Janice Preston - His Convenient Highland Wedding

Flora handed Lachlan his teacup and they sat side by side on the sofa as they drank. The silence stretched and, as soon as she had finished, Flora stood up and Lachlan immediately shot to his feet. She cast him a nervous smile, but did not meet his eyes.

‘I believe I shall retire now. It has been a long day.’

Her cup rattled in its saucer as she went to deposit it on the tea tray and Lachlan followed her with hungry eyes, devouring her curves and the sway of her hips as she moved.

His bride. His wedding night. He grew hard. Painfully so.

‘I shall give you time to prepare.’ His voice sounded gravelly and he cleared his throat. ‘I shall see you in a short while.’

Her cheeks were pale, her freckles clearly visible. She nodded before leaving the room.

Time passed slowly, marked by the tick of the mantel clock. Lachlan paced the room a time or two, then paused by the salver and poured himself another whisky as he tried to gag that insistent inner voice that said he was unworthy. He should have gone with her. That would have helped his nerves. He should have just got on with it. Bedded her. Consummated their marriage. Once they’d been intimate...once she was no longer a virgin...they could both concentrate on what was important. Their future lives together.

But he had not wished to shock her and, although the waiting made him more apprehensive, it would be easier for her if she was already in bed when he went to her.

He sighed. Scratched his ear. Drained his glass and, finally, he strode from the room.

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