It was a lowering thought, but there was a glimmer of hope in it. He, though a man of duty, desired love. If he had come to love her, perhaps he might come to care for me in time. That was what I held onto as I left my bedchamber and walked to the stairwell.

  I took the narrow, winding steps quickly. Whoever had built the castle might have given more serious consideration to making three normal stairwells rather than two small ones and one enormous one. The stairs were uneven, too, requiring me to concentrate on my foot placement to prevent myself from falling.

  “Oh—”

  The voice came just as I collided with Sandy’s solid form on his way up the stairs.

  I put a hand to my head where it had collided with his chin, which he rubbed.

  “Forgive me,” I said. “I was watching my footing.”

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, trying to peer at my head in the dim light afforded by the slim window nearby.

  “As much as you, I imagine,” I said with an attempt at a laugh.

  “I congratulate you on the sturdiness of your head.”

  “And I you on that of your chin.”

  He gave a little bow, a half-smile pulling at one side of his mouth.

  “I was just on my way to speak with you,” I said.

  “Oh?”

  I nodded. “I hoped we might discuss a few renovations to the castle—and see whether you would let me manage them.”

  His eyes searched mine. “I am happy to discuss anything you wish. Perhaps we could meet in the study? I just need to fetch something in my bedchamber.”

  “Certainly.”

  “I shall come presently,” he said.

  I smiled my agreement, and both of us hesitated.

  “I shall just . . .” I tried to slip past him, but the stairwell was narrow, and my body was pressed against his before I realized my error. I had admired his broad chest enough times that it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to find we could not easily fit past one another in the space.

  “My apologies,” I said, trying to ignore the way my mind insisted on detailing every point of contact between our bodies.

  “It is quite all right, I assure you.”

  My eyes flew to his, which widened.

  “That is,” he clarified, “you needn’t apologize.”

  I couldn’t tell whether it was my heart or his I felt thudding against our chests, but I sucked in and, back grating against the wall, tried to slide past him as quickly as possible. The bodice of my dress resisted, and I looked down to find one of the buttons of his waistcoat had snagged on the trim of my dress.

  “Oh dear,” I said, wondering why I had ever left the safety of the bed.

  “Ah,” he said, noting the problem. “Allow me to just . . .” He put his hands to the button, his hands grazing my body as he worked to untangle us. I looked down to watch his progress, and our heads knocked together again.

  He winced but kept at his work. “Again, a very sturdy head.”

  “Thank you,” I said in a strangled voice, leaning my head back and looking up at the ceiling to prevent any other mishap. His fingers worked, brushing against my ribs, which seemed to close in on my lungs. Would we be stuck in this stairwell forever?

  “There,” he said as the tug of tension on my dress released.

  I shifted to the side to put distance between us, letting out a breath and thanking him.

  “It was my pleasure,” he said. His eyes widened. “That is . . . I am pleased to have been a help.”

  I nodded, my nerves fraying like an old rope. “The study, then?”

  “The study,” he confirmed.

  “Very good.”

  “Very good.”

  With one final meeting of gazes, we both turned and continued on our ways.

  I had managed to regain most of my composure once Sandy entered the study a few minutes later. He, too, seemed calm and unruffled, and the subject was left alone while we discussed the more urgent needs of the castle interior.

  “Perhaps we could begin with the great hall,” I suggested. “I imagine the plasterwork was its most eye-catching feature at one time.”

  He moved one sketch of the castle’s architectural plans in favor of another. “A time long past, but yes. There is a painting in one of the upstairs bedchambers that shows it in all its glory.”

  “That is fortunate,” I said. “Shall we attempt to recreate it, then?”

  “It was certainly beautiful,” he said, “but this is your home now, too, Juliana. You may decorate as you see fit.”

  I nodded, somewhat breathless.

  His mouth pulled up on one side, displaying the half-smile I was coming to love so much. “First, though, I think we had better get that ladder in the library.”

