Now she knew the truth.
She’d been lying to herself the entire time.
* * * *
If someone had been peeking through the chapel window during Logan and Juliana’s wedding, they would have described it as a lovely ceremony.
Emilia had outdone herself with the chapel. It was a small room with a high, wood-timbered cathedral ceiling, gray stone floors, and an arched alcove behind the altar fitted with a beautiful stained glass window.
As it was an evening wedding it might have been a trifle dark, even gloomy, but Emilia was determined to make Juliana’s wedding as beautiful as it could be. She’d seen to it that every candle was lit. The flames flickered against the stone walls and caught at the bright reds and yellows of the stained glass saints kneeling at the foot of the cross. Only Emilia and Fitzwilliam, Mr. and Mrs. Craig, and Stokes attended. The ceremony was simple, brief, and intimate, with a quiet beauty about it that soothed even Juliana’s frayed nerves.
Logan wore a kilt in the black and green Kinross tartan, with a tight-fitting dark green jacket and a tartan cape draped over his left shoulder. His dark hair was brushed back from his face, and from the first moment Juliana caught sight of him standing at the altar waiting for her, she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
He didn’t smile as he watched her coming toward him, but those blue, blue eyes took in every inch of her, lingering on her muslin-draped curves. When she took her place beside him at the altar and his gaze met hers, Juliana would have sworn he caught his breath. It was one of the few moments that stood out for her in what was otherwise a confusing blur.
There’d been a late supper. Not a wedding supper—there hadn’t been time for Mrs. Craig to prepare such an extravagant meal, but she had made one sweet especially for Juliana.
Cranachan.
Juliana glanced shyly at Logan when the dainty glass dish was set before her. He was looking down at her, an uncertain smile on his lips. “It’s not proper cranachan without the raspberries, but since it’s our wedding supper I persuaded Mrs. Craig to make do with gooseberries instead.”
Juliana’s eyes widened. “Youasked her to make this for me?”
A faint flush rose on his cheekbones. “I did say I couldn’t let you leave Scotland without trying it.”
Juliana picked up the dish and turned it this way and that, admiring the bright red berries drowning in generous drifts of cream. “You also said you’d earn a clout to the head if you asked for cranachan with gooseberries.”
“My right ear is still ringing.” Logan nodded at her dish. “Taste it.”
Juliana loaded her spoon with gooseberries, cream, and toasted oats, and slipped it between her lips. The taste of tart berries and rich, sweet honey and cream exploded on her tongue, and her eyes slid closed. “Oh, my goodness.” It was thick and smooth and crunchy at once, with a little bite from the whisky that lingered on her tongue.
When she opened her eyes again, Logan was watching her. His lips were parted, and the look in his eyes…Juliana’s body flushed with heat, and all at once she became very aware tonight was her wedding night.
Logan cleared his throat, but when he spoke his voice was still thick, husky. “Do you like it?”
He was staring down at her, his hot blue eyes darting between her eyes and her lips. As always, once he caught her gaze, Juliana couldn’t look away. She swallowed. “I—yes. Very much. It’s, ah…well, I’ve always been fond of gooseberries.”
His lips curved in a slow smile, his dark blue gaze darting to her mouth. “Such a pretty red, and tart and sweet at once.”
Juliana caught her breath. Were they still talking about berries?
She didn’t dare look at him again after that, but she could feel him beside her, his powerful body thrumming with the tension that snapped and hummed between them.
The supper courses came and went. Then, before she was prepared for what came next, it was over. Emilia rose from her seat and motioned to Juliana to withdraw and leave the gentlemen alone with their port. Juliana rose unsteadily and followed Emilia out of the dining room. Once they reached the hallway, Emilia took her by the hand and led her up to the family wing of the house.
Not to her own bedchamber, but to Logan’s.
“Here are a few of your things.” Emilia waved a hand toward a massive mahogany dressing table. “Everything else is already packed, but I had my maid gather what I thought you’d need for tonight and bring it here for you.”
“Thank you.” Juliana wandered over to the dressing table. Her brush, comb, and silver mirror had been laid neatly across the top. She took up the brush and was absently stroking her fingers across the bristles when something else caught her attention.
A sheer white night rail and matching dressing gown were draped over the back of the chair.
Her gaze collided with Emilia’s. Her friend smiled, and came closer to take her hands. “This is a trifle awkward, but I did think I should…I wanted to ask if you…I know your mother died when you were very young, and it did occur to me you might not know—”
“It’s all right, Emilia. My sister-in-law Emma spoke to me about it, after she and my brother Jonathan were married.” It had been a brief enough conversation, Juliana being unwillingto pry into the intimate details of her brother’s marriage, but she knew enough to understand the basic mechanics of the thing.
Anything beyond that, well…she’d soon find out, wouldn’t she?
