Now the worst, most unthinkable revelation of all.
What could be worse than knowing there were two hearts in danger of breaking?
Suspecting there might be three.
Chapter Eighteen
Aside from a small delay due to muddy roads, the journey went much as planned. They reached the coaching inn with plenty of time to dress for the evening.
One of the inn’s serving girls helped Maddie with her gown and hair. The young woman was remarkably talented with curling tongs, Maddie thought, surveying the girl’s work in the looking glass as she considered whether perhaps she ought to hire a proper ladies’ maid.
But even if her hair looked tolerable, there was still . . . the rest of her. Her cheeks were pale. Her stomach was a writhing mass of nerves. She hadn’t been able to eat a thing all day.
And Logan wasn’t helping in the least. While she dithered over her choice of earbobs, he walked the room.
Back and then forth.
And back and then forth.
Worse, he seemed to pick up speed with every pass. Until he was striding with agitation in every step.
She watched him in the mirror. “You’re making me nervous. I do wish you’d stop flouncing.”
That suggestion drew him to a halt. He turned to her. “I’m not flouncing.”
“It looked like flouncing to me.”
“Men canna flounce.”
“They can if they’re wearing a skirt.”
“A kilt isna a skirt. ’Tis an entirely different thing.” He turned on his heel and resumed his agitated strides.
“Flounce,” she said lightly, looking pointedly at the bouncing hem of his plaid. And again with each of his heavy strides. “Flounce, flounce, flounce.”
She couldn’t help but tease him. Needling him took away some of her own anxiety.
“It isna flouncing,” he said. “It’s pacing.”
“If you say so, Captain MacFlouncy.”
“Or prowling.”
“Prowling.” She arched one eyebrow. “Like a kitten?”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Call me a kitten once more, and I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what?”
“I’ll pounce on you and lick you like a dish of cream.”
Maddie smiled to herself. That didn’t sound like such a terrible punishment.
“You’ve been sitting at that dressing table for the past two hours,” he said. “I know you’re anxious. But if you want to meet this Mr. Dorning, we must be on our way.”
“I know, I . . .” She lifted her head and met her own gaze in the mirror. “I’m just nervous.”
“This is hardly an appearance at St. James’s. They’re only a group of naturists.”
“Naturalists. If they were naturists, that would make getting dressed much easier.” She reached for a small jar on the dressing table. “I’m trying to decide whether to brave this rouge Aunt Thea gave me.”
She picked up the small pot of cosmetic and squinted into it. Then dabbed the contents gingerly with the tip of her little finger.
Logan crossed to her, took the rouge from her hand, carried it to the room’s single narrow window, and pitched it out into the twilight.
After a count of three, she heard it land with a faint thud.
“Just as well. I’ll be more comfortable if I don’t attract notice.” Maddie rose to her feet with a sigh and gathered her gloves. “We can leave now.”
Now he blocked her path, forbidding her to take a single step. “Hold just a moment.”
Goodness. His sudden nearness was so affecting. He looked so fine in his dark green--and--blue tartan, and his freshened officer’s coat fit him snug as sealskin. Every button and bit of gold braid gleamed. He’d even acquired a white cravat and tied it with reasonable skill.
And he’d shaved. Recently enough that even his formidable stubble hadn’t yet managed to reappear. His jaw was smooth, save for a small red nick where he’d cut himself with the razor.
She was seized by the desire to touch his cheek.
Press her lips to that small, endearing wound.
And she wanted so much more.
Her hands fluttered with nerves, as if she and he had been strangers and this had been their first meeting.
Despite it, she tried to sound nonchalant. “I can’t imagine what’s come over you. First you’re rushing me to leave, and now you’re telling me to wait? I thought women are the sex with changeable moods.”
“We need to talk about that comment you just made. Something about how you won’t attract notice?”
“Yes. Well, what of it?”
He put his hands on the dressing table, one on either side of her hips. His blue eyes pinned her, as surely as if she’d been a butterfly pinned to a board.
“Like hell you won’t attract notice,” he said. “You have my notice.”
Maddie squirmed, trying to escape. “Really, we’ll be late. We should be leaving.”
He didn’t budge. “Not just yet.”
“But I thought you were in a hurry.”