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“If you insist upon my marrying your sister, sir, then I assure you I will do my duty.”

The words, spoken by one Mr. Robert McKenzie to Mr. Henrik Bergstrom, caused a wave of panic to rush over Miss Clara Bergstrom.

“No!” The word escaped her lips as she threw herself towards her brother, clutching his arm as she looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Please, you mustn’t—”

“But Clara, my dear,” Henrik said as he placed a reassuring hand over hers, “your honour is at stake.”

“I will not marry him!”

Henrik threw a worried and apologetic glance in the other man’s direction. “I am afraid you do not have much choice. The position you have been discovered in—"

“Heaven forbid! It was nothing – a mere accident!”

“But you were seen together, and people will talk. I will not have your reputation ruined over this when the man in question has offered to do right by you and preserve your honour.”

“Hang my honour! The old bitties will gossip for a few days, but it will all be forgotten within a week, I assure you!”

“If our brother were here, he—”

“If Magnus were here, he would agree with me!” Clara argued. “He would never force me into an unwanted marriage.”

But Mr. Henrik Bergstrom would not be convinced, no matter how much his younger sister cajoled him. When she realized any further argument would be in vain, she narrowed her eyes at her prospective husband, who stood straight with his head held high, an unusually serious expression on his face. It was all his fault, and she wished, not for the first time, that he had never come to Mossheath Manor.

~ A fortnight earlier ~

Clara Bergstrom held the reins loosely in her gloved hands as the horses pulled the curricle down the country road towards her home. Or rather, her brother’s home – for although it had been the home of her childhood, she was now more like a permanent guest. Upon their father’s death a year earlier, the estate had been passed down to her eldest brother Mr. Magnus Bergstrom, and as he had no interest in living in the country, he left it in the hands of his younger siblings.

Henrik Bergstrom, on the other hand, embraced country life, and fully invested himself in the running of the estate. He was never more happy than when he was mucking about in the fields or barns, and his hands-on approach and friendly manner made him quite popular with the tenants. Indeed, for the two brothers, it was a situation that suited them both equally – Henrik was able to spend his time outdoors and did not mind the limited society, and Magnus was able to follow his own pursuits in town, much to the delight of the ladies who resided there.

Clara, meanwhile, was able to enjoy the best of both worlds. During the social season, she lived in town with her eldest brother and entertained a wide variety of visitors and suitors. The rest of the year, she resided at the country estate and, since their mother’s passing when she was but sixteen years old, took on the running of the household. It pleased her to maintain her brother’s house, and despite the receipt of a number of offers of marriage, she had thus far chosen to remain in her current situation in order to maintain some level of independence rather than being under some man’s thumb. Beggars could not be choosers, but she was no beggar – when it pleased her to marry, she would do so; but not before.

Her situation, however, had recently changed with the union of her brother Henrik to a young Miss Chelsea Edwards. The young lady was, at present, content to let Clara continue the management of the house, but she knew that eventually things would change and she would have to relinquish her duties. Therefore, it behooved Clara to find a suitable match, even if she was not in a hurry to do so.

She did have her eye on one Mr. Gareth Rennell, but as of yet he had not made an offer. She was informed that he had a lovely estate in Kent, along with a sizable income. With no other family but an aging grandmother who was most certainly not long for this world, she believed that marriage to him would be a perfectly pleasing situation.

The clap of hooves and clatter of wheels against the road reached her ears, and before Clara could even direct her curricle to the side of the road, she was overtaken by a high-perch phaeton drawn by matched greys and being driven by a maniac. The phaeton passed within an inch of her vehicle, and if it had not been for her quick action in bringing her horses to a stop, she would have surely ended up in the ditch.

The man in the phaeton raised his hat over his head and yelled out, “Beautiful day, is it not? Hurrah!”

Clara gaped at him as he continued speeding down the road ahead of her, completely shocked at his behaviour. “Upon my word!” she exclaimed. “How incredibly rude and reckless! Such terrible manners!”

After a moment of staring at the retreating buggy in undisguised disgust, she gathered herself and flicked the reins, urging the horses to continue. It was lucky she was not one of those young ladies with weak constitutions, or she most certainly would have fainted at the side of the road and been late for luncheon.

As the horses turned onto the lane towards her home, she was astonished to see the very phaeton that had nearly caused her an upset being led by a groom towards the stables.

‘Surely this is not an acquaintance of ours?’ she thought while bringing the curricle up in front of the house, reining in the horses until they came to a stop. Another groom came up and stood at the horses’ heads while she descended from the vehicle.

Without a second glance, she marched up the steps and into the manor, determined to find out what was going on.

As she handed her gloves and bonnet to the butler, she heard voices coming from the drawing room. Laughter, more specifically – the bright, bubbly laugh of her sister-in-law and the cheerful, genuine laugh of her brother. Joining them was a new, unfamiliar laugh – merry and mellifluous. And while it should have been a pleasant sound, she found it grating on her ears, for surely it belonged to the reckless stranger who had nearly left her in a ditch not ten minutes earlier.

Clara strode toward the drawing room and pushed open the door, and three pairs of eyes lit upon her. Chelsea’s already bright countenance turned even brighter, Henrik’s smile grew wider. But it was the third individual who arrested Clara’s attention – with laughing amber eyes, freckles dotting his brown skin, and a mouth that looked like it was fixed with a permanent smile. His eyes briefly widened in recognition before he quickly regained his composure, and his gaze turned to one of admiration as he looked over her figure.

“Clara!” Chelsea squealed, her arms wrapped around a small pug named Daisy – a wedding present from Henrik. “Guess who is come to visit!”

The gentleman stepped forward with a bow, but Clara remained unmoved by the gesture as she stared coldly at him.

“This is my wife’s cousin,” Henrik said. “May I present Mr. Robert McKenzie.”

“Pleased to make—” Mr. McKenzie started, only for Clara to cut him off sharply.

“Mr. McKenzie, is it?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “I have lately had the misfortune of encountering this individual, when he nearly overturned my vehicle on the town road.”

“Ah, my apologies, Miss—”

“I do not accept your apology, sir. You ought to be ashamed of your reckless behaviour!”

His eyes flashed and his mouth twitched.

“Sister, you should not speak so!” Henrik said. “The man has apologized—”

“And what good would an apology be,” she spat out as she spun towards her brother, “if I had ended up with a broken neck? Really, Henrik! What if it had been Chelsea, or some other fool who can barely handle a horse?”

