Major Litchfield smiled, nodded, and spoke around his full mouth. “I will indeed, Lady Meg. I believe I will miss Scotland very much.”
Was there something more to his words than could be seen on the surface? If there was, Meg had no wish to delve into it. Instead she smiled and assured him, “We will all miss you, too. And I am sorry, Major, that my father cannot be here to say good-bye. He is very tired after yesterday, and I thought it best to leave him sleep.”
Major Litchfield made a sympathetic moue. “I understand. He was most pleased with your union, Lady Meg. A personal dream come true for him, eh?”
Yes, the general was pleased. He had played matchmaker for the second time, and finally made a success of it. His daughter was wed to a gentleman, and not just any gentleman, but a gentleman whom the general had always liked and admired. He must feel as though his world were full to overflowing. Completed.
Was that why he was letting go? Because he had done what he set out to do?
Meg chanced a glance at her new husband, and with a frisson of shock realized he in turn was watching her, his eyes alert beneath his dark lashes. When he caught her peeping, he gave a slow smile, as if she amused him, and then turned his attention to adding cream to his coffee.
Meg fiddled with her napkin, desperately wishing herself miles away. This man was her lover—last night he had initiated her into the pleasures of the flesh, and she loved him. Did he already guess how she felt about him? Had he realized she was completely and totally besotted with him?
She needed time to think, to consider her position.
Last night, for her at least, had been something remarkable, something almost beyond her understanding. If he were to know how she felt, it might spoil this remarkable thing that they had. If he knew she loved him, he may change toward her. And suddenly she was very anxious not to do or say anything that might spoil what had occurred between them.
Better to keep her distance, then, until she had decided upon her most sensible and practical course of action.
Pasting on a bright smile, Meg turned her attention back to Major Litchfield and began to ask him about his imminent journey, listening as if every detail were a fascinating revelation. By the time the meal was done and the major had set off down the yew tree avenue, she felt completely exhausted.
An awkward silence fell between Gregor and herself. Meg felt his gaze upon her, but she could not look at him. She didn’t trust herself.
“There is still work to be done with the men,” Gregor said at last. “Mabbe I should get to it.” But he sounded as if he were asking her a question, and his eyes were fixed on her, as if seeking some clue as to her possible answer.
“They will be sleeping off their whiskey from last night.”
His eyes lit up.
Meg had replied before she had thought, and now she wished she had said nothing. Clearly he had taken her remark as an invitation.
His gaze slid to her and seemed to fix upon her mouth. She shivered, turning away, tightening her shawl about her as if it would protect her from his attentions. He must not think she was desperate to be in his arms, Meg thought feverishly. He must not think that she did not want him to go out to the men because she…well, because she…
“Of course you must get to work with the men,” she said quickly, with a falsely jovial note. “What a good idea!”
His mouth quirked up. “Is it? I have a better one, Meg.”
But she was suddenly very busy, pretending to collect up some of the pewter plates that had been left out from last evening. “I must speak with Alison,” she murmured. “So much to do.”
Meg heard him sigh. “Then I’ll leave you…if that is really what you want?”
She did not dare to look at him. She knew just how tempting he would appear—tall and strong, his face so handsome, so appealing. No, she could not look at him. In another moment she heard him stride to the door, and then the sound of it closing after him. Meg sank into a chair and put her head in her arms.
What must he be thinking? She was mortified by her own stupidity. How could she fall in love with Gregor Grant? It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask him to take her upstairs again, so that they could while away the afternoon in bed together. But she did not trust herself. She would blurt out the truth about how she felt, and then what? No, much better to wait, to collect up the pieces of her protective shield and fasten it about her once more. She must prepare herself well for her next encounter with her handsome husband.
I must treat him as he treats me, Meg told herself. Enjoy him, yes, delight in him, yes, but never let him realize I am in love with him.
“The men of Glen Dhui are quick learners.”
Gregor nodded in agreement, and continued staring down the glen at nothing in particular, ignoring the line of men who stood eagerly awaiting his notice. Malcolm Bain was watching him—he could almost feel his friend’s eyes crawling over his skin. Gregor was used to keeping his true feelings hidden, and with anyone else, he could feel certain that he showed nothing of his inner emotions on his face or in his manner.
But this was Malcolm Bain, and he knew Gregor very well. He probably knew that Gregor was thinking about Meg.
Because he was. He seemed to have thought of li
ttle else since he first saw her.
Gregor’s new wife was a revelation to him. He had not known what to expect, although he had certainly been looking forward to taking her to his bed. He had planned to enjoy his wedding night, but still, the sheer glory of it had come as a shock. Each time he had taken her, each time he had planted his seed within her, the need to do so again simply increased. This morning he could hardly bear for her to leave the bedchamber, and just now, when she had pretended not to understand that he was asking her to come back to their bedchamber with him, he had been aching with frustration.