When a Scot Ties the Knot
Page 67Maddie could do nothing but gape. She’d been expecting an impressive home. Perhaps even elegance. But this?
This was opulence, writ large.
Add in the crush of coaches surrounding them, the white-tie gentlemen and ladies bedecked in jewels and plumes . . .
“Oh, no,” she whimpered. She clutched Logan’s arm. “No, no, no. We can’t go in there. Just look at it. Just look at everyone.”
Just look at me.
The hastily altered silk gown that had looked quite passable in a dimly lit coaching inn now felt hopelessly dowdy and out of fashion. She ought to have worn her mother’s pearls. She ought to have bought new gloves.
“I was expecting a small, quiet gathering of science-minded aristocrats. Not this.”
“We’re here now, lass. There’s no going back.”
Perhaps there was no going back, but Maddie’s feet were not eager to move forward, either.
She stayed close to him as they walked toward the entrance and queued up for their announcement in the ballroom.
“First rule of balls,” he whispered, tucking her arm tight in his. “Dinna panic.”
“Remember when we went to the Beetle Ball and had a smashing good time?” he murmured.
“I do, as a matter of fact. You were quite well behaved and charming. In fact, I seem to recall that you even danced with the dowager countess herself.”
He shrugged. “I am surprisingly good with older women.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“But I only danced with her to be polite. The true enjoyment came later. When I cornered you in an alcove and pleasured you until you screamed.”
Maddie clapped a gloved hand over her startled laughter. At least her cheeks would be pink without any rouge.
It was their turn to be announced. The majordomo looked at them, waiting for Logan to provide the names.
Logan cast an uncertain glance in Maddie’s direction and tugged at his cravat.
In that moment, Maddie realized something. She’d been unbearably self-centered. As out of place as she felt in this setting, Logan must have been feeling a hundred times more uncomfortable. True, she’d never attended a proper ball, but she’d been trained in how to behave at them. She’d been raised within this class of society.
Logan was an officer, but he had not been born a gentleman. For an orphaned country lad who’d grown up sleeping with cattle in the byre, this scene must be completely foreign. He might as well have been launched to the moon.
Stop that, she told herself. He’s not here for love of you. He’s here for the castle. The land. His men.
They had an agreement. After tonight, he would have his lands, and Maddie would have her life back. No more hiding. No more lies.
She leaned toward the manservant and gave their names. “Mrs. Madeline Gracechurch and Captain Logan MacKenzie, of Invernesshire.”
As they were announced, they moved into the ballroom.
Maddie spoke through a smile. “This is my debut. That’s the first time I’ve heard my name announced like that.”
“I hope you enjoyed it. It’s also the last time you’ll hear your name like that.”
A strange thing for him to say, but Maddie supposed he had the right of it. It seemed unlikely she would ever attend another ball.
She murmured, “Now we go in and make a slow circle of the room.”
“Right,” he said. “See, I told you they’d all stare.”
“Of course they’re staring. They’re staring at you.” And Madeline was so glad of it. She’d been worried about being noticed, but she might as well have been invisible next to Logan. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“How wildly magnificent you look tonight.”
He made a dismissive noise. “It’s the kilt.”
“It’s partly the kilt. It’s mostly the swagger.”
This was, after all, a gathering of naturalists—and Logan was a rare specimen. She wondered if there was any sight so handsome as a Highlander in full military dress. Everyone in the room was plainly fascinated.
“I dinna see Varleigh,” he muttered.
“I imagine he’s probably preparing for his lecture.”
Logan nodded. “Did you want to dance?”
“No,” she quickly replied.
“Thank God. I’ll stay close to you then so no one else asks.”