Chapter 9

Three interminable weeks of sneaking in and out of Lachlan's chamber had finally come to an end. Madeline took a sip of her wine and glanced around the table at the friends who had joined them for their impromptu wedding breakfast. Lord and Lady Sinclair were in attendance, as were Mr. Decker and Lady Jo. There was also, of course, Vivi and her husband, the duke, and a rather wan-looking Lucy, seated beside their proudly beaming mother.

Lachlan was a strong, comforting presence at Madeline's side.

At long last, they were husband and wife.

She was the Duchess of Kenross.

Lachlan's bride.

She hoped they hadn't both made a dreadful mistake. The morning had begun inauspiciously enough, but thereafter, everything had descended into chaos. Terrible rain had begun to fall, leaving her gown's train muddied and waterlogged after she passed through the courtyard between Sherborne Manor and its small chapel. The lake was overflowing its banks. Cracking thunder had overshadowed their vows as if even the heavens objected to their marriage.

Lachlan had gently teased her about being bad luck for her gowns. Her cheeks had gone hot as she'd recalled in vivid detail precisely how he had ruined one of said gowns. Mother had spied it and wondered if she was bilious. Honoré the swan had somehow made his way into the manor house, and he'd led the butler on a merry chase in the great hall, hissing and carrying on and even leaving a squishy pile of excrement behind that no one had taken note of until Madeline had stepped in it.

Her father had been too concerned with his work to journey from New York City for the nuptials, and since Lucy's wedding to the earl would be much less rushed, he was choosing to attend hers instead. Not even her brother Duncan had come, too caught up in being Father's apprentice, no doubt, to venture from his side as he prepared to take over their father's empire.

As if sensing her disquiet, Lachlan covered her hand with his and leaned near so that he could murmur in her ear without anyone overhearing. "Ye make a lovely bride, Madeline."

Gratitude swept over her. In truth, she was sodden, her silk gown was likely ruined from the rain and mud, and her hair was dreadfully frizzed after being caught in the rain and then drying. But he made her feel lovely.

"Thank you." She cast an appreciative gaze over his brawny form. "You make a braw groom."

"Look at ye, already learning yer Scottish," he teased lightly.

They'd grown quite close over the past few weeks. And not just in the physical sense—although there had been a great deal of that as well. Everything but the consummation of their marriage, which he had steadfastly insisted must be after they were wed. No amount of persuasion or attempted seductions on her part had swayed him. Lachlan had become quite adept at distracting her from her intended course by wicked means.

Not that she was complaining.

But they had also become almost friends. Given the rushed nature of their betrothal and wedding, it was far more than she had expected. And the more time she spent in Lachlan's presence, the more she grew to like him. The more she grew to like him, the more concerned she was that she was falling under her new husband's spell. While he, despite his disarming charm and infallible ability to bring her pleasure, remained emotionally distant.

"I may as well learn it," she told him now, forcing a smile for his benefit. "I'll be there soon enough."

"Aye, ye will." A shadow passed over his countenance, his jaw hardening.

She wondered what he was thinking about and hoped it wasn't the woman who had broken his heart. Scotland was a vast place. Surely they wouldn't cross paths with her upon their return. Madeline banished the notion, dismissing it as her nervousness over the impending changes looming before her.

Not only was she a wife, but she was leaving England for Scotland.

For a derelict castle she had never seen.

She knew precious little about what awaited her. Even Lachlan seemed torn between excitement at their journey to his homeland and dispassionate calm.

"You're certain you'll make the journey back to London for my wedding to Rexingham, won't you?" Lucy asked from across the table, poking at the elegant assortment of food on her plate but not eating it.

"Of course I will," Madeline reassured her. "I wouldn't miss your wedding, dearest."

Lucy nodded, offering her a tight smile, and Madeline felt a pang in her heart for her sister's future. The Earl of Rexingham, for all that he was a cold and proper man, had drawn Lucy to him somehow. They'd certainly engaged in enough passionate embraces to make it imperative that they wed. Madeline hoped that Lucy would find contentment with her husband.

