Then Dr. Ruxton pronounced them man and wife. “You may now kiss your bride, Captain Carnegie.”
Fox froze. Had he truly forgotten that his marriage ceremony would end with a kiss?
A preternatural stillness blanketed the congregation, as if each parishioner leaned forward in their seat.
Miss Penn-Leith—ehr, Mrs. Carnegie now, he supposed—blushed deeply.
His bride, he abruptly noticed, had rather kissable lips—a bowed upper lip over a plush lower one that looked rather succulent, now that he contemplated it—
Right. The end of one’s marriage ceremony was not the time tobeginthinking about kissing one’s wife.
Unfortunately by this point, Fox had hesitated too long.
He blamed the brandy.
The congregation stirred.
He cleared his throat and leaned forward, pressing a light kiss on his new wife’s cheek.
Clapping and cheers erupted.
His new bride smiled brightly.
And just like that, he was married.
Three hours later, Fox handed his new bride into his coach for the long ride to Laverloch. Fortunately, plenty of daylight remained for the journey.
The bridal breakfast had been a raucous affair with both whisky and wine flowing freely. Guests made toast after toast to the new couple’s health. Fox had lost track of how much he had to drink, though the state of his head and churn of his stomach informed him that it had likely been considerable.
It was a relief to sit beside his wife—his wife!—in the carriage and settle back onto the squabs, resting his head against the leather cushions. Both her smart-looking bonnet and his hat had been stowed on the seat opposite for the journey.
Even more enjoyable, he could sit beside her himself. Had they been unmarried, a maid would be next to her, and he would be sitting opposite, his back to the horses, watching the scenery roll by in reverse and praying the swaying coach did not overwhelm his stomach.
But with a wife, he no longer had to submit to propriety. He could pull her onto his lap if he wished, and none would mind. Though given that this was to be a marriage in name only—and he was quite certain he was rather drunk—bestnotto think about his wife upon his lap.
“You’re tired,” Leah’s low voice caught his ear. “Just as ye said on the day ye proposed.”
Fox lifted his head. Her clear eyes told him that she had not imbibed as heavily as he had, but he didn’t correct her misperception.
He was more drunk than tired.
She had changed into a dark blue traveling gown that hugged her figure and dropped years from her age. Perhaps it was the alcohol clouding his vision, but Fox decided then and there that his wife was decidedly pretty. Her eyes were particularly beautiful—wide-set, warm, and fringed with thick lashes. The curves of her body in the tight fit of her silk bodice beckoned him to take a second (and third) glance and set a low heat simmering in his veins. He pulled his eyes away from her lips before his drunk brain said or did anything untoward.
Fortunately, Fox was very good at holding his liquor.
Too good perhaps, a part of him whispered as he turned to stare out the carriage window.
“Iamproperly shattered,” he replied, daring a glance back at her. “As you will soon learn, the journey up and down the glen is neither quick nor easy. I should have stayed at an inn in Fettermill last night,”—and suffered through the noise and prying eyes following his every move, he did not add—“but instead I chose the comfort of my own bed and paid for it by having to rise early to reach the church in time for our mid-morning service.”
She didn’t respond and instead looked out the window, pulling her lips between her teeth.
The coach turned onto the road leading to Laverloch, though calling it a road might have been generous. It was more a pair of wagon-wheel ruts cutting through the heather. The Lowlands and Highlands appeared distinctly divided in this part of Scotland. The rolling hills of Angus shot upward along the province’s northern edge, the landscape shifting from farmland to rugged mountain peaks almost instantaneously. Only a handful of roads dared venture into the wild hills.
The carriage rocked, momentarily jostling the soft curves of Leah’s body into his side. She smelled faintly of lavender and the shortbread she had helped bake for their wedding day. Fox wanted to tilt his nose toward her head and breathe deeply.
“Given the remote location of Laverloch, what possessed ye to purchase it?” she asked.
“I wished for solitude and quiet. Laverloch provides both.”
