She did not know how she would manage, but she would not return to the passionate exchanges of the last few days. She could not give him her love and have it thrown back in her face. But she had married him, so she could not take that back. Flutters of tension stirred in her stomach as she waited for him to answer.
A smile curled his lips. “Spoken like the pragmatist I thought you. I have no intention of straying, no interest in having more than one woman at a time. You are all I need.”
“What if I cannot—make love with you?” During her courses or later in her pregnancies, for instance?
“Then I will wait for you. I’m a man, an adult. I have control over my impulses.” He smiled. “Although with you, I find myself wanting more than I should take. That is why my choice of bride was so important to me. If I had intended to behave like my father, then Lady Elizabeth would have been the ideal bride. But I do not, so I needed someone I could promise lifelong fidelity to.”
Relief flooded through her. Logan was a man of his word. If he made her a promise, he meant it.
He continued. “We are good friends, are we not? And lovers, too. You have made me very happy, sweetheart.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he placed a soft kiss on the back. “Understand?”
Silently, she nodded.
She was cold, as if he’d opened a window and it was December outside, not June. “You will not love me, or you cannot.”
“Cannot,” he returned promptly. “Having lived with my mother for so long, she has wrung every bit of desire for romantic love out of me. But I am fond of you, and I desire you…” Leaning forward, he kissed her, softly and gently, before standing up.
Damaris went through their last day at sea by rote, calling her maid to help her dress, taking a turn about the deck, and even talking to her husband, when he appeared. She did not know where he slept. She was too heartsick to ask him. They spoke about astronomy, what a fine day it was, and how long the journey would take.
Keeping a distance from him would hurt. It was cruel of him to take her like that, to make love to her as if she were the only woman in his heart. As if he loved her. She hated him for not telling her before they married. He’d had opportunity.
The irony was, she still loved him. She feared she always would. So she was stuck for the rest of her life in a one-sided relationship with a man who did not love her. Could not, he’d said.
While she could understand Logan’s reaction, she did not believe in it. She had given him her heart, and she refused to take it back.
On the last day, he came to stand behind her as she stood at the bow. She was dressed properly, her hair pinned up, the lappets of her cap blowing in the sea breeze as they rounded the last headland. According to the captain, they had sailed up the Moray Firth to a small inlet.
“I wanted to be with you for your first glimpse of the castle,” he murmured, his breath heating her ear.
When she tilted her head up to take in the view, Damaris caught her breath. A castle towered above them at the edge of the cliffs. The gothic author Mr. Horace Walpole would kill to own it. Visions of knights, white steeds and derring-do went through her mind.
Before her was a small harbor. Another ship and several smaller boats were moored there. “This is yours?”
“Ours,” he said calmly. “Yes. We’re close to Inverness, so most of my fleet is moored there when it’s not at sea, but this is very useful.”
“Where do you sail to?”
“Russia mainly.”
“I had no idea.”
“No,” he said dryly. “Not many people do.”
He left then, and spoke to the captain, giving Damaris another chance to study the castle. As they grew closer, more details came into view. Weathered stone, narrow windows and a roof not in the best state of repair made her wonder what she could expect. A run-down, ruinous medieval castle?
But no. She widened her stance as the ship sailed into the berth prepared for it. The hands were working to bring the ship in, but everything was orderly and they did not ask her to go below.
A small boat awaited to row them to the shore, and then a carriage to take them up to the castle.
“I usually enjoy the sight of my home,” he said, “but watching you experience it is even better.”
Behind the picturesque though frankly daunting castle on the edge of the cliff stood another building. The mansion had just as good a view, but the old castle would serve as a buffer against the worst of the weather.
“My grandfather built the main house, with the money he gained from trading with Russia. He knew Peter the Great, made his acquaintance when he came here, and developed the trade that made us wealthy. We trade all over the world now, but our main market is still Russia.” He glanced at the house. Built in the modern classical style, with a Palladian portico of columns set above a double stone staircase, it appeared remarkably civilized in this wild landscape.
Here, in the north of Scotland, the air tasted different, and it was not merely because of the absence of sooty fumes. Salt came from the sea, of course, but it was more than that. The flavor was wild, untamed. Like the man at her side.
Logan had appeared in plainer clothes than she’d seen him wearing before. Cloth and leather replaced brocade and velvet, and his hair was tied back simply with no elaboration. She could believe he belonged here, but she was not sure that she did.
Even more, now that he’d told her he did not and could not love her. Too late for her to stop loving him.
Turning her mind from the dilemma he had thrust her in, Damaris concentrated on the house. It was not as large as some of the palaces the aristocracy were building in the south, but she loved it on sight. The white stone facing suited the rugged landscape of rolling hills and scrub grass, with trees that looked as if they had been set there when the world had begun. Their bent shapes defined the weather.
“Do you spend the winter here?”
“Not usually. If the weather permits, we move to a house near Edinburgh. However, the house is sound enough, and we have wintered here more than once. Why, do you not like it?”