“I assure you, Miss Bergstrom,” Mr. McKenzie interjected firmly, “you were never in any danger. While I can only imagine what must have been going through your mind at the time, I promise you I would never put someone’s life at risk in that manner. I have full confidence in my driving abilities and knew exactly how much space there remained between our vehicles.”

“You may have trust in your own abilities, sir, but you are not familiar with our roads, and you could not possibly have predicted how I or my horses would have reacted in such a situation. I pray you will cease your reckless ways before you cause some poor soul serious harm.” She turned to her brother and sister-in-law. “Forgive me, but I fear I have a sudden headache. I am retiring to my room to rest and will have my maid bring me a tray for dinner.”

“But—”

Clara spun on her heel and left the room, leaving her audience in stunned silence. As she took the stairs two at a time, she could barely hear her sister-in-law calling after her to no avail. It did not surprise her, therefore, when there was a knock on her door a few short minutes after she entered her rooms.

“Who is it?” she called out tersely, despite suspecting she knew the answer.

“It is only I, love,” came Chelsea’s voice. “Please, may we speak?”

Clara sighed. She would prefer to be left alone, but also had no patience to deal with the young woman’s pleadings, and knew the girl could be insistent.

“Fine,” she said as she sat down at her vanity and began pulling hairpins out of her hair. “The door is unlocked.”

Chelsea came into the room and closed the door quietly before turning to face Clara, wringing her hands nervously in front of her, the pug having been left downstairs.

“Yes?” Clara raised her eyebrow at the girl’s reflection in the mirror.

“I was really hoping you would join us for dinner tonight,” she started. “My cousin—”

“I am sorry, but one meeting – or, rather, I should say two – was more than enough for me. I pray you will forgive my absence, for I have no desire to be in the same room as that man.”

“Yes, well—you see, that—that—” Chelsea sighed, then straightened, squaring her shoulders. “That is going to be difficult to avoid, for he is staying the month.”

“What?” Clara’s jaw dropped, and hairpins scattered on the floor as she spun around. “A month? Why was I not informed earlier?”

“Well, you see, he—the letter only arrived this morning, while you were out. It was a surprise to us as well.”

“A whole month?” Her heart sank into her stomach at the news. It would be impossible to avoid him entirely for that long, and she would be forced to at least attempt to be pleasant. It was going to be torture.

“I was hoping—that is, Henrik and I were hoping—that you would get along.”

Clara’s eyes widened at the unspoken insinuation, and Chelsea quickly continued.

“He is really quite lovely, you know! Such a pleasant man, and he has always been so kind to me! I really think that if you were to overlook the blunder of this morning that you would find him to be quite—quite enchanting!”

“Absolutely not!” she replied haughtily. “You know the importance I place on first impressions, and I can hardly imagine a manner in which he could have made a worse one. No, I assure you—your cousin Mr. McKenzie is the last man I could find enchanting!”

The following morning, Mr. McKenzie was in the dining room when Clara walked in, and if it were not for the fact that she refused to spend the duration of his visit hidden away in her rooms – it was, after all, her home, and she should not have to feel as if she were unable to move about freely – she might have immediately taken her leave. But she also had a strong sense of decorum, and after the scene she made the previous day, she knew she could not embarrass her brother further by being rude to his guest. She would at least attempt to be civil, even if it killed her.

But, oh, how he irked her so! For once he understood that she would be on her best behaviour and not repeat the events of the day before, he seemed resolved to get under her skin. He was all smiles and cheerful, pleasant conversation, as if they were old friends. He even deigned to send her inappropriate winks over the breakfast table when nobody else was looking, and Clara could feel the heat rising to her face as she strove to keep her temper in check and bite her tongue.

If she had any hopes of things getting better over the weeks that followed, she was disappointed. It seemed that every which way she went, Mr. McKenzie – or Robert, as he was insisting on being called – was not far away. The only respites, however brief, were the evenings after dinner when the ladies would retire to the drawing room while the men drank their port in the dining room, as well as the occasional morning when the men would go out to hunt.

When she went out to ride, inevitably he and Chelsea would have the same idea. If she took a stroll in the gardens, he would be there with a book or newspaper. When she played the pianoforte, he would stumble into the room – “by accident,” he would say, or claiming he thought it was his cousin playing so beautifully. She was beginning to think he delighted in taking opportunities to vex her on purpose.

One afternoon, Chelsea pulled him into the sitting room where Clara was doing some needlework. When they came in, she shifted in her seat, pointedly ignoring the intruders.

“What do you think, Robert?” Chelsea asked. The pug was asleep in her arms and snoring gently. “I think it is rather dreary the way it is now; do you not agree?”

“And what did you have in mind, dear cousin?”

“I was thinking a nice blush colour. Rose, perhaps? Or cherry blossom! Maybe peony…”

Clara’s head jerked up, and she stared, wide-eyed, at her sister-in-law. Pink? Was the girl already planning on redecorating the room?

Robert laughed heartily. “My dear, are those not all pink? Is there even a difference?”

“Of course, there is!” Chelsea giggled, shifting the pug to one arm so she could playfully swat his arm. “There are many different shades of pink! What do you think, though? I believe cherry blossom would look lovely in this room.”

“Aye, I am inclined to agree.”

“You cannot be serious,” Clara interrupted, rising to her feet. “This room was only done over a few years ago – it would be a waste of my brother’s money to do it again now.”

“But my cousin does have a point,” Robert replied, the corners of his lips turning up in amusement. “This room is far too dreary as it is. Perchance—”

“Green is my brother’s favourite colour, and I am certain he would agree with me.”

His smile widened. “And yet, it was he that suggested it. Was it not, Chelsea?”

“Indeed, it was! He believes that as the lady of the house, I should feel free to decorate it as I please. And as I spend much of my time in here…”

Clara was fuming now, while doing her best to hide it. How could Henrik suggest such a thing, knowing her pride would be hurt by having to watch another woman do over the rooms that she herself had decorated only a few years earlier? It was bad enough that she would have to give up her duties to this flighty young woman, but to have her make sweeping changes right under her nose? Could she not wait until Clara herself was married with a home of her own? Then she could do all the decorating she pleased.

“But I did this room myself!” she exclaimed. “It does not need to be done again so soon!”

Chelsea’s eyes widened, while Robert’s smile shifted into a knowing smirk, and Clara felt a cold wave pass over her. She immediately regretted her words for the ammunition she had provided him.

“You chose this colour yourself, eh?” His voice was amused, and he made a show of looking around, smiling and nodding. “Yes, I can see how this would be just your taste.”

“Urgh!” She threw down her needlework, and it tumbled onto the ground beside her sewing basket. “You, sir, are insufferable!”

