“It’s mine already. I’ve married her.”
“Aye, in word. But the English have a way of breaking their word, up here in the Highlands.”
“I’ll remind you, that’s my wife you’re discussing.”
Rabbie gave him a doubting look. “Is it?”
“Yes.”
Maddie would be his wife. Fully, legally, permanently, and soon. He’d acceded to her requests for a delay last night because of everything Callum said: She’d had a shock and a long, wearying day.
He knew she was curious, and he’d tasted her kiss. There was potential for matters to be good between them—-perhaps even incendiary. It would be a crime to squander their agreed--upon night by pressing her too far, too fast.
When Logan bedded his wife, she would not only be willing. She would want it. She would be pleading for him.
And he’d leave her so limp and exhausted with pleasure that she could have no thought of any cuddling afterward.
“Say, Captain.” Callum motioned back toward the castle. “Looks as though you have a visitor.”
Logan peered into the distance. An elegant coach--and--four had drawn up in front of the castle’s entrance. A man alighted from the coach. No sooner had the man’s boots met the ground than a small figure in gray emerged from the castle to greet him, as though she’d been expecting him to call.
Maddie.
“On second thought,” Rabbie said, “looks as though your lady has a visitor.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the group.
“I expect it’s probably some man of business,” Munro said. “Don’t all English ladies have men of business?”
“Do you see that team of bays?” Fyfe put in. “That’s no working man’s coach--and--four.”
Logan remained quiet. He didn’t know who Maddie’s visitor might be. But he meant to find out.
“Lord Varleigh.” Maddie dropped a curtsy. “Do come in. It’s always a pleasure to see you.”
“The pleasure is mine, Miss Gracechurch.”
Miss Gracechurch.
The words gave Maddie pause. Was she still Miss Gracechurch? Should she correct him?
Maddie decided against it. It was too complicated to explain right now, and Lord Varleigh would likely be gone before Logan even noticed he was here.
With any luck, she might never need to change her name to Mrs. MacKenzie at all.
Lord Varleigh cleared his throat. “Might I see the illustrations?”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.”
Heavens. Would she never lose this awkwardness? She’d had enough conversations with Lord Varleigh over the past year to know he was an intelligent and thoughtful gentleman, but he was also rather an imposing one. Something about his dark, inquisitive eyes and groomed fingernails always made her a bit nervous.
Focus on the work, Maddie. He’s here for the illustrations, not for you.
She gathered the folio and carried it to a wide, flat table to lay it open. “As we originally discussed, there are ink drawings for each species in different perspectives.”
She stood to the side as he paged through her work. Methodically and slowly, as any good naturalist would do.
“What’s this?” he asked, arriving at a watercolor near the end of the stack.
“Oh, that. I took the liberty of combining some of the species and doing a few plates in color. I know they can’t be printed in the journal, but I thought you might like to have them. If not, I’ll keep them. They were mostly for my own amusement.”
“I see.” He tilted his head as he looked at them.
At last, Maddie could bear the suspense no longer. “Do the sketches not meet with your approval? If you don’t like them or they’re not right, there’s still time. I can make changes.”
He let the folio cover drop shut and turned to her. “Miss Gracechurch, the sketches are remarkable. Perfect.”
“Oh. Good.” Maddie exhaled with relief and just a touch of pride.
For the most part, she illustrated for the love of it, and for the pleasure of contributing to knowledge—-not for applause. Not that there were a great many -people queuing up to applaud scientific illustrators, anyhow.
But Lord Varleigh’s praise meant something to her. It meant a great deal. He made her feel she’d done something right, despite spending yesterday dealing with a Highlander determined to punish her for her every youthful folly.
“I’m hosting a gathering at my home next week to unveil the specimens,” Lord Varleigh said, packing up her illustrations and the glass--boxed samples she’d worked from. “I’ve invited all the members of the naturalist society, Orkney included.”
“It’s to be a salon, then?”
“More of a ball.”
“Oh.” A cold sense of dread washed over her. “A ball.”
“Yes. There will be supper and a bit of dancing. We must provide some amusement for the ladies, you see, or they will boycott the evening altogether.”
Maddie smiled. “I’m not much of a lady, then. I’m uninterested in dancing, but I would be fascinated by your display.”
“Then I hope you’ll attend.”