When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(48)

“I . . . I have nothing to wear.” She gestured at her frock. “I’ve been wearing half--mourning for years. All my gowns are gray wool.”

“We’ll find you a ready--made gown in Inverness tomorrow. Next problem.”

“And I suppose you could wear your best uniform. An officer’s dress is always acceptable attire. But you’ve invited everyone here for Beltane, and that’s less than a fortnight from now.”

“All the more reason to find you a new gown and give the skirts a spin or two. The lady of the castle canna welcome her guests in gray wool.”

She sighed. “Lord Varleigh lives in Perthshire. It’s too far to travel.”

“I’ve heard they have these new things called inns. Often located near roads. We’ll find one nearby to stay the night.”

Now Logan was really starting to appreciate this idea. The Beetle Ball itself sounded like many--legged torture, but the prospect of spending a night with Madeline in a tiny room at a coaching inn, with an even tinier bed, away from his men and her aunt—-now that sounded worth a few hours of anything.

It also sounded like the perfect way to finally make this marriage real.

“But it’s a ball.” She turned away from him, continuing the work of straightening her desk. “I don’t go to balls. I’m miserable at them. I can’t dance.”

“Neither can I. Not that sort of dancing, at any rate.” He came to stand behind her, lightly placing his hands on her waist. “We dinna have to dance, mo chridhe. We’ll just go and listen to Lord Varleigh talk about his beetles. Most importantly, you’ll be there to see your work unveiled.”

“I don’t really want that kind of attention.” She tapped a pencil against the blotter on her desk. “But I confess, I would like a chance to meet a man who’ll be there.”

Now this made him take notice. “A man?”

“Logan, don’t be jealous.”

He tightened his grip on her waist. “You like it when I’m jealous.”

“Very well, perhaps I do.” He could hear a little smile in her voice. “Lord Varleigh told me of a scholar he knows in Edinburgh. One who’ll be attending the ball. Apparently this scholar is planning an encyclopedia. Insects of the British Isles, in four volumes. He might be in need of an illustrator. Lord Varleigh promised to make the introduction.”

He turned her to face him. “See? So you do want to attend.”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. Now that Logan had removed the barriers, a pretty flush had started to warm her cheeks. Once he got her into a proper silk gown rather than this scratchy mourning attire, half the battle would be won.

“That’s only six reasons so far,” he pointed out. “You said there were a dozen. Hurry up, then, so I can remedy the rest.”

“On second thought, perhaps there’s only one more reason. But it’s the biggest reason, and there’s no remedy to be found for it.”

“Try me.”

“I can’t leave the lobsters.”

Holy God.

She moved toward the tank, peering into it. “Fluffy’s become more active over the past day. It’s a sign she might be ready to molt. I have to stay close, or I could miss the mating entirely. I’ve been waiting too long to let that happen. So has Rex, for that matter.”

Curse it, couldn’t she see that Rex wasn’t the only frustrated male in this castle? If the bloody lobster ended up satisfying his natural urges before Logan did, he would be tempted to climb the highest tower of Lannair Castle and fling himself off it.

“Let me worry about the lobsters,” he said.

“But—-”

“Trust me.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m a captain, remember? I know how to set a watch, draw up a plan, command troops. We’ll remove Rex to a separate tank for the night. My men will set up shifts for the lobster watch. If there’s any sign of Fluffy molting, Rabbie will ride hell--for--leather to Varleigh’s estate and let you know. You’ll be home with plenty of time to put Rex and Fluffy together and watch the sparks fly.”

She glanced at the seawater tank. “I’m not sure how many sparks will be involved.”

“Watch the bubbles blub. Watch the antennae wave. Whatever it is that happens when lobsters make love, I swear on my plaid you willna miss it. I make no promises I canna keep.”

She looked up at him with those calf’s eyes. As usual, he could sense a whole world’s worth of thought going on behind them.

Logan couldn’t hold back anymore. He touched his thumb to her collarbone, sliding up and down the narrow ridge. Soothing her the way she would soothe herself.

Her skin was so soft. He was dying to touch her everywhere.

“Let me worry about everything.” His voice was suddenly hoarse. “I just want you to enjoy yourself. You deserve this, Maddie.”

She drew in a deep breath, then released it. “Fine.”

Fine.

That wasn’t exactly the overjoyed acceptance he’d been hoping to hear.

But he’d take it.

“Perhaps it’s more than fine.” She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “Perhaps it’s perfect.”

Perfect. Now that was better.

“Maybe this is the compromise we’ve been searching for.”