Just as she hoped she would find some measure of peace in her own future with her new husband.

How strangely their worlds had changed since they had arrived at Sherborne Manor weeks ago. Madeline certainly hadn't expected to find herself here, at the side of a brawny Scot, as his wife. But here she was, and she honestly could say that she didn't regret a single moment of it.

"No wandering about in castle ruins in Scotland, if you please," Lucy said sternly, before casting a protective, sisterly stare in Lachlan's direction. "I trust you'll keep my sister safe and out of trouble, won't you?"

Lachlan gave Madeline's hand a squeeze, smiling at Lucy. "Ye have my word I'll always keep yer sister safe. Now, as for keeping her out of trouble… Ye do know yer sister, dinnae ye?"

His cheeky question earned a smile from Lucy. "That's an excellent point. Madeline does like to get into scrapes."

"Coming from you, that's rich." Madeline couldn't help but tease her sister in return.

After all, it was Lucy's midnight assignation with a footman gone awry that had led to her impending marriage to the Earl of Rexingham. To say nothing of the other scandals she'd intentionally caused on both sides of the Atlantic. Yes, Madeline supposed that the Chartrand sisters made quite a pair. Little wonder Mother was pleased to be marrying them off.

"I'll thank you not to speak of it," Lucy said archly.

"Girls, that is quite enough of your squabbling," Mother chastised, intervening as she often did whenever Madeline and Lucy argued. "I'm pleased to see my daughters so well settled, Madeline with your duke and Lucy with Lord Rexingham before long. It brings a tear of joy to my eye."

"Perhaps you have an eyelash in your eye," Lucy offered unkindly.

Emotion was indeed quite rare for Mrs. William Chartrand. Madeline wasn't sure she'd ever witnessed their mother in a moment of vulnerability. Her protective shell was harder than a turtle's.

Mother ignored Lucy, raising a handkerchief to her eye and dabbing as if she were overcome with sentimental joy. In fact, she was probably crying tears of happiness as she contemplated the various means through which she would be able to lord her daughters' astounding marital coups over the rest of society back home in New York.

But Madeline quite wisely refrained from saying so aloud.

"All I can say is thank you to the wonderful and generous Duke and Duchess of Bradford, for hosting us and allowing us to marry here at Sherborne Manor," Madeline offered instead, turning her gaze to their host and hostess, who made a very handsome and much-in-love pair.

Madeline was thrilled to see her friend so happy after a period of estrangement from her husband. No one deserved contentedness more than Vivi, and she wore it well. She positively vibrated with happiness.

"It was our pleasure," Bradford said easily, turning an adoring gaze on his wife. "And everyone knows that my darling Vivi can't resist the opportunity to host her friends for a worthy cause. In this case, it was both the Lady's Suffrage Society and, it would seem, love."

Love for Vivi and Bradford, unquestionably. But not for Madeline and Lachlan. She tamped down a fresh surge of envy. And it wasn't a love match for Lucy and her earl, or for Edith and Mr. Blakemoor either. Even if Clementine and Dorset, along with Wilton and Charity, had fallen madly in love. Perhaps acceptance of their fates was all the rest of the friends could hope for as they faced uncertain futures as wives. Madeline knew she was more fortunate than some.

At least Lachlan hadn't tricked her into marriage as Blakemoor had done to Edith. And at least she wasn't forced to endure Mother's wedding of the century nonsense as Lucy was. Besides, Madeline enjoyed Lachlan's company—likely more than she should, given that he was firmly guarding his past from her. And the pleasure he could bring her…

Well, she enjoyed that very much.

Her cheeks were heating at the thought, so she took a hasty sip of her wine to distract herself.

"I'm so happy to have brought together my dearest friends," Vivi was saying, her eyes gleaming with suppressed emotion as she spoke to the table. "And to celebrate the Lady's Suffrage Society. We are, all of us, stronger together."

"Hear, hear," Bradford said, raising his glass in salute.