His loud, boisterous laughter followed her as she pushed past them and fled the room. Her cheeks flushed as she ran through the house and towards the back garden. She knew not entirely where she was going, only that she needed to get away – away from that man and his horrid teasing.

It wasn’t until she reached the fence bordering the park that she stopped, and as she clung to the fence post catching her breath, she realized for the first time that there were tears streaming down her face. She could not understand why he found it so amusing to irritate her, nor why it exasperated her so much. She had grown up with the teasing of two older brothers; why should Robert McKenzie affect her so?

When Robert had been in their home for a fortnight, and Clara was at her wit’s end, there was promised some relief in the form of a ball at the home of the Kohs, the Bergstroms’ closest neighbours. Mr. Lucas Koh and Mr. Henrik Bergstrom had been friends since childhood, forever getting into scrapes – usually at Henrik’s instigation, and much to the chagrin of both their parents. But while the boyish games, pranks, and tumbles had – for the most part – ceased, the two men remained as close as brothers. Indeed, Lucas was almost like a brother to Clara herself, and she had been looking forward to this ball since they had received the invitation.

Unfortunately for Clara, however, the invitation had been extended to include their guest. She could only hope that amongst the crush of the crowded ballroom, he would find something – or someone – else to divert him. The last thing she needed was for her night to be ruined by his attentions, and she did not have the patience to put on a fake smile around him all evening.

Their carriage arrived at the Koh’s estate, and Clara ignored the hand that Robert offered as she descended from the vehicle. She linked her arm with Chelsea’s as they walked up the steps towards the open front door, out of which the sounds of music and chatter could be heard.

“Your first ball as Mrs. Henrik Bergstrom!” Clara said, smiling at her sister-in-law. “Is it not exciting?”

Chelsea beamed. “I could burst with happiness! I only wish I could have brought Daisy along, but who would have watched her while we danced?”

Clara laughed. “I am certain Daisy will be fine at home. Heaven knows she would have caused a ruckus at the ball – although one day, when she is older and when you have lost your appetite for dancing, you may be able to bring her.”

“Oh! I am confident I could never lose my appetite for dancing! How boring would that be?”

They reached the entrance, where they were greeted by their hosts, Lucas and his wife Priya.

“Clara, my dear, how are you?” Priya asked as she took Clara’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks.

“I am well,” she replied, but she leaned close to whisper, “I have much to tell you.”

Priya’s eyes widened as she noticed Robert standing behind her waiting to be introduced, and Clara gave her a look of exasperation, which caused Priya to laugh. She was well aware of how picky Clara was with men.

Robert McKenzie was introduced, and the four of them – Henrik and Chelsea, Robert and Clara – entered the ballroom to the sight of young couples dancing, older men and women standing in groups talking or sitting in chairs along the walls, and musicians playing their instruments.

“Miss Bergstrom, would you care to dance?”

The question from the man beside her made her blood run cold. No, she most assuredly did not want to dance, not with him, at least. Not if he were the last man in the room – how could she endure it?

Rather than give him an answer, she decided the best course of action would be to pretend she hadn’t heard him. Her eyes roved the room, until she finally spotted her friend Shannon Gallagher across the room. She quickly excused herself and crossed the floor to join the other woman, who was herself unmarried with no ideas of matrimony, nor any need of it – she had a sizable inheritance and a comfortable cottage, and was perfectly happy as she was.

Clara gave her a brief rundown of the McKenzie situation, finding in her friend an understanding listener. She was soon asked to dance by a much more agreeable suitor, and spent much of the next hour going from partner to partner. As usual, she was much in demand by the men at the ball and never lacking for a partner – which suited her perfectly, as it allowed her to avoid Robert McKenzie. Indeed, she was enjoying herself so much that she almost forgot his presence.

After a short break in which she was able to speak to Priya, repeating the things she had spoken of to Shannon, she spotted Robert moving towards her. She quickly excused herself and began moving the opposite direction. Spying Lucas and her brother, she headed towards them with a smile.

“Ah,” she said, upon reaching them. They each turned to her with a smile. “I am afraid you have both been derelict in your duties, sirs. I have yet to be asked by either of you to dance.”

Henrik threw his head back in laughter. “Dear sister, we are married men now. Is it not our duty to leave the single young ladies to the eligible bachelors?”

“Not at all, brother. We need you now more than ever to make up our numbers – for you see, there are many young ladies currently left without a partner.”

“And I suppose,” Lucas said with a raised eyebrow and a playful smile, “as the host, it is my duty to dance with each of them?”

Clara flashed him a brilliant smile. “Perhaps not all, sir – but at least with very old friends?”

“Well then, let me not disappoint.” He bowed slightly toward her as he held out his hand. “Would you do me the honour, Miss Bergstrom?”

“Indeed, thank you.”

He led her towards the dance floor, and she threw a triumphant smile in Robert McKenzie’s direction as they passed him, taking no small amount of pleasure in the way he pressed his lips together in seeming frustration.

“You look lovely this evening, Miss Bergstrom,” Lucas said as a new song started and they began to dance.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Koh. You are looking quite handsome yourself; marriage seems to suit you.”

His cheeks tinged pink as a pleased smile played on his lips. “Indeed, I believe I have been blessed with a perfect wife.”

“I am glad you think so.”

“And will you be following your brother into holy matrimony soon? If I am not mistaken, you have caught the eye of more than one gentleman in the room this evening.”

Clara frowned. Most of the gentlemen she had been dancing with were old acquaintances – either too old, too young, or too married to be considered eligible suitors for her hand.

“I do not understand your meaning, sir,” she replied, her voice taking on a much colder tone.

“Your visitor has barely taken his eyes off you.”

She froze in place, and he gave her a quizzical look as he stopped his own movements. The other couples on the floor continued to float around them undeterred.

“I believe you must be mistaken, sir,” she said in a voice just loud enough for him to hear, before whirling around and making her way through the mass of people, weaving her way through and dodging the dancers in her path. When she finally reached the outer edge of the crowd, she slipped through the open doorway leading to the garden, the cool evening breeze hitting her face like a shock to the system.

What was Robert playing at? Why did he insist on pestering so? Did he seek to unnerve her by watching her all evening? He must have been quite obvious about his attentions if even Lucas had noticed.

Clara let out a frustrated cry as she made her way into the gardens, her feet carrying her towards the fountain in the centre. The sound of the water trickling down into the pool below was calming, and she closed her eyes, letting herself breathe deeply of the fresh country air and exhale slowly.

