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The sea air and society were meant to coax her out of her shell before her season commenced. It didn’t quite work that way. Instead, Maddie spent most of those weeks with shells.
My dear imaginary Captain MacKenzie, you are not real and never will be. I, however, am a true and eternal fool. Here, have a drawing of a snail.
“Don’t you know me, mo chridhe?” She shook her head. She’d had enough of this game, thank you. “Tell me your name.” The corner of his mouth tipped in a small, roguish smile. “Captain Logan MacKenzie.” No.
“Can’t you? Is it so hard to believe that the name and rank you plucked from the air might belong to an actual man somewhere? MacKenzie’s not an uncommon name.
“That’s simple. I want what your letters said. What you’ve been telling your family for years. I’m Captain Logan MacKenzie. I received every last one of your missives, and despite your best attempts to kill me, I am verra much alive.” He propped a finger under her chin, tilting her face to his. So she would be certain to hear and believe his words. “Madeline Eloise Gracechurch . . . I’ve come here to marry you.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said. “You can. There’s nothing easier. If this were difficult, humanity would have died out long ago.” “I think you underestimate my capacity for taking normal human interaction and making it awkward.”
“Oh, what have you done?” She fell on her knees to the carpet. “What have I done? Most lasses like it when a man kills the bugs. Along with reaching high places and giving sexual pleasure, it’s one of the few universally popular qualities we have on offer.”
“I’ve spent years studying all sorts of creatures. Do you know what I’ve noticed? The ones that build themselves the toughest, strongest shells for protection . . . inside, they’re nothing but squish.” “Squish?” “Goo. Jelly. Squish.” “You think I’m squish inside.” “Perhaps.”
“Here I am, struggling to banish any foolish imagined affections for you so that we can consummate this marriage of convenience in a proper businesslike fashion, as we agreed. And then you go and read a book?” While he was at it, why didn’t he just bring her a basket of kittens, a bottle of champagne, and pose naked with a rose caught between his teeth?
The love of books was an instant connection, and a true boon for a girl who tended toward shyness, because it was a source of endless conversation.
I dinna do cuddling, he’d said. She nuzzled the velvety cropped hairs at the nape of his neck, smiling secretly to herself. Perhaps he didn’t do cuddling, but she did. She was excellent at it, apparently. Madeline Eloise Gracechurch: Stealth Cuddler. What Logan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. But if she wasn’t careful, it just might tear her heart in two.
“I’ve been married,” said the habitually silent Fyfe. “I’ll tell you what she wants. She wants your secrets. She wants your soul. You’ve got to crack yourself open and find that broken, shameful piece of your heart that you’d hide from the world and God Himself if you could manage it. And then serve it up to her on a platter. They won’t settle for anything less.”
What could be worse than knowing there were two hearts in danger of breaking? Suspecting there might be three.
“Not even I love you?” The words rocked him. He refused to let her see. “No. I dinna want to hear that.” “Well, I want to say it. Now, when there are no obligations. No threats hanging over my head. No lies to protect. I love you, Logan. Somehow . . . It began before I knew you.”
She gave a soft laugh against his chest. “What is it?” “Oh, Logan. I hate to tell you this. But I think we’re cuddling.” She nuzzled into the linen of his shirt. “You’re doing a wonderful job of it, too.” The little minx. Very
“Logan, you are my dream. You always were. You have to know that. The deepest desire of my heart. And as wild a fantasy as I spun . . .” She laced her arms about his neck. “ . . . the reality of us is so much better.”