Everyone around the table raised their glasses as well, and more toasts were made. Madeline spent the rest of the wedding breakfast drinking too much wine and hoping that the lashing rain and dreadful luck of the day wasn't an ominous sign of what was to come.

Lachlan was exhaustedas the train rattled over tracks taking them north in their sumptuous private car. The use of the car was a wedding gift from Decker and Lady Jo, and the privacy and comfort it provided on their journey was appreciated. The trip itself, however, was a source of some consternation.

His return to Scotland was bittersweet. Tucked against his side was Madeline, who had somehow fallen asleep, lulled, he supposed, by the endless motion of the train gliding on its tracks. Undoubtedly, the overwhelming nature of the morning, their wedding, and the breakfast that had followed had contributed. They'd been traveling for some time now, the scenery passing by in a torpid blur of green grass, brown mud, and gray skies, her head on his shoulder a welcome weight.

It was almost impossible to believe that the stunning, fiery, unpredictable woman at his side was his wife.

By the rood, not just his wife.

She was his duchess now. He needed to remember he was the Duke of Kenross, even if it didn't feel as if he was. Because, like it or not, his entire life as he'd known it—and loved it—was about to change irrevocably. Traveling to Edinburgh over the next few hours was only a part of their journey. From Edinburgh, they would be hiring a carriage and traveling to Castle Kenross.

Or what remained of it.

Lachlan grimaced as he thought of the uncertain fate awaiting the both of them. As if sensing his mood, Madeline shifted against him, and he could tell the instant she awakened.

"Good morning to ye," he drawled, opting for good humor.

The truth of it was, he was more than a wee bit terrified of being a husband. Of being alone with her. No barrier of honor to keep him from claiming what he wanted. All the guards he'd kept carefully in place about to fall.

Because he couldn't afford to care for her too much. He wouldn't put himself in such a vulnerable place again.

She straightened and stretched, giving him a soft smile that made him want to kiss her as she shifted away from him. "How long was I asleep?"

"An hour or so," he guessed. "We've no' too much farther to travel now, by the look of the land beyond the window."

They had made the customary stops on their journey, but even without consulting his pocket watch, Lachlan knew they were close to their destination for the evening.

"I'm sorry for sleeping on you like that," she apologized, a pretty tinge of pink gilding her cheekbones. "I do hope I didn't do anything embarrassing like snore or drool on your coat sleeve."

He laughed at her words rather than her worry. "I wouldnae have minded if ye had, lass, but ye neednae worry. My sleeve is far safer than yer puir gowns have been in my presence."

Madeline chuckled softly, the sound doing strange things to his insides. "My train was in a dreadful state today, wasn't it? Fortunately, I could detach it and leave it behind for my mother to contend with. But the rain and mud were hardly your fault."

Still, he couldn't help but to feel as if he were somehow to blame. He was responsible for Madeline now, in a way he hadn't been responsible for another soul since his dear mother had gone to her reward. For many years, it had been naught but the two of them, his father having died when Lachlan had been but a bairn. And then, it had been just Lachlan after his mother's short illness and decline. He'd been alone. Until he'd fallen in love with Rose.

Only, that love had left him more alone than ever. He'd traveled aimlessly, going wherever the wind blew after he'd left Scotland in search of himself until he'd found Decker. Now, for the first time, he had a wife. A woman whose happiness depended upon him. A woman to protect, to kiss, to cherish.

To bed.

But he wouldn't think about that just now, lest his randy prick get any unseemly ideas. It wouldn't do to tup his wife for the first time in a damned train car.

He forced a smile for Madeline's benefit, hoping she wouldn't sense the worry weighing him down. "As yer husband, I'm responsible for ye now, gowns and all."

Husband.How strange that word felt on his tongue, speaking it in relation to himself. But it was true. They were married. Madeline was his wife. Nothing was standing between them, save his common sense now. If he possessed any at all.

