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“What?” he demanded. “Christ, woman, is somethin’ on fire?”

“Don’t blaspheme,” she said prissily. “I merely came to ask when, precisely, I can expect you.”

His dark hair was sticking up a bit on one side. He might, she thought, have been asleep.

She retracted her previous assessment. Ruder than making her wait was making her wait,awake, while he took a nice little nap.

He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head, as if she was simply more than he could bear, which was appallingly rich, in Grace’s opinion.

“Go back to bed,” he said. “I’m nae interested in hearin’ whatever ye’re on about just now.”

His accent, she thought, had grown even thicker with exhaustion. Or maybe it was geographical—the closer they got to Scotland, the more his homeland became apparent in his voice. By the time they crossed the border, she might not even be able to understand him.

That, she considered, might not be a bad thing, given his tendency toward saying the most awful things.

“But,” she said hesitantly, “it’s our… I mean, we were married today.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. The movement drew her attention to what he was wearing—or rather, to what hewasn’twearing. He was dressed in only his shirt, which came down far enough to cover all the, erm, personal bits, to be sure. But it didn’t go longer than that. She could see hiscalves.Hell, she could see hisknees.

Certainly she shouldn’t feel so shocked. But she did. She well and truly did.

“Your—your legs.” She was staring, and she shouldn’t be, but she struggled to tear her eyes away.

Her husband’s snort of laughter was mocking. “I ken ye English think ye’re the center of the world, but ye do realize that Scots wear kilts, aye? What d’ye think we wear beneath them? Trousers?”

These were very likely sensible questions, but Grace’s mind was not working, because she’d noticed that his forearms, too, were exposed, his sleeves rolled away from his hands. Did men have more muscles than women? She felt certain that her body did not possess that ropy bit there.

“You’re—you’re barely dressed,” she breathed.

“Aye, I thought I’d wear a bit more to sleep than usual, bein’ as how we’re in a public inn and all,” he said.

Her eyes widened.Moreto sleep than usual?—?

“I see ye did not feel it necessary to do the same,” he said, “given that ye’re traipsin’ around lookin’ like that. I know ye married me to salvage yer reputation, Gracie girl, but I daresay, this won’t help matters.”

He gestured down at her and only then did she realize that her nightgown, the beautiful French one she’d been assured by the modiste was the absolute latest fashion, was almost entirely transparent.

Flames lit her cheeks as she realized that she could see thecolorof her own nipples as they pressed against the fabric. With a sharp inhale, she looked up at her husband, only to find that he, too, was looking at her chest.

The sight emboldened her, and she took a hesitant step forward until she was halfway over the threshold into his bedchamber. She bit her lip delicately, watching his eyes track the movement?—

And then he laughed at her.

“Stars above, girl, are you really that desperate to get into my bed?”

Grace reeled back like he’d slapped her. The dripping mockery he’d placed on the worddesperatehad been as brutal as a blow.

She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. “It’s my duty,” she said firmly. “You said yourself what you wanted me for.”

When her husband took a step forward, it was not the cautious, nervous movement she’d made moments earlier. Instead, it was the decisive, deadly prowl of a predator.

“Ye know nothin’ about what ye’re asking for, lass,” he murmured, voice low. She felt a frustrating flutter in her belly and feared, if she looked down, that she’d see the points of her breasts had become even more prominent against the thin lace of her night dress.

He took another prowling step forward and Grace, despite her bold intentions when she’d banged at his door, found herself taking a nervous step backward. The look that flashed across her husband’s face was not quite triumphant. Nor was it quite a smile.

“When ye come to me askin’,” he all but growled, “ye’d best be sure. Deadly sure, aye? Because if ye dangle yerself as a temptin’ little morsel, ye never know what kind of beast ye’ll end up catching.”

Another step and Grace’s back met the wall of the narrow hallway. She felt her cheeks flame with nerves, with anticipation. She had nowhere else to retreat, and so his next step would bring him flush against her, and then they would?—