She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching from behind her. It was not until the clearing of a throat announced that she wasn’t alone that she spun around to see Robert McKenzie standing there.

“What do you want?” she spat.

“My apologies, Miss Bergstrom,” Robert said. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

“No? Then what, pray tell, did you mean?” She crossed her arms over her chest as she glared at him.

His eyes briefly flickered down, following her movement, before they quickly snapped back up to her face. He bit his lower lip and shuffled his feet, and if Clara didn’t know better, she would have thought he was nervous.

“I merely wished to ask for a dance,” he said. “I tried earlier, but over the music and crowd I suppose you did not hear me.”

She snorted – an unladylike noise, to be sure, but she did not particularly care to be ladylike in his presence. “Indeed, I did hear you! I simply did not wish to dance with you.”

He frowned and took a step forward. “So you gave me no response? I wonder, for someone who takes such offense to the rudeness of others, how you do not see the trait in yourself?”

“If I have been rude, sir, you have only yourself to blame. At every turn, you have been impolite and ill-mannered, and I have merely treated you as your own actions have deserved!”

“Have I, though?” Robert tilted his head in thought. “My conversation has been friendly, has it not? Is it considered rude in this part of the country to try to make people laugh?”

“It may not be, but the method in which you do so is tiresome and boorish. I am certain you could never make me laugh!”

“Oh, no?” His eyes sparked with amusement at the unspoken challenge. “Could I not?”

He stepped forward again, and Clara took a step back to maintain the distance between them.

“Never,” she repeated. “I find your humour inane and childish.”

“Perhaps that is because you take yourself too seriously.”

“Upon my word, sir, I assure you I do not.”

“Then will you kindly do me the honour of standing up with me for the next dance?”

“Nothing you say will ever induce me to—oh!”

While Clara was speaking, Robert had stepped closer once more, and in her haste to move away, forgot her proximity to the fountain. The back of her foot hit the low edge of the pool, causing her to lose her footing. Her arms flailed as she began to fall, and she braced herself for the impact of the cold water – but it never came, as a strong set of arms wrapped themselves around her middle and arrested her fall. She gasped as she felt herself being brought back to her feet and held against a man’s chest.

“Fancy a swim, did you?” There was a teasing lilt in the man’s voice, and as Clara rediscovered her bearings, she looked up to see the laughing eyes and amused smirk of Robert McKenzie.

“Unhand me, sir!”

“Clara! Robert! What—”

Clara whipped around to see her brother and Lucas Koh staring at them with gaping mouths, and she wrenched herself away.

“Nothing happened, Henrik!”

She noticed a few other ball-goers behind the men, whispering amongst themselves, and her heart sank in her chest. The indiscretion, though accidental, had been witnessed.

“Clara,” Henrik said, looking back and forth between her and Robert with an uncertain expression on his face, and then at his friend.

Lucas clasped his shoulder and whispered in his ear, then turned towards the gathering crowd and ushered them away, giving the Bergstroms and Robert some privacy.

And then came the words that changed her life forever:

“If you insist upon my marrying your sister, sir, then I assure you I will do my duty.”

It was not the wedding that Clara Bergstrom would have planned for herself. In normal circumstances, she would have the best gown from the best London seamstress, a number of bridesmaids, and hundreds of guests. She would be marrying someone she liked, and her family would all be in attendance.

But it was not to be so. After obtaining a special license, they were wed in her country church with only a few of their closest acquaintances as witnesses. Even her brother Magnus did not make the trip from town to be there.

Clara was miserable. And now, to add insult to injury, she was being expected to leave her friends, her family, and the only home she had ever known to travel with a husband she detested to a country she had no wish to visit, let alone live in.

Robert McKenzie lived in a castle on an estate in Scotland, and as his bride, she was being forced to go with him. It was a nightmare coming true.

“Do I have to go?” she had asked her brother.

“Of course!” he replied, giving her a look of surprise. “He is your husband. You must live with him now.”

“But surely, given the circumstances—”

“No, Clara. Before you ask, you may not remain here. It is high time Chelsea takes over the responsibilities of running the house, as is her duty. It would not be right for you to stay with us now that you are married.”

“But do we have to leave so soon? Mr. McKenzie was supposed to be here a full month!”

“Please, call me Robert,” the man in question said as he walked into the room. “I did plan to stay the month, but that was before I realized I would be bringing home a wife and all her possessions.”

Clara glared at him, but he continued unfazed. “The journey will be much slower now that we will have to hire a coach, and I have obligations to attend to. I am sorry, but we will have to leave within the next two days.”

And so, Clara packed up her things and said a tearful goodbye to her friends, her brother, and her sister-in-law, with promises to write.

Most of the journey was spent in sullen silence. Robert’s attempts to talk were met with stubborn refusal, and eventually he gave them up. Clara preferred to spend her time reading, drawing, or staring out the window mourning each passing mile. Robert was unable to sit still for long in the awkward quietness, so he would spend intervals riding his horse alongside the carriage. Clara wished she could do the same.

She spent the last few hours of their journey worrying what would happen once they reached their destination. Between her maid and her sister-in-law, she was quite aware of what a man expected from his wife in their marriage bed, and her stomach was churning over the dreaded anticipation of his unwanted touch. Would he come to her their first night? Would he take no for an answer, or would she be unable to put him off?

When they finally reached Castle McKenzie, just outside of Glasgow, Clara was exhausted. She was tired of sitting, tired of reading, tired of worrying, and most of all, she was tired of her husband’s company. If ever there were a poorer start to a marriage, she could hardly imagine what it could be. And to think, she had years of this to look forward to!

After brief introductions to the staff, she was led to her apartments to rest, and was grateful when Robert did not follow. She waited for the knock at her door, but it never came, and after climbing into the large bed and slipping between the fresh, clean sheets, she eventually succumbed to a restful sleep.

By the time she woke again, the sun was high in the sky. A part of her wished she could stay hidden in her room all day, but she knew that as the new lady of the house, she would be expected to be seen. There was probably someone waiting to give her a tour of the castle and the grounds, and to explain everything that would be expected of her as the new Mrs. McKenzie.

A knock sounded on the door, and a pretty young maid with flaming red hair and freckles dotting her pale skin stepped in and curtsied. She introduced herself as Hannah and explained that breakfast was ready for her in the drawing room and that the housekeeper would speak with her after she had eaten. Clara nodded, and just as Hannah was about to leave, she stopped her to ask, “Will Mr. McKenzie be there?”

“No, ma’am. The master was up early this morn and broke his fast on his own.”