Madeline was staring at him in a considering fashion, and he shifted on his seat, discreetly adjusting his trousers, which were growing snugger beneath her regard. "Responsible for me? You make me sound like a chore."

Och, he was making a muck of it.

"Never a chore," he reassured her, reaching out to brush a stray tendril of hair from her cheek. "A blessing."

Her skin was soft and silken, and he couldn't deny the jolt that went through him at the contact. He wanted to keep touching her, but he didn't dare, for fear he'd entirely lose control.

She raised a brow. "My dowry is a blessing, you mean."

"Yer dowry is but a benefit of marrying ye," he said gallantly. "I'll no' lie about needing it. Ye ken that's why I asked for yer hand from the start. But over the last few weeks, I've come tae admire ye greatly, lass. Marrying ye was my privilege. Being yer husband is an honor."

It startled Lachlan to realize how earnestly he meant those words. He wasn't merely saying it to spare her feelings. He liked Madeline. She was a good sister, a faithful friend, and she was damned intelligent. To say nothing of her beauty, which was undeniable. She made him laugh. She made him want her. She made him feel alive again in ways he hadn't remembered were possible.

"That was quite sweet of you to say." Madeline smiled at him, and he wanted to kiss her badly. "But you needn't pay me any unnecessary flattery. I know quite well why you married me. Now, tell me about this castle of yours. Is it uninhabitable?"

Her swift change of subject had him blinking, forcing him to realize that his hand had lingered at her cheek. He withdrew it now and straightened, reminding himself that he had no intention of bedding his new wife on a train.

"I'm told Castle Kenross is in a bad way," he said, passing his hand along his jaw ruefully as he was forced to think about the sad state of affairs awaiting them.

"You're told," she repeated, her brow furrowing. "Do you mean to say that you haven't seen it for yourself yet?"

Her surprise was evident, and he knew a moment of guilt and shame at his own actions. In his defense, inheriting a dukedom and all that it entailed hadn't been what he'd ever desired for himself. When he'd learned of it, he'd been incredulous at first. And then, he'd known a moment of regret, of marrow-deep sadness that the one feat which would have made Rose want to marry him years ago had come far too late.

As for the castle, he hadn't wanted to see it. Returning to Scotland after so long away filled him with a host of mixed reactions, chief amongst them dread. He had delayed for as long as possible.

"Nay, I havenae seen it since I learned it was tae be mine," he said simply rather than divulge all that to Madeline.

"Why not?" she asked, and then her expressive face changed. He thought he saw a flicker of hurt there before she forced a pained smile. "Never mind. You needn't tell me. I can see the answer for myself written on your countenance. It's because of her that you haven't been back."

Lachlan sighed. He didn't want to think about Rose any longer. Nor did he want her to become a specter who perpetually haunted his marriage with Madeline. It startled him to realize how much he cared about what his new wife thought about him. How she felt about him.

"It's no' because of her, lass," he said gently.

But the damage had already been done. Madeline was looking at him with suspicion.

"It is. Why lie to me?"

Fair enough.

"It's no' solely because of her," he amended.

Which didn't make Madeline any happier. Her lips pursed into a disapproving line. "Does she have a name, this paragon who stole your heart?"

"It doesnae matter." And he didn't want to say it aloud. It was almost as if saying Rose's name would conjure her. Make her more than just the memory that had been haunting him these many years. "And she isnae a paragon. Trust me on that."

"But you still love her." Madeline's gaze searched his.

She wasn't asking a question but making a statement. Perhaps an accusation.

"I dinnae love her any longer, lass," he reassured her, startled to realize the veracity of his words.

He still felt the same sting of betrayal when he thought of Rose. But he no longer thought about what might have been. He didn't long for her as he once had. Time and Rose's defection had cured him of that affliction.

"Are you certain?" Madeline asked, frowning.

"Aye, lass." He took one of her hands in his, raising her fingers to his lips and kissing them. "Ye're my wife."

Wife.And there was another strange word. So small, and yet it encompassed something that was larger than the both of them.