  I laughed. “Naturally.”

  “And a new billiards table, I think.”

  I adopted a deep frown. “Oh, it would be a shame to do anything that takes away from the quaintness of the castle.”

  His lips pulled into a wide smile, and I swallowed.

  It wasn’t good for my health to make Sandy smile, I decided. “I should go see how Augusta is getting on today, I think.”

  He nodded. “I have a number of things to see to, as well. I shall be occupied most of the week with surveying the tenant lands, but we can speak in the mornings or evenings about whatever issues you find.”

  My cheeks heated at the mention of evenings, and I offered a quick smile, then left.

  Augusta was sitting by the window in her room, a few used handkerchiefs sitting on the sill beside her. I felt a wave of guilt looking at her. She had been so confined, so miserable since our arrival, and our only real venture out of doors had only aggravated her ill health, it had seemed.

  Now that I was married, there was no real reason to keep her here. I no longer required a companion, and though I could hardly bear the thought of her leaving me, I could not be selfish.

  “How are you, cousin?” I asked as I shut the door.

  She sniffed and smiled at me. “Well enough, my dear. More importantly, how are you?” She blinked rapidly and wiped one of the tears escaping her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “Oh, Augusta,” I said, hurrying over to her. “What is it?”

  She laughed. “I am not crying. Do not be deceived. It is merely part of this summer catarrh, the doctor says. My eyes and nose leak.”

  I sighed, putting a hand on her arm. “Cousin, I think the time has come.”

  “The time for what?”

  “For you to go,” I said. “To rejoin Papa.”

  She turned, looking at me with a furrowed brow.

  “You will get along so much better there. I cannot bear seeing you in such misery here, and I have no need of a chaperone anymore.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, folding her handkerchief. “I shall be right in a trifle.”

  I pressed my lips together. Her eyes had been pink and heavy-lidded since our arrival. Her symptoms seemed worse rather than better. With each day, her nose became rawer, her lids droopier. I would write Papa to see if he could come to Lochlarren and take her back to Newcastle with him, or Edinburgh, even.

  So much had changed since the wedding yesterday, and yet nothing at all. I was “my lady” now, no matter how strange it sounded to my ear. I was consulted about the menu for the week and about employing Mrs. Boyle’s niece as a maid to replace Dolly.

  The housekeeper seemed to have relented to me a bit. Perhaps it was because she realized I had the power to deny her niece—or herself—a place at Lochlarren, or perhaps it was because the wedding had occurred and she realized it was a useless fight. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for it. I had no desire to exhaust myself with challenging her or vying for power. I felt enough of an imposter as it was.

  I dreaded when bedtime would inevitably arrive and kept myself busy with plans for renovation all through the afternoon and even in the drawing room after dinner. All my efforts were for naught, however. My mind would insist on wondering whether Sandy would bring up the subject of an heir. He had said there was no rush to it, but what did that mean?

  Frustrated with my stubborn thoughts, I retired before the men had finished their port, summoning Dolly to prepare me for bed.

  Sandy arrived just as Dolly was leaving, and my heart raced as he smiled at her and closed the door behind her.

  “How was your day, Juliana?” he asked.

  “Good,” I replied, ignoring all the moments of despair that had punctuated the hours. I took a seat on my side of the bed. “Productive, I think. What of yours?”

  “The same,” he said with a smile. “I have my work cut out for me at the tenant properties, of course.” He untied his cravat and pulled it from his neck. “We only made it through perhaps a quarter of the surveyal today. So much has been neglected for so long. It is little wonder the tenants are wary of me.” He looked down, working at the buttons of his waistcoat. My gaze fixed on them, thinking of the way one of them had caught on my dress earlier and how being so near him had taken the air straight from my lungs.

  “You shall prove them wrong soon enough,” I said vacantly, my thoughts still occupied.

