Page 50 of Never Kiss a Scot
Her cheeks pinkened, and she shyly lowered her head. He raised her gaze back up, and she smiled at him. It was like watching the sunrise over the Torrington hills in the middle of spring.
“Let’s go to dinner.”
“Yes. I’d like that.”
He offered her his arm and escorted her to the dining hall. Tonight he would take her to bed. She was simply too irresistible.
18
Joanna felt the weight of the engagement ring on her finger, but it was not unwelcome. Rather, it was comforting to feel the press of the gold circlet beside her wedding band. She could not believe he had given her a ring that had belonged to his mother. Joy bubbled up inside her as she considered what it meant. He could try to stay distant, but she saw the heat and the longing in his eyes. It wasn’t simply physical for him—at least, she sensed it wasn’t. She had to have faith that she could win his heart, help him realize that he wasn’t like his father.
We will have a happy marriage, a happy life. I refuse to believe anything else.
They entered the dining room, and she gasped. It was stunning. Red satin wallpaper covered the top of the room, and the bottom half was dark with oak paneling. Portraits of noblemen in kilts and women in tartan dresses were interspersed between mounted deer heads and elk antlers. It looked in equal parts a hunting lodge and an elegant dining room, the type that she might see in England.
“I do like this room.” He grinned and pointed at a large beautiful buck head. “I do not hunt for sport, mind you, but I was proud when I caught him last fall. He fed a number of families last year, including Dougal and Annis. I hunt when the herds grow too large during the lean winter months. Sometimes there is not enough vegetation to feed them all once the snow falls.”
He escorted her to a chair close to the large fireplace. It was almost as tall she was. She wondered if this might have been part of the great hall a few hundred years before. Brock pushed her chair in, and when she sat down he waved to a footman who’d been standing politely in the corner of the room.
The young man retrieved a tureen and came forward, ladling soup into each of their bowls before returning to his position in the corner.
“Turtle soup,” Brock said. “One of my favorites. We never eat it. Mrs. Tate must have gone to great effort for us tonight.”
“I must remember to thank her. I like this soup too,” she admitted with a grin, and dipped her spoon into the bowl. They ate quietly, the fire crackling behind them. Even in the summer it was noticeably cooler in Scotland than it was in Bath. Once they finished, the footman brought out a platter of salmon and then roast beef. They then shared a tart with meringue, laughing when their forks both collided as they reached for the same piece.
But they didn’t speak much, except to discuss the tenants and what books they had read as children. She was delighted to discover that they both enjoyed reading many of the same kinds of stories. Books with adventures, books that discussed history and philosophy. Brock was well read, far more so than she’d expected. That left her feeling a bit silly, having assumed he was more of a barbarian. It was the sort of thing Ashton would have assumed about him, and she hated herself for that.
“Tomorrow we will ride into town and inquire after some new servants. I shall post your letter to your maid, and we will have you fitted for more gowns, unless you wish to have your maid bring your old ones?” Brock asked.
“I might order a gown or two in the Scottish style, but Julia can bring more of mine with her. Do you…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Do you wish me to have new clothes?”
Brock toyed with the stem of his wineglass, considering her question. “I would, yes, but not yet. There are more important things needed, such as seeds for crops and farming equipment for the tenants.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But do you think we might upset them? How would they respond to our generosity? I do not wish to insult anyone’s pride.”
“Aye, that’s a fair point. I will raise payments to them first, and then we will hire an architect from Edinburgh to draw up plans for some better housing and see what the cost will be. I would like to have a few houses constructed before winter, if possible.”
“That would be good. I cannot stop thinking about those people living in those bleak houses during the dark days of winter.”
“I fear my father did not care about such things, but we will help them.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. She almost pulled away, not because she didn’t want him to touch her, but because it felt wonderful and she feared it didn’t mean the same to him as it did to her.
“I think it’s time for me to retire. It’s been a long day.” She rose from the table, and Brock got his feet as well. They didn’t speak as he escorted her to the stairs.
“Joanna, I assumed you might wish to sleep apart tonight, but…” Brock caught her by the waist. “May I come to your bed tonight?” The question was a soft, husky whisper in that heavy brogue that always made her feel weak.
Yes. The word was on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t dare say it. Until she could find a way to make him fall in love with her, she wasn’t sure she could risk her own heart like that. When they were together, it was as though everything fell away and it was only the two of them together in a world of heat and pleasure.
“I…I don’t know if I’m ready for that again.” She choked on the words as she fled upstairs. She’d imagined her marriage so differently, at least when it came to her husband. She had thought they would be madly in love with each other, that nothing would come between them, least of all their own hearts.
I’m afraid to love the man who is afraid to love me.
There was a cruel irony to their fears, but she knew she was closer than he was to love. She could feel it fluttering around her heart like doves searching for a place to nest.
As she stepped into her room, the one that Brock had said could be her quiet refuge, she paused, noting the fire in the hearth and the pot of tea on a tray left on the side table by her bed. The young maid Maura, who had helped her dress tonight, must have brought it up for her. She poured herself a cup, and when she started to sit down in the armchair by the fire, she jumped as something moved.
She stared down at the badger who’d been curled up in the chair asleep. “Freya?”
The badger raised her head and blinked sleepily at her. So much for sitting by the fire. She was not silly enough to try to dislodge a badger when it was happily settled somewhere, and the room had only one chair.