"I'm aware of that," she said pointedly, her gaze dipping to his mouth.

The urge to kiss her went from a flickering flame to a raging fire. Lachlan surrendered, lowering his head and taking her lips with his. She opened for his tongue, and he delved into the velvety recesses, tasting the sweet hints of wine she'd consumed at the wedding breakfast. He could get inebriated on her mouth alone. But he knew that he had to proceed with caution.

Lachlan raised his head with great reluctance, ending the kiss before it had truly begun. "There now. No more talk of anyone else. This is our wedding day. There shouldnae be anyone between us."

"I'm sorry to bring up the past," she said softly. "I didn't mean to dredge up unwanted feelings."

"Let's speak of other things," he suggested, thinking that he would prefer to speak about anything else.

He didn't want Rose on his mind. She didn't belong here in this moment, in this space, in this marriage. She belonged to the past, and it would be best if she remained there. He would have to see her soon enough.

"What do you wish to speak of?" Madeline asked, folding her hands primly in her lap.

"Tell me more about ye," he suggested. "About yer home in New York City."

"Our family home or the city itself?" she asked, apparently willing to be distracted.

"Yer home."

"My father built it several years ago," she said. "It's the largest home in the city. He made certain of it."

Apparently, Mr. William Chartrand's wealth and his sense of self-importance were proportionally large. Lachlan wasn't surprised. His own interactions with the man had been limited to terse telegrams, but he found himself curious about what manner of man Madeline's father was. About what her childhood had been like. About everything that concerned her, really.

"Will ye miss it?" he asked.

"I suspect so," she said, a wistful tone creeping into her voice. "But perhaps you can visit there with me one day."

"Maybe ye'll be tired of me by then and ye'll be happy tae leave me behind," he said, tamping down the tender emotions that had threatened to rise at her words.

"Or perhaps we'll become inseparable and I'll take you to show off my handsome Scottish duke to all the pretentious society ladies my mother wants to impress," she countered, her tone light.

Something inside Lachlan seized.

"Ye think me handsome, lass?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion he didn't seem capable of suppressing, regardless of how ruthlessly he longed to quash it.

She's dangerous, warned the voice inside his head. The voice he'd never listened to with Rose. The voice he most definitely should listen to with Madeline.

"Of course." A becoming flush stole over her cheeks. "Surely you know that I find you very handsome indeed by now."

"I ken ye like my kisses," he said gruffly. "And ye like when I touch ye."

He shouldn't have said that. Or thought it. He most certainly shouldn't be thinking about touching her now. Not on the train, he scolded himself inwardly. Not on the damned train, ye fool.

He would tear her out of that gown when they were safely ensconced in their hotel for the night in Edinburgh. With his teeth.

"I also happen to find you handsome," Madeline said softly. "Verra, verra handsome, if you must know."

She was teasing him, smiling in that infectious way of hers. The way that made him want to smile back and forget why he should never entrust his heart to another woman again.

"We'll make a Scot of ye yet, lass," he said lightly, as if he were entirely unaffected by her proximity, her scent, her tempting lips, the revelations she'd just made. One thing was clear. He had to get out of this car and stretch his legs. To find the wits that seemed to have been relentlessly scattered to the wind, sent out the train window into the passing scenery. He cleared his throat and rose to his feet. "Now then, can I get ye something from the refreshment car? Claret or perhaps a glass of sherry?"

"How much longer is the train ride, do you think?" she asked.

A bloody eternity.

Lachlan clenched his jaw. "Another two hours or so, I should think."

"A glass of sherry then, if you please," she said, making to rise. "I'll accompany you."

"No," he hastened to reassure her, louder than necessary, his voice echoing in the private car's handsomely appointed space. "That is tae say, ye're tired after all the excitement of the day. Ye should remain here. Let yer husband attend tae ye."

And there he went again, using that word. Husband. With it came more unwanted feelings. Feelings he couldn't bear to entertain.

Lachlan didn't wait to hear Madeline's response. He fled the car as if his arse were on fire.