“I love it.” She snapped her mouth shut, aware of uttering the word that had been on her mind for days, but she had forbidden herself to say aloud anymore. Hastily, she tried to cover up her slip. “I thought we were to live in the castle.”
“How did you feel about that?” He made no reference to that word.
“Romantic but uncomfortable.” Why did everything she say refer back to the way she felt about him? Or was it her imagination? No, it was not, for when she glanced at him, he was regarding her with a particularly dark look. He was frowning.
The last thing she wanted to do was to return to the conversation she replayed in her mind incessantly. Her pain increased every time she thought of it, and his absolute refusal to consider loving her. She was lost in an unequal relationship, one she could never escape.
Refusing to repine further, she closed her lips and stared out of the window. This was her domain, the center of her new kingdom.
When they crested the ridge at the top of the cliff, several houses came into view. “The village,” he murmured, “not to surprise you too much, it’s called Glenbreck.”
At least she could still smile.
Disembarking outside the staircase leading to the front door, Damaris nearly lost her hat when a gust of wind pushed her towards her husband. Laughing, he caught her, and a small shard of the ice wall that had built between them fell away.
He set her back on her feet and offered his arm. “You’d better hold tight.”
He sounded carefree, more than she had heard him before, and his accent was back. This time, he made no attempt to modify it when the door opened and a butler appeared in the opening. The man was as wide as he was tall, and he was about level with Damaris.
“This is McKinney, my dear. You’ll find a lot of McKinneys in this house, so we tend to use their first names, but not this man.”
Watching the butler bo
w was a delight in itself. More folding than bowing. “Your grace, we are delighted to meet you.” His accent was thicker than Logan’s, but she understood him well enough. She liked the lilt that she had noticed a faint echo of in her husband, adding a touch of pure poetry to his tones.
“You cannot have had time to prepare for me.”
The butler nodded. “We like to keep the house in good order. The maids are pulling off the Holland covers and airing the beds. Everything will be ready in a trice. You’ll take the duke’s suite, sir?”
“Not yet. I want my wife to decorate the rooms as she wishes them. Give us the blue suite for now.”
Inside, MacIver Castle had a modern style, but with a Scottish twist, a slightly foreign air that Damaris found hard to pin down. It was totally unlike the other mansion she knew, the one she had grown up in, and she could only thank heaven for that.
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps they were better without love. The shame was, that when she thought of him, her heart went out to him, her body softened and joy flushed her into a state of readiness. She longed for him, and that was dangerous. She could become his slave if she was not careful, and that thought terrified her. For that reason alone she must try to draw apart. However much it hurt her to do it.
The rooms he took her to had a wonderful view over the ocean. Luxurious, as befitted a duke’s residence, furnished in the French style, but she had no eyes for the canopied bed or the Chinese silk wallpaper, only giving them a passing glance on her way to the window.
“I’ve never seen a sky so—so big.” Although she knew that was the wrong description, she could think of no other words to describe it. The blue sky, with clouds floating across it stretched so far she could almost see the curvature of the earth.
She spun around to face him, forgetting all that lay between them. He stood by the door, leaning against the carved posts that held up the lintel. “Come with me,” he said softly.
If it were not for her condition, she’d have thought he wanted to take her to bed. But she had at least another two days before she could invite him back. How did a woman do such a thing? Or did a gentleman make a delicate inquiry? She had no idea, but she knew that Gerald and Annie shared a room all the time. Annie only used her bedroom for dressing and storing her possessions. But Gerald and Annie were in love, she reflected sadly.
Trying to conceal her sorrow that he had not ground her dearest wish into dust, she pasted on a smile and went to him. He touched her arm, steering her out of the room and towards a small flight of stairs at the end of the corridor, the opposite end to the main flight of stairs. “I had these put in. These rooms were always mine, although your room was once my sitting room. We’ll be moving into the main suite in due course, but I’m afraid you will have to put up with no boudoir for a few weeks.”
“I think I can manage,” she said dryly.
He muttered something as she followed him up. An apology? She had no idea, and no inclination to find out. So much had happened to her that she could not assimilate much more.
At the top of the staircase, which must have ascended two flights, he opened a door.
She followed him through.
When she saw what the room contained, she wondered if the door should have a label on it called “Paradise”.
“I’ll give you a key,” he said calmly, as if he’d shown her into a mere treasure room. This was so much more than treasure.
It was an observatory. A large telescope dominated the wide, tiled space, directed out of the breathtaking window above them. Half the ceiling had been replaced by glass, the panes large, but still crisscrossed with lead transoms. They would give a perfect view of the night sky.
Other, smaller telescopes were set up. The quality and beauty of the instruments took her breath away. Forgetting everything else, she wandered around the room, touching a brass sextant, gleaming with all the desires she’d ever had, grazing her fingertip over the huge globes, one of the earth, the other of the sky.
“I will sleep here,” she said softly.