“Thank you, you may go.” She waved her hand dismissively, and the girl disappeared.

Her own maid came in shortly after to help her dress and fix her hair, after which Clara made her way to the drawing room. When she entered, she was surprised to see her new husband standing at the opposite end of the room, staring out the window with his hands behind his back. She would have made a hasty retreat, but her surprised gasp caught his attention, and he turned around.

“Ah! Good morning!” he said in the jovial manner that never failed to irritate her. “Did you sleep well?”

Clara hesitated a moment, wishing she could respond negatively, before saying honestly, “I did, yes. Thank you.”

The smile that lit up his face should have warmed her heart, but it only served to irritate her further. Why could he not be as miserable as she?

She moved to the side table where the breakfast dishes were laid out and began filling a plate, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. “I was led to believe you had already eaten, sir,” she said, hoping he would understand that she wished to be left alone.

“I did, yes! However,” he moved to pull out a chair for her at the table, “I wished to speak to you. Now that we are married, I believe we ought to set out our expectations for each other, if this is to go well. I know we got off to a rocky—”

“You must be aware of how much I despise you, sir,” Clara said, cutting him off. “I am sorry that we have been shackled together like this, but may I remind you that it was your own behaviour at the ball that caused this regretful situation. It was not of my doing, and I have been forced into this farce of a marriage against my wishes; therefore, I would ask that you not visit my bedchamber, though it may be your right in the eyes of the law, or I may be forced to do something I regret.”

Robert’s eyes widened. “I, um—er—”

“I know you must be wanting an heir, but while I may have been forced into wedlock by the conventions of society that dictate a woman’s honour must remain untarnished, I absolutely will not be induced to allow you into my bed.”

“I—"

“Although it may not be ideal, I believe we can seek to avoid being in each other’s presence as much as possible, and in doing so we will each be able to live our lives as amicably as may be.”

Clara looked up at her husband, who swallowed, his eyes wide as he regarded her. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Thank you for, erm, enlightening me as to your feelings, Miss Berg—er, Mrs. McKenzie.”

She grimaced at the sound of her new name, and although she would rather not be on such familiar terms with him, her Christian name would be far more preferable. “Please, Clara will suffice.”

“Thank you, Miss—um, Clara. And I must insist you start calling me Robert.”

She hesitated, then nodded. It only seemed fair that if he was to call her Clara, then she should return the favour.

“I believe I understand your feelings, ma’am, and I will not force you into anything you do not wish to do. However…” His voice trailed off as he looked out the window, and she could see a muscle twitch in his cheek as his jaw clenched. “I must advise you that if you choose to have any dalliances, then any children you have will not be my heirs.”

Clara gasped, shocked at the insinuation that she would give to other men that which she would withhold from her own husband.

He turned around to face her, a hardness in his eyes that she’d not seen before. “I will not raise your by-blows.”

She felt her cheeks heat up. “Nor I yours, sir!”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “I have no plans to be with anyone else. I am not like your brother Magnus, who has assuredly left a string of brats in his wake.”

“How dare you!”

“Any children of mine will be legitimate.”

“Then you will have none!”

“So be it!”

He turned his back and stormed out of the room as Clara glared at his retreating figure. She stabbed a piece of fruit with her fork and angrily shoved it into her mouth, chewing vigorously. How dare he suggest that she would take other lovers? She may not be a willing participant in this marriage, but the thought of being disloyal to her husband had never even crossed her mind. And the insult to her brother was over the line – he may be a bit of a rake, but to her knowledge, there were no children from his indiscretions.

For the next few days, she did her best to avoid her husband. It seemed he was doing the same, for other than a brief glimpse here or there, she was much more successful than she had been back at Mossheath Manor. She occupied her time by becoming familiar with the layout of the house: exploring its dark hallways, speaking to the staff, and learning her responsibilities. The castle was larger than her family home, but she believed she was more than up to the task of running it and was excited for the challenge.

One thing that puzzled her, however, was how highly the staff spoke of their master. Male and female, young and old, they sung his praises, despite her never asking their opinions – they offered them unbidden, slipping little anecdotes into their conversations as if it were the most natural thing in the world to them. Clara couldn’t comprehend why all of her acquaintance seemed so enamoured with the man – had he hoodwinked them all into believing his charm, and only she saw his true arrogant self? Yet, many of his servants had known him since his youth; what was it they saw in him that she was missing?

After a week of spending as little time as possible in her husband’s company, Clara had an easel and painting supplies carried outside for her. In her wanderings around the park, she had come across a pond surrounded by wildflowers and greenery and had it in mind to paint the scene while the flowers were in bloom. She set up her easel under the shade of a large tree and dismissed the servant, then sat down to paint.

She found herself relaxing as her brush stroked across the canvas, and for the first time since she had arrived in Scotland, she felt like she could possibly find some level of happiness. The gardens truly were magnificent, and she was sure she could spend countless hours at this pond painting, reading, or merely thinking. She could already tell that it was sure to become one of her favourite spots, somewhere she could undoubtedly come to escape her arrogant husband.

Clara was so focused on capturing the details of one particular flower that she almost did not notice that she was no longer alone, until she caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up, startled. She was displeased to discover that it was her husband coming towards the pond, and she shifted in her chair as if to hide behind the large canvas.

In her spot under the tree, she was partially hidden from his view, and as long as she did not make any sudden movements and he did not look directly at her, she should remain so. She had no wish to speak to him or draw attention to herself, so she stilled, putting her paintbrush down as she watched to see what he would do.

Robert walked right up to the edge of the pond, staring into the water, before he reached up to his neck and began untying his cravat. Clara stifled a gasp as she realized he was undressing to take a swim in the pond, and she suddenly felt quite awkward as she wondered what she ought to do. It was clear he had not noticed her, yet as he pulled his shirt over his head, she realized it was too late to make her presence known without making the situation even more embarrassing.

She knew she should not watch, but she found herself unable to look away. And then he removed the last of his vestments, and her mouth opened slightly as he slowly entered the pond and she was able to see his full figure. She was no stranger to the male form, having grown up with two older brothers who were not shy about swimming naked in front of her; yet there was something different about seeing another man bare before her. It was more intimate, knowing that this wasn’t just one of her brothers – this man was her husband. She recalled Chelsea’s description of the marriage act, and she felt herself flushing with heat – and something else, an unfamiliar tingling between her legs as she wondered what it would be like to have him inside her.

