Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(53)

Turning, he took her arm and led her from the church. A barouche waited, decorated with ribbons and flowers, and Cleo marveled that so much had been accomplished in a few hours.

She settled onto the stiff cushion as Logan took up the reins. With a flick of his wrist, they lurched forward. Villagers lined the road leading up to the castle, waving and cheering, tossing flowers. It was like something out of a fairy tale—and Cleo was caught in the midst of it.

Logan waved and called out greetings. Cleo’s cheeks warmed from so much attention. She hadn’t expected it—hadn’t expected any of this. It was as though Logan ruled over a small kingdom here, so far from the drawing rooms of the ton. No wonder he seemed so indifferent to that world. It meant little to him. This was his world.

And he’d just made her a part of it.

Something in her chest tightened at the thought of that. Lifting her hand, she waved to the villagers, fighting back feelings of shyness. They welcomed her with unabashed enthusiasm. They wanted her here. Without even knowing anything about her, they’d embraced her. Because Logan had chosen her.

Amid all the well-wishers, one face stood out. Very likely because she was so beautiful, with her vivid red hair and curvy figure. But more than likely because she was scowling. The only unsmiling face in the crowd. The girl’s gaze fastened with stark intensity on Logan. Tears swam in her red-rimmed eyes, shining wetly.

She quickly forgot the woman as they arrived at the castle and were ushered into the great dining hall. Tables laden with food awaited them. One table sat upon a dais, well above the others. Logan guided her into a chair at the center of the table. Jack and her family soon arrived to join them, along with Logan’s siblings.

Toasts rang out as they ate and Cleo couldn’t help marveling how unlike this was from all the stuffy dinners she’d attended in Town.

And she was glad for that. Voices and laughter whirled around—all save her own. No one seemed aware that she was mostly silent, only answering questions, absorbing her new world—a world in which she was now married to Logan. This reality sank upon her slowly, like pebbles descending in water.

She nibbled on a bite of roasted pheasant, achingly aware of the man next to her. He radiated heat. Life and vitality.

“Are you not hungry?” he asked as Jack was regaling everyone with one of his anecdotes. She nodded just as everyone burst into laughter as he reached the high point of his story. “I’ve eaten my fill. Everything has been delicious.”

“Then perhaps we should retire. It’s been a long day.”

She gulped, wishing suddenly she’d drawn out her dinner, toying with her food and at least acting like she was eating. Now she had to walk up those winding stairs with him and climb into that big bed.

A bed big enough for an entire regiment. They wouldn’t even have to brush toes with each other. With that encouraging thought, she took a fortifying breath and rose to her feet. It wouldn’t be awkward. They had an understanding after all.

Logan wrapped his hands around her waist and swung her down from the dais. She stood beside him as he bid good night to everyone, nodding and smiling and praying she appeared happy as any bride ought to be—especially any bride marrying a man like Logan. Most girls only dreamed of such a match. Of course, she wasn’t most girls.

His brothers cheered perhaps the loudest and she blushed, guessing at their thoughts. They doubtlessly believed their brother was in store for a vigorous night of passion.

Only she knew better. And so did Logan.

Even so, her nerves were stretched unbearably taut as they walked side by side up the winding stairs. She skimmed her hand along the smooth stone balustrade, trying to ignore the sensation of his hand against the small of her back . . . and deliberately avoiding thinking of the night ahead. Her wedding night.

The sound of a crackling fire greeted them the moment they entered the chamber. A log hissed and crumbled with a sparking pop. Cleo watched this for a moment, holding herself still as the warmer air glided over her.

A dull orange glow suffused the room, reminding her of those sunsets back home, when she’d stand upon the seawall and watch the sun sink into the sea. Logan dropped down upon a velvet-cushioned bench and began tugging off his boots.

She lingered near the door, taking it all in—him, her husband, the bedchamber she was to share with him. It was too much to absorb. She crossed her arms and hugged herself, feeling suddenly small. Like an uncertain girl.

“Are you cold?” One boot hit the floor with a thud. She gave a small jump. Blinking, she looked up from the dark leather boot. She chastised herself for her jumpiness. He wasn’t going to pounce on her.

He glanced to the bed. She followed his gaze to the soft fur draped over the bottom half of the bed. “You’ll warm up quicker in bed.”

She nodded, not bothering to point out that she wasn’t cold. On the contrary. Heat swam beneath her skin, hummed through her like a charged current.

His next boot hit the floor. She watched as his hands went to his jacket, the long fingers deftly shedding it with strong, sure movements. Nothing hesitant or nervous. And why should he be? He’d probably done this hundreds, thousands, of times.

The notion that he undressed before countless females filled her with an unjustified sense of outrage. He’s mine! As quickly as the thought entered her head she banished it.

Of course there’d been others. And there was nothing to say there wouldn’t be more. What could she expect? It was only fair. She’d banned him from her bed. She couldn’t expect him to lead a life of celibacy. Just because that was what she’d chosen for herself, she could not demand it of him.