“You would not be the first person. I am the other.” He nodded to a cupboard in the corner. “There are blankets in there. It can get cold, but it’s impossible to leave sometimes. One maid is allowed in here, and she is the only other person with a key. She is instructed not to touch the instruments. We clean them ourselves.”
“It would not be the first time I picked up a duster.” She continued her circuit, noting the shelves of books and charts, the chairs on clever bases that could be turned and swiveled to any angle the user required. “This is marvelous.”
When he put his hands on her shoulders, she did not flinch away. She barely noticed. “I worked very hard to have this. At first, I had very little, but I kept this room for myself.”
He lived here, she could tell. From the careful arrangement of the furniture and accoutrements to the pin-neat piles of books on the table, the place breathed Logan. “I would appreciate using the room when you can spare it.”
The pressure on her shoulders increased and he turned her to face him. “You don’t understand. This is our room now. I would only ask that you take care when you are realigning the great telescope. It is currently working on—”
“The transit of Venus,” she said softly. “I know. I read your work.”
In this room there was nowhere to hide. The sun blazed down on them, through the expanse of windows above. Shutters were rolled at the base of each, and cords led to pegs on the wall where they could be opened or closed. The stern features of Logan’s face were delineated in pure light, every plane tense with the knowledge of what she had told him two days ago.
She had not realized until then, but she did now. Her love for him was not a weakness; it made her strong. He was trying to compensate for his lack. He truly believed he was incapable of love.
“I love you,” she said softly.
“I know,” he replied.
Chapter Seventeen
A month after their arrival at the castle, Logan sat opposite his wife at breakfast and reflected on the stormy atmosphere that had grown between them. He had told her of his inability to love thinking it would clear the air, but it had not. He was doing this for her own good, he told himself.
How could they go on like this? Logan had not thought that such a simple confession could make such a profound difference. He truly did not understand why his simple statement of truth should mean so much.
He knew the right path to take. Ever since he was five years old, since she had discovered his father’s infidelity, his mother had visited Logan at night and held him close, sobbing out her pain. After his father had died, she had sobbed for his loss, and had dozens of portraits and miniatures made of him. Her reactions had confused him as a boy, until he had decided that fate would never be his. He would never cause a woman to do that for him. Constancy in marriage had forced him to be fussy about his choice of bride, but he still believed he had made the right choice.
Although he went to the observatory at night, expecting her to join him, she never did. His visions of mutual studies, careful observations and discussions on the latest theories faded as the days passed. He couldn’t understand it. Once he’d cleared the air about his inability to love, they should have grown closer.
Every morning, they breakfasted together, and then went their separate ways. He could not fault Damaris’ attention to the household, or the time she spent with the housekeeper, studying the books and learning the methods used. When he opened a discussion on the merits of the refractive telescope, she answered civilly enough, but without the enthusiasm he’d seen in her before.
After her courses finished, he regularly visited her at night. Trying to behave as a husband should, he entered her room in his nightshirt and robe, discarded the robe but not the nightshirt, and made love to her. He cared for her, but took care not to shock her.
Perhaps that was the reason she was distant. He had tried to do too much, too soon. So while he ensured she was satisf
ied, he did not attempt any of the extended sessions he had introduced her to on the ship, and only covered her, kissed her and touched her to ensure she was ready.
He bade her a polite goodnight when he left. He could not possibly have heard sobbing from the next room. That was the wind, which sometimes made the most disturbing sounds.
He turned over his mail, a sizable amount this morning. The post had arrived from London, with a copy of the new Royal Society journal, but that would have to wait for another time. He read the first letter twice before he laid it gently down. He addressed his wife, ignoring the sense of relief that coursed through him.
“My dear, I fear I must leave you for a while.”
Damaris paled, and her gaze met his with horror. “Leave me?”
Leaning across the small breakfast table, he covered her hand with his. “Not for long, I promise. But a tenant of mine is ill. I fear he is on his deathbed. The man means more to me than a tenant. His son has long been a friend of mine, and I cannot let his father go without saying goodbye.”
“I’m sorry.” She drew her hand back and picked up the coffee pot, but her cup was already full. She added a minuscule amount. Her coldness sent a small pang through him, but he told himself it would pass. They would have to become accustomed to one another’s ways, that was all. “Would you like me to go with you?” she asked.
He liked her instant offer to accompany him. But he did not think so. “No, my dear. His holding is in a rough part of the country, and I don’t want to subject you to croft living. I won’t be gone for long, I swear it. No more than a week.”
Perhaps a little time apart would help them both.
She started to say something, then bit her lip. “When will you leave?”
“Today. If you have no objection. He is extremely ill. I don’t want to be too late.”
“Of course not.” She bit her lip. “You are giving up on us so soon?”
Giving up? A pit opened beneath his feet. “Not at all. Never. But Damaris, I am aware that I have hurt you recently, and I don’t want that. Perhaps this time will give us both time to think clearly.”
A Hint of Starlight Page 24
