Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(49)

She stared. It was really happening. So soon. And not a grand church wedding, it would seem. But then she didn’t really want that. A bunch of people who didn’t really like her crammed inside a church, hungry to watch the spectacle of her marriage, hoping for a bit of gossip to carry with them to the next soiree.

Her mother wouldn’t have likely attended. Even if her ham-fisted, controlling stepfather allowed her to, she wouldn’t have felt comfortable in such elevated company. So why not travel to Scotland and marry in his domain?

“Very well.” She glanced at her sister. “Shall we begin packing?”

Annalise nodded, her brown eyes dancing with excitement at the prospect.

An uncomfortable silence stretched. Logan looked as though he wanted to say something more, but a fleeting look at Annalise prevented that.

Annalise must have read the look. She cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me.” She likely thought they wanted the moment alone to kiss and hold each other and whisper sweet words. Cleo grimaced at such a wildly romantic notion . . . but a notion she suspected her half sister harbored.

She slipped from the room and left them alone. They stood with the tea cart between them.

What did one say to the man you were to marry with an understanding in place that there likely would never be intimacy between them? Cleo motioned to the pot. “Would you like some tea?”

“No.” He circled the cart, an intent light in his gray eyes.

“Could I ring for something stronger? Coffee?” She resisted the impulse to back up. She had vowed to trust him and that meant not retreating at his approach.

He stopped in front of her and cupped her cheek, his rasping palm holding her face.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, the reminder burning on her tongue that their marriage wasn’t about intimacy. No touching. No spontaneous caressing.

“Sealing our bargain,” he whispered the moment before his lips claimed hers.

She tried to protest but he smothered the sound. It wasn’t the type of kiss she thought one might give for sealing a bargain. It was hot and consuming, rough and thorough. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, sweeping inside and lighting her afire.

She grabbed his shoulders, prepared to push him away but instead she ended up clinging to him.

He finally ended the kiss, and this only galled her. He ended it. Where was her willpower? She was supposed to be in control, but so far he seemed to be the one in control.

Staring up at him, she realized what a fool she’d been to think she could ever control this man.

He gazed down at her with desire gleaming in his eyes. Her heart stuttered wildly inside her chest. He brushed a thumb over her kiss-bruised lips.

“You can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“What?”

She moistened her lips and his gaze followed the motion of her tongue. Her belly tightened and she forced hard resolve into her voice. “You can’t just kiss me whenever you feel like it.”

He smiled slowly and her stomach flipped at the curve of those well-formed lips. “The occasion called for it.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No more. I can’t do this if you continue to kiss me and touch me every time I turn around.” As she uttered these words the desire ebbed from his eyes, replaced with cold aloofness. He didn’t miss her meaning. He understood.

“That’s the way it’s to be then? I can’t so much as touch you without your express welcome? Will you send me an embossed invitation? Is that how I shall know?” he bit out.

He was angry, but she preferred that to his heated gazes and roaming lips and hands. “I-I-I explained—”

“Yes, I suppose you did. I just did not fully understand until this moment that I was never to so much as put a finger on my wife. Forgive me. Now I comprehend.”

My wife. Just those words from his lips sent a bolt of panic through her.

“We’re not married,” she retorted.

“Indeed. Not yet.”

“I don’t understand your . . .” she groped for the right word and gave up, reminding him instead what it was he really sought. “You need an heiress. I’m that. You claimed no need for an heir.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “Indeed. I only need the funds that you bring.” He looked her up and down, his expression so cold it chilled her heart. “I don’t need you.”

She flinched even as awareness swam through her that she had incited this.

Turning from her, he stalked across the room.

She watched, a new type of panic rising in her . . . panic that he’d change his mind and didn’t want to marry her at all. Blast it! When had she become such a contrary creature?

“Wait!” she cried. “I still need to speak to you about a matter.”

At the door, he turned to look at her. “What might that be?”

“I need your promise.”

“Another one?”

She nodded, her misery more than she could understand. She was getting her wish. She’d be saving her family and he wouldn’t demand a place in her bed. What more did she require?

“I need your promise that I can use funds to help my family . . . a-and that my siblings can reside with us if need be.”

Something flickered in his gaze, a hint of the softness he’d shown her in the library when he comforted her about Bess. Then it was gone. “Of course.”