When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(30)

“You,” she said, “are a complete hypocrite.”

He answered her while brushing his teeth. His speech was muffled. “How do you reckon that?”

“You would hold me over the flame for telling a lie when I was sixteen. Yet you have also deceived those around you, and for the same length of time.”

After rinsing his mouth, he turned to face her. “I did not lie. I merely . . .”

“Failed to contradict mistaken assumptions. For years. It is the same thing, Logan. Deceit by omission, if not an outright falsehood. You let those men believe we’ve had a relationship, and now you are every bit as invested in maintaining that lie as I am. Do you know what I think? I think you’re all bluster. I could refuse to cooperate, turn you out of the castle, and you’d never take those letters to the scandal sheets.”

His voice darkened. “It would be a mistake to underestimate me.”

“Oh, I don’t underestimate you. I can see just how deeply you’re invested in your pride. How much the worship of those men means to you.”

“It’s not their worship. It’s their trust. And yes, it means everything to me. I promised them that if they stood by me on the battlefield, they’d return to a life here in the Highlands. I am unashamed to lie, cheat, steal, or blackmail, if that’s what it takes to keep that promise.”

He advanced on her, and Maddie fell back a step, then two, in retreat. Until her legs collided with the edge of the bed. He had her cornered.

“And speaking of traits we have in common,” he said, sliding one finger along her collarbone. “I’ve learned a thing or two about you. I noticed how you flirted with me downstairs.”

“Flirted? Don’t be absurd.”

“You stare at me. You’re fascinated.”

“It’s just the kilt.”

“It might be partly the kilt. It’s mostly the swagger.”

“The swagger?” She tried to laugh. But he was right, he did have swagger. An abundance of sheer male arrogance and the strength to carry it. And it was, to Maddie’s eyes, fascinating.

“You were undressing me with your eyes.”

“What?” The word came out as a strange little squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Even if I were—-and I wasn’t—-it would be purely out of artistic interest.”

“Artistic interest, my arse.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I have not, as of yet, developed an artistic interest in your arse.”

He leaned close to speak in her ear. Heat built between their bodies. “You,” he whispered, “are every bit as desperate to consummate this marriage as I am.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“Lass, I dinna think it is.”

She put her hand to his chest—-partly out of a need to hold him off, and partly out of desire to touch his bare skin. He was so warm, and more solid than she could have imagined. His chest hair tickled against her palm.

Oh, Maddie. You are in so much trouble.

She had to regain control of this conversation, and fast.

“You speak about needing a home, not wanting to move on . . . but it’s not only your men you’re concerned for. No one’s that selfless. You must want this land for yourself, too.”

He fell back a step, breaking their contact. “I never had a home to begin with. Didna have one to lose, so I’ll never know what I’ve been missing. I’m the lucky one that way.”

Oh, no. Not the tragic orphan story again.

Her heart gave a foolish twinge.

She gathered up some nightclothes and ducked behind the screen, desperate to hide from him and his disadvantaged past, and from her own silly feelings.

A great many -people grew up orphaned, she reminded herself as she shimmied out of her frock and donned her nightrail. That didn’t excuse him. Maddie had lost her own mother at a young age.

But then again, she’d always had a home. She’d certainly never been forced to sleep with the cows and live on a few crusts a day.

There it went again, that pang of emotion.

Maddie resolved to simply ignore it. Logan MacKenzie was blackmailing her into marriage. He’d given her a secondhand engagement brooch. She had no logical reason to feel sympathy for him.

She must have too much feeling pent up in her, that was all. Too much tenderness and affection, with no means to dispel it. Not even any proper pets. Only dead beetles and frigid lobsters.

She took her time washing and brushing her hair and buttoning up her shift all the way to her neck, hoping he might fall asleep before she even finished preparing for bed. At the very least, any ardor he might have been feeling should have cooled.

When she finally emerged from behind the screen, she felt certain she would have no difficulty resisting him.

She was dead wrong. This was even worse than she’d feared.

Pang, went her heart.

Pang, pang, pang.

He was lying in bed, a loose shirt hanging open at the neck to reveal a wedge of his chest. His brow was lightly furrowed in concentration, and those spectacles were perched on the strong bridge of his nose. One muscled arm was flexed and propped behind his head. And in the other hand, he held . . .

Devil take him. Heaven help her.

A book.

Not just any book, but a thick one bound in dark green leather. And he was reading the thing.