Clara quickly pushed that thought aside as she instead considered the gravity of her present predicament. Her husband, who she hated, was swimming naked in the very pond by which she was trying to paint. The longer she stayed, the more likely it was that he would finally notice her – and then what? How could she explain that she had seen him and yet still remained where she was? But if she returned to the house and sent a servant for the canvas and easel, then surely Robert would either see her leave, or see the servant collecting her things. Either way, he would know she had seen him.

Weighing her options, she knew that there was no way she wished to see his face when he noticed her, or risk him speaking to her. She quickly gathered up her paints and brushes and, as silently as possible, made her way towards the path back to the house. Once back in the safety of her home, she informed a servant that her husband was swimming and that he wished not to be disturbed, but once he returned, they could collect the rest of her things. With any luck, Robert hadn’t seen her and would not notice her easel sitting there when he exited the water.

Clara decided to have her dinner served to her on a tray in her room rather than risk seeing him again so soon. She dreaded the look in his eyes that would tell her whether or not her presence at the pond had been discovered, and determined to make herself scarce. For the next few days, once again, she saw very little of him.

It wasn’t until later in the week that they finally spoke again. Clara was playing the pianoforte in the drawing room when Robert walked in with the newspaper under his arm. He stood just inside the entryway and took a look around the room as Clara concentrated on making it through a difficult passage in the piece she was playing.

“That was lovely,” Robert said when the song drew to a close, and she looked up at him over the piano, her fingers still moving softly over the keys.

“Thank you,” she replied. She wondered what he wanted, but rather than ask or wait expectantly, she rose to her feet and began rifling through the collection of music on top of the piano, deciding what to play next.

“I was thinking… This is your home now, and as the mistress of the house, you should be able to decorate it as you please. I would wish you to feel you are able to make it your own.”

Clara could not help but laugh and shake her head. “You cannot be serious, sir.”

“I believe you will find I can be quite serious—”

“I believe it was less than a month ago that you said the rooms I decorated in my brother’s home were dreary; and now you wish me to do your own home in the style I prefer?”

Robert opened his mouth and closed it again, clearly flustered at her response. Perhaps he had already forgotten the scene in her sister-in-law’s drawing room, but Clara most certainly had not.

“I apologize for my words back then,” he said finally, and Clara’s head snapped up in surprise. “It… was not my intention to cause such offense. These rooms are old and in need of an update; I would be pleased if you would add your touch to them, for I believe you do truly have an eye for beauty.”

Clara stilled. What could he mean by that? Was she to understand from his words that he had indeed seen her at the pond, or at the very least, seen her canvas and understood that she had been there?

“Whatever you need,” Robert continued, “it is yours. You need not spare any expense in making this a home for yourself. And if there is anything else that can be done to make your life here more comfortable, please do not hesitate to ask.”

She eyed him closely, almost suspiciously, searching for the sparkle in his eye that might tell her he was laughing at her, but it was not there.

“Thank you,” she said, not knowing what else she even could say. “I will consider it.”

His face brightened as a smile came over it, and he came over to the piano where she still stood. He took the sheets out of her hands and shuffled through the pages until he found the one he was looking for and held it out to her.

“This one,” he said softly, and once she accepted it, he bowed slightly before turning and leaving the room.

Clara stared at his departing figure, uncertain what to think of the interaction that had just taken place.

And then she sat down at the piano, placing the sheet music on the stand, and began to play.

For a fortnight, Clara was left alone in the castle as Robert travelled to visit his sister. When he first spoke of the visit, he had seemed to hesitate, as if trying to decide whether or not she would wish to join him. Upon sensing the unspoken invitation, Clara had quickly wished him a safe journey and bade him give his sister her regards, leaving him in no doubt of her feelings on the matter while sparing herself the need to turn him down.

It was while he was away that she found herself wishing to know more about the man she had married and his family, and the opportunity arose one afternoon when the maid Hannah was serving her tea and let a comment slip about Robert’s sister. When Clara asked about her, she learned that her name was Amelia and that she had married a Mr. Ibrahim Chapman. They had four children and she was nearing her confinement with a fifth.

She also learned, much to her surprise, that Robert doted on his nieces and nephews, showering them with attention when they visited and visiting them as much as he was able in return. She wondered at this, for surely a man such as this would want his own children someday; yet when presented with her refusal to bear his children, he had not argued, nor had he since brought the subject up again.

For days this thought bothered her, until she was sick of the mere thought of him. She concluded that since he had nephews to inherit the estate, he did not need an heir of his own; though the fact that he enjoyed the presence of children but did not seem to mind the idea of not fathering any himself continued to confound her.

When he returned from his visit, he was all smiles and pleasantness, but Clara couldn’t help but think there was a sort of sadness in his eyes. She chose to ignore it.

She was in the drawing room one morning, eating breakfast and perusing the gossip section of the newspaper, when Robert walked in and sat down across from her. At that moment, a name on the page caught her eye, and she gasped.

“What news from town, then?” Robert asked in a bored, disinterested tone.

“Mr. Gareth Rennell has gotten married – to Miss Charlotte Crawford!”

He raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And if it were not for you causing a scene at that ball, it might have been me!”

“Oh, really,” he replied drily. “And marriage to Mr. Rennell would have been preferable to marriage to me, would it?”

“Of course! Almost anyone would be preferable to you.” Even as the words left her mouth, Clara began to regret them – but they had already escaped, and in her pride, she would not take them back. For although she did not love her husband and only barely tolerated his presence, she knew that things could be much worse.

Robert did not respond, and when Clara looked up to see him staring into his teacup with a frown on her face, she almost apologized. But just as the words were on the tip of her tongue, the door opened, and a servant walked in.

“Letter for you, ma’am,” he said with a bow.

She smiled and took the letter from him, her eyes lighting up when she saw it was from her sister-in-law. She had begun to miss the girl, and both Chelsea and Henrik had turned out to be poor correspondents, so it was many weeks since she had received news from her old home.

Clara tore open the missive and quickly skimmed through the short note. Chelsea was pleased to inform her that they were expecting an addition to their family, and Clara would soon be an aunt!

The news should have made her happy, yet for some reason it produced in her a melancholy which she could not account for. It must have shown in her face, for Robert asked her if the news was bad.

“No, it is not,” Clara replied, forcing a smile onto her face. “It is good news, in fact – there is to be a child. I… I am merely upset that I will not be able to be there for her.”

That must be it, she told herself. It was a reminder that while she was many miles away living out a dreary existence, life moved on in the Bergstrom household, with sunny days ahead. Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that she had sworn not to have any children of her own.

Robert released a heavy sigh, and Clara looked at him with surprise, noting the way his eyebrows crinkled and his lips pressed firmly together – as if he were holding in a sneeze.

