truth. She’d loved Fitz her whole life. For as far back as she could remember, she’d always imagined she’d become his wife. Instead she’d had to settle for Logan, a man she’d been forced to marry because he’d stolen her letters, and nearly destroyed her niece’s future. A man she hardly knew.
He’d known from the start of this if she had a choice, she wouldn’t have chosen to marryhim. It hadn’t bothered him much at first. It wasn’t as if either of them regarded this as a love match. They were each marrying the other as a means to an end. Logan did regret taking those letters, but once he’d made up his mind to marry Juliana, he’d accepted whatever would follow.
But that was before…
Before he’d spent every night of the journey from Castle Kinross to Graystone Court holding her in his arms, her head nestled against his chest. Before he’d tangled his hands in the heavy silk of her hair and brought it to his lips. Before he’d heard her sigh his name, her mouth pressed to his ear, her arms around his neck. Before he’d met Grace, who was every bit the sweet, loving child Juliana had told him she was.
Before he’d fallen in love with her—
“Grace? Where are you?”
Logan’s head jerked up as Juliana’s voice floated down the hallway.
Grace ran across the library to the door. “Here, Aunt. Mr. Logan says he’ll come riding with us!”
“That’s very nice of him.” Juliana appeared in the doorway, but she didn’t come into the library. She hovered there, half-hidden by the door, much as Grace had when she’d been peeking at him earlier.
Was this what he and Juliana had come to, then? Was she afraid of him now? Had they gone from making love and sleeping in each other’s arms every night tothis? The thought was so painful Logan opened his mouth to tell them he’d changed his mind, and wouldn’t accompany them riding after all, but he didn’t get the chance.
Grace darted across the library, grabbed his hand, and led him down the hall to the entryway. “Can we ride to the woods, Aunt? I want to see if there are any bluebells left.”
“Wait, Grace,” Juliana said, stopping her before she could dash out the door. “You’ve forgotten your hat. Fetch it, please.”
“Dratted thing! You won’t go without me?”
“No, of course not.” Juliana nodded at the staircase. “Go on. We’ll wait right here for you.”
Grace darted up the stairs, leaving Logan and Juliana alone in the entryway.
Juliana went quiet, but Logan caught her watching him from the corner of her eye. She looked pale still, and she was anxiously biting her lip. He could see she was distressed. A part of him wanted to gather her against his chest and soothe her, but he kept his hands fisted at his sides. He didn’t dare touch her anymore.
When the silence had stretched Logan’s last nerve to the breaking point, he cleared his throat and stiffly enquired after her health. “Are you well? You look tired still. I hope you’re sleeping?”
His manner was colder than he’d meant it to be, and Juliana seemed to flinch away from him. “Not as well as usual, perhaps, though I expect it’s the strain fatiguing me, rather than lack of sleep.”
Logan nodded. “It will get better in time.”
She was quiet for a moment, her throat working, then, as if she couldn’t bear to hold them back another moment, a flurry of words burst from her lips. “Logan, I—I want to thank you for…for everything. I don’t know how I could have managed without you this past week. I’m truly grateful.”
Logan’s throat tightened. “I’m your husband, Juliana. I did what any husband would do for his grieving wife. Did you expect any less of me?”
“No! No, I didn’t mean to suggest…I only wanted to thank you.”
Logan glanced at her, cursing himself when he saw her stricken expression. “I’m glad I was here and able to help you. I don’t like to think of you going through that alone.”
“No, neither do I.” She swallowed. “Indeed, about your being here. I wanted to know if you—do you intend to remain in England much longer?”
