The Scot. Lyn Stone
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she fully expected to see gloating superiority or some evidence of expression that he had tricked her into agreeing to this. Instead, he appeared almost deferential, as if pleasing her was his one goal in life.
She was not fool enough to believe that was so, but bit by bit, her courage and confidence returned. It only seemed to flag when the Scot touched her. Or pinned her with that steady gaze of his. “I will become used to it,” she told herself aloud.
“Of course you will!” her father assured her. “I fear you haven’t had too much in the way of happiness these past few years, but now—”
“That’s not what I meant,” she declared, pulling out of his arms and turning away. But she dared not explain what she did mean. “Are we going back to the hotel immediately? I’m famished.”
“Of course,” the Scot said, taking her by the arm, encouraging her to lean on him. She surrendered to it for now. Her knees were not functioning nearly as well as she would have liked.
Collapsing in the aisle of the church would hardly signify her ability to stand on her own two feet. As for that inability, Susanna was certain it was only a momentary lapse.
“I am hungry,” she muttered, more or less to reassure herself. Surely that accounted for the temporary weakness she was feeling.
“Your slightest wish is my command,” the man declared gently as he patted the hand she had locked on his forearm. “Today and always,” he added, sounding quite sincere.
His words and the tone behind them reinforced his benevolent expression and shored her up as nothing else could have. She drew in a huge breath and released it with a sigh of relief. Yes, he would be putty in her hands.
That fact reestablished, Susanna decided she might as well start them off on the right foot. “That kiss was highly inappropriate,” she whispered. “From now on, you should refrain from shocking everyone with such displays.”
He seemed to take the criticism well, though she noted his lips working to suppress any expression. Then he nodded and acquiesced quite admirably. “My apologies, wife. Seems I was carried clean away by your beauty and the moment.”
A blatant lie, but Susanna gave him points for attempting good manners. She might make a gentleman of him one of these days.
“Forgiven. Just see that it does not happen again,” she told him firmly.
“Aye. Public kissin’ might set people to talking behind their fans and we wouldna be wantin’ that, now would we?”
Had that been a reference to her difficulties in London? Was this—this buffoon making sport of her troubles?
Before she could summon up a scathing reply, they had reached the coach that had brought them to the church. Later, she promised herself, later she would take him to task for that insolence. If he had meant it that way. Had he? Surely he would not dare.
Susanna let him hand her into the coach. The inside lanterns were lit, casting a warm glow over the interior.
The Scot’s wide shoulders filled the space beside her, his left one pressed against her right. Though his suit seemed a trifle snug and could have stood a pressing, she noted now that it was of the finest wool and had obviously been tailored for him. Most men with his height would find that necessary, she supposed.
There was no hint of macassar oil in his hair or any of the parfums gentlemen usually wore to disguise unpleasant odors. Yet he had none of those. Rather, he smelled of fresh air, a unique heathery essence that reminded her of her childhood summers, when she had played upon the meadows in the Cotswolds. His scent intrigued her.
This close, she could see the pores of his fine-grained skin. Its color seemed a bit sun-darkened and partially shadowed now by the need for an evening shave.
Susanna was still contemplating his firm jaw and chin when her father entered the coach. He took the seat opposite, rocking the conveyance with his weight, appearing terribly pleased with himself for arranging all this. She turned her full attention on him and forced a smile. After all, wedding the Scot would probably turn out to be the best thing that could have happened to her, considering the options available.
And she had made this her choice, the first of many choices that would lead to her success. She planned to be the very first totally independent wife in Britain. She would set a fine example for others.
What better place to begin her work than in the outer provinces where she could more easily prove her theory on a small scale? Once those women in the Highlands realized their power to order their own lives, others would notice. Yes, it should progress as a word-of-mouth campaign. Much more effective than trying to convey her message to hundreds at once in some meeting hall.
She looked up at her new husband, the man who would provide her with the opportunity. Amazing how unmalleable he looked at the moment, but looks could be so deceiving. No doubt she was the very picture of wifely submission in his eyes.
He leaned forward and quickly brushed his lips across her brow before she had a chance to avoid it. “Thank you,” he said simply.
Susanna smiled in spite of herself. “You’re quite welcome,” she responded automatically. One did have to observe the amenities on these occasions and he had been rather sweet and agreeable about the whole affair.
She settled back to enjoy the brief ride back to the hotel, satisfied that she had acquitted herself quite well, neatly avoided disaster and secured a way to live life to the fullest as she saw fit. This gentle bear of a man and the ring he had put on her finger would provide the validity a single woman would never possess when encouraging women to struggle against universal male domination.
I wish you could have stood your ground, too, Mother. You were simply born too soon to be a part of this. Susanna sent the silent message heavenward where she imagined Anya Childers looking down on her with pride.
James watched the play of emotions on his wife’s face with interest. Her thoughts must be skittering hither and yon like a handful of birdshot dropped on the floor.
He wished he could get inside that head of hers. Just as well he couldn’t, he supposed. Some of those thoughts might not be so flattering to himself. He’d have to fix that in due time, but not tonight.
“We shall see you to the Royal Arms, Suz, then James and I must leave,” her father was saying as if he’d read James’s mind. “It is almost dark now and we should take to the road as scheduled.”
“Aye,” James agreed. Though he would like to stay and sup with Susanna, he had to fulfill his obligation to help Eastonby. The man was his father by marriage now and James’s responsibility as surely as were the wife beside him and the good folk of Galioch and Drevers.
Susanna’s soft, slender fingers grasped his arm, pulling the wool fabric of his sleeve taut. She looked from the earl to him and back again. “Why can’t you simply take a ship, or go by train?”
“Because I have business inland on the way home. And thwarting these fellows would only delay the inevitable.”
“Please, both of you, I want you to promise—”
“Be calm, lass.” James assured her, patting the small cold hand that wore the wedding ring. “We’ll be going armed to the teeth and I confess I’m a fair shot.”
“As am I,” Eastonby bragged, his chest expanding beneath his satin striped waistcoat.
The earl fished a fancy gold watch from one of the pockets, snapped open the front and glanced down at it. “Just now half past six, my dear. Your husband should be returning to you well before nine.”
James noted the instant of panic that flashed in her eyes. “When—when will you be back in Scotland?” she asked her father. Did she know how very like a brave, wee bairn she sounded? The poor lass feared abandonment to a stranger in a place strange to her.
“He’ll be returnin’ soon, aye, sir?” James asked.
“In