“What is it?” she asked.

He rose from his seat and clasped his hands behind his back as he began pacing back and forth. “I am merely wondering, my dear, when you are going to accept that this is your life now.”

She frowned as she straightened her back defiantly. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean,” he stopped and turned to her, gripping the back of a chair tightly, “you are my wife – not Mr. Rennell’s, not anyone’s – and it is time you accept it. I have been patient with you, waiting for you, lo—” He paused, bringing his fist to his mouth as a look of anguish came over his face. Clara stared at him with wide eyes, speechless. When he spoke again, his voice was strained. “I do not believe I am asking for much, but I would like to at least feel like my wife respects me as an individual. I have been nothing but kind and generous; when are you going to put some effort into this marriage and at least try to make it a civil one?”

“I—I do not—I hate you!”

“But why? If the incident with the phaeton was truly so egregious, then I give you my sincerest apologies; and while, when we were still at your brother’s house, I may have said and done a few things on purpose to get a rise out of you for my own amusement, ever since we have been married, I believe I have done nothing to offend – yet still you treat me like I am the last person whose company you wish to be in!”

“Because you are! I never wished this, and I cannot forgive you for taking my life away from me!”

“And so you wish to live the rest of your life making us both completely miserable? Tied to each other with nothing but malice between us, and not even any children to distract us?”

“So that is what this is about?” Clara’s chair scraped against the floor as she abruptly stood up, her eyes flashing. “You have seen your sister’s children and now you want some of your own? Well, I promise you, Mr. McKenzie, I will never bear you any!”

Tears streaked down her cheeks as she ran from the room, ignoring her husband calling out after her. Her eyes blurred, and she blinked away the moisture as her feet carried her through the house and towards the stables. She needed to get away, as far away from him as she possibly could. When the groom tried to tell her that a storm was coming and that it wasn’t safe for her to go out, she grabbed a saddle and lugged it over to the horse herself, then tried unsuccessfully to get it onto the horse’s back.

Seeing her determination, the groom saddled the mount for her, albeit not without another warning. She assured him she would be fine – she was, after all, an excellent rider – and that at the first drop of rain she would turn back.

But as she rode across fields and over hills, the raindrops that began to fall mixed with her tears, and she did not stop. She continued riding until she didn’t know where she was or how long she had been gone, and she would have kept going if it were not for the bolt of lightning that spooked her horse. It reared suddenly, and Clara tumbled out of the saddle and onto the ground in the middle of a field of heather. She lay on her back, stunned and staring up at the darkened sky, feeling the raindrops falling on her skin and soaking through her clothing until she was shivering with cold. When she finally sat up and looked around, searching for the horse to take her home, it was nowhere to be seen.

As she stood up on shaky legs and spun around slowly, looking out into the distance for any sign of her home or anything she recognized, she realized she had never been more hopelessly lost.

Clara was warm – too warm, really. It was dark, but with an orangey glow, and she could barely make out the sound of soft voices – whispers, as if they were trying not to wake her. Her eyelids were heavy, and she kept them closed as she tried to figure out where she was. There was something familiar about the softness of the sheets, the smell of wood burning, the timbre of the voices she heard. And yet something was different.

Her body ached as she shifted, and the voices stopped. She remembered the argument, the rain, the horse. Falling off. Realizing she didn’t know where she was, nor how far from home. The cold seeping through her skin as she began to walk in the direction she thought she had come from – and then nothing.

She forced her eyes open, and the first thing she saw was the worried expression on her husband’s face as he gazed back at her. She was in her own room back at the castle, and he was sitting on a chair beside her bed, his face lit up by the large fire that had been built in the fireplace. He was in disarray, his shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned halfway down his chest, with the sleeves rolled up. He had never looked so handsome.

“You are awake,” he said, his voice sounding relieved.

Clara opened her mouth to respond, but her tongue and throat were dry, and no sound came out. Robert reached for a glass of water that sat on the table beside her bed, and he brought it to her lips for her to drink.

“What… what happened?”

“I was so worried,” he replied. “We argued, and then…”

She waited for him to continue, but he was overwrought with emotion.

“How did I get home?”

“I… We went looking for you… And then the horse…” He paused to take a deep breath. “It came back without you, and I thought something happened to you.”

“How did you find me?”

He smiled slightly. “It was not easy. We followed the direction the horse came from, of course, but we still had to search around. You must have walked some ways as well – you were soaked to the bone, covered in mud, and had fainted in the middle of a farmer’s field. If he had not harvested recently, we may not have spotted you.”

“Oh.”

Robert took her hand and held it to his lips, the warmth of his breath against her skin sending a shiver through her.

“You should rest,” he said. “You’ve been ill.”

He rose to his feet slowly, almost reluctantly, as if he were waiting for her to ask him to stay. When she said nothing, he turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Clara remained confined to her bed for a few more days as she recovered from her ordeal. Most of the time, Robert could be found in the same chair beside her bed, waiting for her to wake or spoon-feeding her warm broth. Reading to her from the gossip section of the newspaper and adding his commentary on all the happenings in town.

In the rare moments when he wasn’t by her side, Clara found herself thinking about him. After the way she had treated him, she wondered that he was being so kind and doting on her, and it shook her to the core. Perhaps she had been wrong about him – she had let their first disastrous meeting tarnish her opinion of him, never giving him a chance to prove he was other than the rude and reckless man she thought him to be. In fact, it turned out that she was the rude one, constantly ignoring the manners that had been instilled in her since birth in order to snub him.

What happened at the ball was her own fault – if only she had danced with him when he first asked, he never would have sought her out near the fountain. If she had been kinder to him, perhaps they could have been on friendlier terms instead of spending so many weeks alternating between ignoring each other and bickering back and forth.

And all he had ever done was sacrifice for her. He could have married anyone, but he protected her honour by offering his hand; he had given her a home with free reign to do as she pleased; he had sacrificed the idea of having children – heirs – of his own because she refused to take him into her bed.

She had been wrong – so very wrong.

The first time Clara left her room, she sat outside in the garden, where Robert joined her for tea. It amused her that even now that she was regaining her strength, he was still so attentive. He told her stories about his childhood and what it was like growing up with his sister, and while she mostly remained quiet, merely listening, she found that she was almost beginning to enjoy his presence. She was not quite sure what to do with this discovery, however.

At one point, when Robert was in the middle of a story about how he released a pair of piglets into the drawing room while his mother had company, Clara laughed softly. She could just imagine the impish look on a young Robert’s face, and the shock on the faces of the stuffy old ladies.

