“You can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

“What?”

She moistened her lips and his gaze followed the motion of her tongue. Her belly tightened and she forced hard resolve into her voice. “You can’t just kiss me whenever you feel like it.”

He smiled slowly and her stomach flipped at the curve of those well-formed lips. “The occasion called for it.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No more. I can’t do this if you continue to kiss me and touch me every time I turn around.” As she uttered these words the desire ebbed from his eyes, replaced with cold aloofness. He didn’t miss her meaning. He understood.

“That’s the way it’s to be then? I can’t so much as touch you without your express welcome? Will you send me an embossed invitation? Is that how I shall know?” he bit out.

He was angry, but she preferred that to his heated gazes and roaming lips and hands. “I-I-I explained—”

“Yes, I suppose you did. I just did not fully understand until this moment that I was never to so much as put a finger on my wife. Forgive me. Now I comprehend.”

My wife. Just those words from his lips sent a bolt of panic through her.

“We’re not married,” she retorted.

“Indeed. Not yet.”

“I don’t understand your . . .” she groped for the right word and gave up, reminding him instead what it was he really sought. “You need an heiress. I’m that. You claimed no need for an heir.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “Indeed. I only need the funds that you bring.” He looked her up and down, his expression so cold it chilled her heart. “I don’t need you.”

She flinched even as awareness swam through her that she had incited this.

Turning from her, he stalked across the room.

She watched, a new type of panic rising in her . . . panic that he’d change his mind and didn’t want to marry her at all. Blast it! When had she become such a contrary creature?

“Wait!” she cried. “I still need to speak to you about a matter.”

At the door, he turned to look at her. “What might that be?”

“I need your promise.”

“Another one?”

She nodded, her misery more than she could understand. She was getting her wish. She’d be saving her family and he wouldn’t demand a place in her bed. What more did she require?

“I need your promise that I can use funds to help my family . . . a-and that my siblings can reside with us if need be.”

Something flickered in his gaze, a hint of the softness he’d shown her in the library when he comforted her about Bess. Then it was gone. “Of course.”

She released a sigh. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Be ready to leave in the morning.”

Inexplicable relief rippled through her, easing the tension from her shoulders. He hadn’t changed his mind. She’d reached her goal and accomplished exactly what she’d set out to do.

So why did she feel so empty inside?

Chapter Twenty

At the first sight of McKinney Castle, Cleo felt a mixture of awe and fear. Appropriate, when she considered it. Those were much the same emotions she felt around Logan.

As they trodded along the well-worn road, she peered out the carriage window at what was to become her home—and, hopefully, home to several of her siblings, too. She bit her lip. She still needed to broach the specifics of collecting them with her husband-to-be. Not that they had done much discussing on the journey north. Most of her time had been spent in the company of Jack, Annalise, Marguerite, and her husband, Ash Courtland.

They’d all accompanied her, insisting on attending her wedding. Wedding. The word made her stomach twist. She wondered how soon the ceremony would occur now that they had arrived. Apparently the local village had its own church with a Reverend Smythe presiding. And there were Logan’s siblings. With the exception of his sister, Fiona, they were all here, and Logan had expressed his wish for them to witness the occasion.

Her stomach plummeted as they rolled along the uneven road, passing a rock structure that she could only surmise was the church from its modest wooden spire struggling to rise up from the rock edifice.

She lifted her gaze, catching sight again of the great, sprawling castle. It was something straight from the Middle Ages. Tarps blew in the wind, covering sections of the left wing, evidently where the rock wall had relented to time and now required renovation.

The nape of her neck prickled and she swung her head around. Her gaze landed on Logan riding alongside the carriage. His shadowed eyes watched her, the dark gray assessing . . . no doubt trying to decipher her reaction to his home—now her home, too.

Jack stuck his head out alongside hers. “That’s it?”

Her face burned at his loud question. She quickly ducked back inside to avoid Logan’s watchful gaze.

Jack followed, dropping back against the plush velvet squabs. “Well, I have a fairly good idea what he plans to do with your dowry.”

Marguerite smiled encouragingly. “Money well spent, yes? To improve your home, Cleo.”

Cleo nodded and returned the smile, knowing it was expected. She was glad for Marguerite’s presence. Actually, she was glad for everyone’s presence. Even Jack. It felt less daunting—almost like she wasn’t doing this all on her own.

The carriage finally rolled into a courtyard, wheels and hooves clacking noisily over the ancient cobblestones. In moments, the carriage door was pulled open. Marguerite nodded at her, indicating she should be the first to descend—the first to greet her new home and all its inhabitants. Contrary to the unease and doubts rolling through her, she vowed to wear a happy countenance.

Logan stood there, hand held out, ready to assist her. She met his eyes as she accepted his hand. Ash stepped in behind him, quick to hand down Marguerite and Annalise, leaving Cleo in the hands of her husband-to-be.

“Welcome home,” he murmured, his gray gaze searching her face.