  He started with the buttons on his shirt, undoing them more quickly than I would have thought possible. “I shall. Underneath their frustrations, they are all curious about you, of course.”

  I nodded, my eyes flitting to the skin of his chest visible as he undid the top buttons, and then his stomach as he made his way down the line. He untucked the bottom of his shirt from his pantaloons, then pulled the shirt off over his head and tossed it over the nearest chair. His upper half was entirely visible now, revealing every line and crest his wet shirt had teased me with the day of the incident on the loch.

  A second or two had passed when I realized his gaze had flitted to me.

  I cleared my throat and slipped into bed, turning my eyes to the wall. “I hope I shan’t disappoint them.”

  “Impossible,” he said.

  I stole a quick glance at him as he pulled a nightshirt over his head, quickly covering the view of his body. Before his head was through the neck hole, I averted my gaze again.

  How long would we be required to share a bedchamber before it became acceptable for us to sleep separately? I knew there was a bedchamber for the mistress, for Mrs. Boyle had shown it to me on the tour. I wasn’t certain how my composure would survive many nights of sharing a bedchamber with my husband.

  I pulled the covers up, and shortly after, he joined me in the bed. I scooted toward the edge again to make room for him, until my knees hung over the edge.

  “Juliana,” he said with a hint of a smile in his voice, “this is your bed too. You needn’t fall off trying to accommodate me.”

  I laughed shakily and slid back in so that my knees were supported. It put my back against him. At least I didn’t disgust him so much he couldn’t bear to touch me.

  The bed shifted under me as he rose onto his elbow, looking down at me. There was a moment’s pause with nothing but the beating of my heart to break the silence, then he leaned over and placed a kiss upon my cheek. “Sleep well, Juliana.”

  He blew out his candle, and I blew out mine, wondering if I would sleep a wink with my cheek tingling with heat the way it was.

  It had been at least an hour, perhaps a year, when he turned from his back to his side, facing me as he breathed in slow, rhythmic deep sleep. I looked over my shoulder at him, his face so near mine, yet unconsciously so. In the dark, I could just make out some of his features and the hair that hovered over his brow.

  Slowly, I turned toward him, allowing myself the luxury of watching him sleep for a short time, to note the rise and fall of his chest, the contrast of his lashes against his skin, and the hair tickling his forehead with each exhale. Slowly, carefully, I reached my finger to it and moved it out of his face, holding my breath in case the gesture woke him.

  He was still as ever, though, and I sighed, wondering how many women like me had unintentionally begun to fall in love with their husbands.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  SANDY

  “Well?” Iain looked at me expectantly, arms folded across his chest as I gathered a few papers from the study.

  “There is a reason I did not breakfast at the same time as you, Iain.”

  “Did you kiss her?” he asked, ignoring my roundabout way of informing him I did not plan to discuss the subject with him. I needed someone to help me know how to approach things with Juliana, but Iain was not my first choice, or even my tenth.

  “If you must know,” I said, tapping the papers on the desk to organize them, “I did.”

  “And?” he asked. “How did she respond? Did she kiss you back?”

  I set the papers in the portfolio to take with me to the tenant properties, not meeting his gaze. “As it was a kiss on the cheek, she couldn’t very well have.”

  Iain threw a hand at me. “A kiss on the cheek? What rubbish! One kisses one’s mother on the cheek, Sandy.”

  “I am treading carefully,” I said in annoyance.

  “No, Sandy,” he said. “You are being a coward. Take the woman’s face in your hands and kiss her properly!”

  I wanted to. And I had nearly kissed her on the lips last night, only she was turned away. It would have been awkward and clumsy and cumbersome, and I was a coward. There. I admitted it. I had been too scared to try it—in the stairwell or in the study or in bed. What would happen if she rejected me?

  On the other hand, she had watched me undress. I had thought it was admiration in her eyes, but perhaps she had been so transfixed out of fear what I might be expecting afterward. She had certainly turned away in a hurry.