Robert turned to her with a brightness in his eyes. “I believe that is the first time since we met that I have made you laugh. It is a beautiful sound.”

“Oh!” Clara felt herself flush and opened up her fan, waving it in front of her face. She had once sworn that he would never make her laugh, and yet here she was, sitting with him and laughing at his stories. He made no reference to it, but she could tell it pleased him, and as he continued his story, she caught him glancing over at her to see if she would react. She did her best not to.

The following day, she went as far as the pond, and she was reminded of the day she had seen her husband swimming there. She blushed as she recalled the sight of his well-formed figure, and she realized that he was quite a handsome man, pleasing to the eye. She wondered that he had not married earlier, for surely there must have been many a young lady setting her cap at him. It was ironic, therefore, that she had managed to ensnare him quite unwillingly!

One evening later in the week, she was sitting in the drawing room with her sketchbook when he entered and sat down in an armchair on the other side of the room. They sat in silence, but unlike the earlier weeks of their marriage, it did not have the awkwardness that Clara had become accustomed to – it could almost be described as companionable.

After a few short minutes, Robert became restless, shifting about in his chair as he was wont to do when sitting for long periods of time. Clara smiled to herself, taking amusement in her husband’s lack of ability to sit still. For some reason, it was not as irksome as it usually was.

“Are you laughing at me?” Robert asked, breaking into her thoughts.

“No, of course not.”

He fell silent once more, but it was not long before he was fidgeting again. Finally, he put the book aside and stood up. He crossed the room to where Clara was sitting and looked over her shoulder.

“It’s a good likeness,” he said softly.

Clara’s eyes widened as she looked down at the page in front of her. She had been drawing so mindlessly that she hadn’t even realized that she was sketching a portrait of her husband. But what really captured her attention was not the likeness of his features, but the expression she had captured in his eyes. She recognized it as the same expression she had witnessed on her brother Henrik’s face when he looked at Chelsea, or on Lucas’s face when he gazed at Priya. Or on the faces of countless other individuals who were hopelessly in love.

Robert moved to sit beside her on the settee, and when she glanced up again, she saw the same expression on his face as he regarded her.

Could it be? After the weeks, nay, months of treating him so poorly, could he really be in love with her?

“Clara,” Robert said breathlessly as he took one of her hands between both of his. “I cannot remain silent any longer. I am aware that your feelings towards me are… well, that you do not much care for me. And I am sorry for it, for not only would I wish that you need not feel that way, but also because… Damn it! Because ever since you walked into the drawing room at Mossheath Manor and got angry at me for what happened on the road, I have been thoroughly, hopelessly in love with you.”

Clara gaped at him, completely in shock at the words she had just heard. All this time, he had loved her, and she had treated him so!

“Please, I beg you, tell me…” he continued. “Is there any hope that someday you might look more favourably upon me?”

“Oh, Robert,” she said, the words escaping her lips before she could stop them. She was in distress, for she could not make sense of her feelings. She knew that she no longer hated him the way she once did and that she had been softening towards him with each day. Yet she was confused by the way her heart seemed to leap at his confession and how a feeling of warmth seemed to spread through her body when he held her hand. “I… I know I have treated you ill; how could you love me when I have been nothing but horrible to you?”

He smiled, a tender expression on his face, and he began to lightly brush his thumb over the back of her hand. The gesture caused goosebumps to form on her skin, and she looked down between them at their hands joined together. “I cannot explain something I do not understand myself, my dear. But all I can do is offer myself wholly to you as your humble servant and loving husband. A word from you would make me the happiest man ever to walk this earth; you hold in your hands,” he squeezed her hand gently, “the power to crush my soul – yet I offer it up to you wholeheartedly to do with as you wish.”

Clara’s vision blurred as tears sprang to her eyes, and as her heart began to pound, she realized with certainty that her feelings towards this man had completely and utterly changed. She did not know if it was love, but she felt sure that she cared for him and with time could grow to love him.

“My feelings are not what they once were,” she replied, and his eyes lit up with hope. “I could not hate you – not when I know what you have sacrificed for me and how you have cared for me even when I did not deserve it.”

He brought her hand to his mouth, closing his eyes as he pressed his lips against her soft skin.

“Indeed, I—I cannot say how I feel, for it is all so new to me, but I think—I believe that in time—someday—”

“Say no more,” he said. “It is enough to know that I have a chance.”

They continued conversing until the flames in the fireplace burned down and moonlight shone through the windows. Robert opened up his heart to her, and Clara cherished the trust he had in her that she would not crush him under her heel. By the end of the evening, she was certain of what her next step should be.

As they stood, she lifted herself onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. His breath hitched, and she smiled at him as he stared back at her in wonder.

“Tell me again how much you love me,” she said.

“Let me show you.”

He gathered her into his arms and lowered his face just as she lifted hers, and their lips met once more. This time, their lips lingered on each other’s, and he deepened the kiss, wordlessly showing her how he felt about her. She circled her arms around his neck, and he pulled her close, until there was no space between them and she could feel every part of his body against hers.

He left her breathless and wanting more, so much more. She never realized someone could make her feel this way, and she was ready to give her whole self up to him – to truly become his wife.

“Robert,” she whispered when he finally pulled away. “I… I apologize for all the cruel words I spoke to you. Especially the ones… about not having your children.”

His hands tightened their grip around her waist and his eyes searched hers. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

Robert groaned, then scooped Clara up into his arms and carried her out of the room and up the stairs. She giggled as she clung to him, her arms around his shoulders. When he reached his room, he pushed open the door and quickly dismissed his valet, telling the man that neither he nor Clara’s maid would be required tonight.

And then they were alone.

Clara woke up to the sun trying to peek through the heavy curtains, and in the dim light, she realized she wasn’t in her room. Remembering where she was, she rolled over to find her husband still fast asleep beside her. She smiled as she moved closer to him so she could feel the heat emanating from his body, but she was careful not to disturb him. As her fingers hovered over the abundance of freckles on his naked chest, tracing circles in the air above him, she remembered the events of the previous night.

She remembered his hands on her skin, the kisses he left all over her body, even in her most intimate places. She remembered the way he made her feel – loved… desired… like a goddess for him to worship. She remembered him entering her, making them one.

She regretted none of it – only that her own stubbornness had prevented it from happening sooner.

Robert stirred, and when he opened his eyes and saw her watching him, he smiled warmly.

“Good morning, Mr. McKenzie.”

He reached out and pulled her towards him, drawing her into a long kiss.

“Good morning, Mrs. McKenzie.”