Home. The word coursed through her, warming her heart. In her mind, she envisioned her little sisters and brothers scampering all over the place, exploring every nook and cranny. “Thank you.”

The serene moment was short-lived. A loud screech pierced the air, followed by what sounded like a dozen horses.

Cleo turned toward the sound, gasping as a girl no older than twelve charged from the castle doors, past the half dozen servants—none of whom blinked an eye over her wild display. On her heels were four others: two boys and one other girl, walking at a much more dignified pace.

The girl launched herself into Logan’s arms, her carroty-red hair flying around her in a flaming nimbus. He caught her, not staggering in the slightest even though she was a hearty creature.

“Took you long enough! I was about to expire from boredom.”

“Ah, sweet Josephine.” He peeled her off him and patted her head. She grinned up at him with a face covered in freckles. “You’re too busy about your adventures to ever be bored.”

Her gaze found Cleo, and Cleo immediately saw that Logan and Josephine shared the same gray eyes. “Who’s this?”

Logan responded with a voice full of teasing merriment, quite different from the way he usually spoke, and she realized she was seeing a new side to him. “Oh, just a pretty lass I found on the roadside.”

Josephine sent him a chiding look. “You jest!”

“Of course he jests,” one of the boys behind her broke in. His chest swelled in what Cleo guessed was an attempt to look manly and worldly all at once.

“Who do you think she is, pet?” Logan asked.

“A wife? You found us a wife then?” She clapped merrily.

He chuckled, his hand coming to rest on Cleo’s back. She tried not to shiver at the warm press of it there. “Well, I found myself a wife. She’ll be your sister-in-law.” Logan stepped back to include everyone. “And this is her family. They’ve accompanied us home for the wedding.”

Logan quickly made the introductions, and Cleo learned the names of his four siblings: Josephine, Abigail, the elder girl, and the boys: Simon and Niall.

“A wedding!” Josephine clapped again. “Here? Oh, splendid! We have so much to do in preparation. We must decorate, plan the menu, fetch flowers—”

Logan interrupted, “We shall do all we can in the time permitting, Josie.”

The girl frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”

“We’re not taking weeks to plan the affair.”

“Well, we can accomplish much in a week—”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Abigail spoke from behind in sobering tones. “This is not your wedding, Josie. Let Logan handle matters.”

Josie crossed her arms in a huff. “I only want it to be a grand celebration. Fiona didn’t marry here. We’ve never had a wedding ceremony here before.”

“In your thirteen years.” Niall pointed out with a smirk.

Josie scowled again, her freckled nose bunching. “You’re a mere year older. Don’t act as though you’re so ancient, Niall.”

“We’ve journeyed far to get here, and I should simply like the matter done.” Logan’s gaze cut to Cleo. She read the question clearly there. He was trying to see if she concurred. “We can see it done this night. If agreeable, with you.”

This night? So soon? She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat.

Was he afraid she’d change her mind? She had not come all this way to turn tail and run now. No matter how tempting the notion, she wasn’t a coward. She wasn’t backing down.

“Tonight suits me.” She glanced at her family, as if they might object.

Marguerite, bravest of the bunch, recovered her voice. “If that’s what you wish, Cleo.”

Cleo nodded.

Marguerite faced Logan, her manner turning brisk and efficient. “If someone would show us to Cleo’s room, we can begin preparing.”

“Of course. Mrs. Willis will see you settled and take care of any needs you have.” He nodded to the apple-cheeked housekeeper. “She’s a marvel. This place wouldn’t function without her.”

Mrs. Willis snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. Now that you’ve married a proper lady, all will be well here, mark my words.” She executed a short curtsy for Cleo. “Glad to have you here, m’am. We’ve needed a lady’s touch for years now.” The woman’s small blue eyes flew over Logan and his siblings with feverish accusation and Cleo gathered the tribe of them had been something of a handful. With her background, she well understood the disorder of a large family. She almost winced at the thought of introducing some of her siblings into the existing fray.

“Thank you,” Cleo murmured.

Mrs. Willis bobbed her head happily. “We’ve kept you dawdling out here long enough. Right this way.” She muttered quick instructions to the other lingering maids, indicating they should escort the other guests to their chambers.

Once inside, Cleo could see the house wasn’t as outdated as she’d suspected. Gas lights lined the long corridors, so she knew some renovations had been made to at least part of the castle.

In moments, she was inside a vast bedchamber with a daunting four-post bed. A large rock fireplace, huge enough for Cleo to step inside, took up almost one wall.

Marguerite and Annalise remained with her. Annalise rotated in a small circle, limping as she moved. With her hands tucked inside her fur-lined muff, she assessed the room with an open mouth. “I’ve never seen a chamber such as this one. It’s fit for a king.”

“Oh, it’s slept its fair share of kings,” Mrs. Willis admitted. “Generations ago, at least.”

“It’s a fine room,” Cleo murmured, knowing words were expected of her. She struggled with the notion that a chamber so large was to be all hers. Space was not something she’d been granted growing up. Even Jack’s Mayfair mansion couldn’t boast a room of this size.