  But when I had teased her about falling over the edge of the bed, she had listened, hadn’t she? She hadn’t recoiled, either, when I had kissed her cheek. That was something.

  Barely.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” I said, preparing myself to defend my cowardice to Blair as well. But it was Juliana who entered. She peeked inside, glancing at me, then Iain.

  “Oh, forgive me,” she said. “I wasn’t aware you were with anyone.”

  “No, no,” I hurried to say before she closed the door. “It is only Iain.”

  He scowled at me.

  “Is there something I can assist with?” I asked her.

  “Only if it isn’t an inconvenience,” she replied.

  “Not in the least.” I set down my portfolio and waited as she entered, a frame in hand.

  “It is nothing terribly pressing,” Juliana said, walking toward me. “I have just been thinking about the ceiling of the great hall, you know, and I found the painting you mentioned. I thought I would try to match the look from it, including the paint colors—preserve the history as much as possible.” She looked at me, uncertainty in her eyes. “If, that is, you are agreeable?”

  I didn’t respond immediately, finding my throat strangely thick and unwilling to carry sound. The great hall had been fine in its heyday, but it was certainly not what one would call in modern style. Most people redecorating would be glad for the opportunity to start afresh and follow the newer trends—to make it into something to awe and to draw admiration. I had given Juliana free reign so that she could make this castle into a place she could love. She was choosing to bring it to its former glory, and that meant a great deal to me.

  “Of course, I am open to other ideas,” she said when I didn’t reply.

  I cleared my throat. “No, no. I am very much in agreement with you on this. Besides which, I trust your judgment implicitly.”

  She hesitated, and I realized my comment might have given her to believe I didn’t wish for her to seek my advice on such topics. That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

  I cleared my throat. “Though, I should perhaps see the painting again to be sure.” I could hardly have been more contradictory if I had tried, but Juliana seemed not to mind.

  She came behind the desk and set the framed painting in the space I created. “The painting itself is a bit faded,” she said, resting a hand on the desk and leaning over it, “but I thought you might know whether this is more of a scarlet or a crimson.” She pointed at the walls in the painting.

  I stole a glance at her profile beside me. Her hair was becomingly pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. I couldn’t help remembering her hair on our wedding night, falling over her shoulders so freely. I hadn’t seen it thus since and wasn’t certain I would.

  “It is difficult to say,” I said. It wasn’t. It was scarlet. But I liked having Juliana near me, to have her shoulder touch mine and for her not to retract.

  “I rather think,” I said slowly, “that it is scarlet.”

  She stood straight. “That was my thought, as well. I shall try to match it as nearly as is possible.”

  She smiled, and I smiled back, and for a moment, we looked at one another. I could accustom myself very easily to working with Juliana on projects. Too easily.

  “Working on improvements to the castle, are you?” Iain asked. “Perhaps you could see to the stuffing in my mattress next.”

  “I think that is a low priority on her list,” I replied.

  “That will depend entirely upon your behavior toward me, Iain,” she said in a rallying tone.

  “Or,” he said significantly, “perhaps my behavior toward you would be improved by better sleep.”

  She laughed and picked up the paper. “We are agreed upon the scarlet, then?”

  “The scarlet,” I verified, almost wishing she would argue for the crimson, but she was gone as soon as she had come—a woman with a mission to accomplish.

  She shut the door, and Iain stared at me slyly.

  I shot him a look and picked up my portfolio.

  “That is a woman needing a proper kissing, Sandy,” he said as I walked toward the door.

  He didn’t need to tell me. Juliana had her mission, and I had mine: garner the courage to do just as Iain said.

  I looked forward to dinner, for it was there I could rely on discovering more about my wife. I learned of her life in Newcastle, I listened to her laugh, I watched her draw Magnus out of his shell with questions about his time in the army. In short, I felt more drawn to her than ever—and more uncertain what to do with my growing feelings, with my ever-increasing wish to be near her.

 

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