He had the feeling that he would always be able to see her. Even in the darkness his hands would know which patch of it held the curvy, delicious body of his bride.

“We’re—” he caught himself. “This is a dilemma,” he finally said.

She was pushing hairpins into that gorgeous mop of curls she had. For a second an image of those curls draping her breasts flashed into his mind and he almost groaned aloud. For God’s sake, he’d been rock hard for the last four hours. At this rate, he’d be dead by the time they made it to Scotland.

She looked up at him, a woman who liked kissing, he could tell that. Every time he kissed her, she got a softer look about her and lost that hovering little anxiety she had in her eyes. He itched to pull her against him, kick open the carriage door and head straight into the inn. Into their best bed and—

“Hell and damnation,” he muttered, disgusted at himself.

Her eyes danced with merriment. “A problem?” she asked, obviously pleased with herself.

“I can’t keep my hands off you,” he admitted.

He liked her smile now. It made him ache, it looked that welcoming.

“We can’t go on like this for another two weeks,” he said. “Let alone tonight.” He had a sudden image of her stretched out next to him, sleeping peacefully, while he stared hungrily at her all night long. “Do you wear a nightcap?” he asked hopefully.

She shook her head.

“Is your nightgown the type that covers you from neck to toes?”

She giggled at that. He’d never heard her giggle…It was a deliciously feminine sound. Of course, it made desire explode down his groin. He wanted her to giggle against his skin. He wanted to hear that delicious, breathy sound turn to pure pleasure, turn to a gasp and a moan.

“I’ll not make it to Scotland.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll be dead first,” he clarified. “And yet I’d never dare change the way we’ve planned things. Your guardian promised me last night that if I laid a hand on you before solemnizing the wedding, he’d come to Scotland and do some very unpleasant things to my limbs.”

She laughed outright at that. “It’s hard to imagine Rafe as the avenging warrior.”

Ewan saw in his mind’s eye the rigidly furious face of her guardian when Ewan explained that Annabel had agreed to wait for marriage until they reached Scotland. “He trusted me,” he said. “The man didn’t like the idea, but he was good enough to trust me.”

“Of course he did,” Annabel said, smiling at him. “You didn’t have to save my reputation, you know. You could have disavowed all knowledge of Miss A.E. My whole family is indebted to you.”

He knew he shouldn’t touch her, but he tipped up her chin. “They can think as they like,” he said, “but you owe me nothing, Annabel. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, and to tell the truth, I should have written that article in the Messenger myself. Would have too, if I’d thought of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“After you left the hotel, I thought it over—” But he couldn’t tell her yet. “I knew you’d seen me without any clothing, and that meant you were ruined for all other men. Naturally, I was going to have to marry you, if only to save you from a lifetime of disappointment.”

“Now I know you’re Scots,” she said impudently, grinning at him. There wasn’t a trace of anxiety in those gorgeous eyes of hers.

“To the bone,” he growled at her, and dared to just drop a kiss on the corner of her mouth. But: “We have to talk.”

“Among other things, because this carriage is standing in the inn yard,” Annabel pointed out. “And all the inhabitants of the inn must be properly mystified as to why we haven’t left the carriage.”

“No, they’re not,” he said, dropping another kiss on the other side, just to balance the ledger. “They think we’ve jumped into our marriage night right here. The carriage is probably ringed with spectators waiting to see if the vehicle starts rocking back and forth.”

“Starts rocking?” she repeated, looking fascinated and deliciously naive. “Rocking?”

He couldn’t explain it to her. Not without grabbing her, and then the carriage would be rocking. If not tipped over. “I’ll have to sleep in the stables,” he said with a groan.

“You can’t do that,” Annabel said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “The news would leak out and everyone would think that we were estranged, before we’ve even wed. That would never do.”

“Eve, to the life,” he said, staring at her with fascination. She’d merely ask him to eat the apple and it would be gone in a moment. “Fornication without God’s blessing is a sin,” he said, as much to himself as to her.

He wasn’t sure she’d know the word, but she did. Her little nose went into the air. “Eve, am I?” she said with a toss of her curls.

“Aye. And I think we’d better set ourselves some limits.”

“I have no need for rules,” she scoffed. “You’re not as interesting as all that, Lord Ardmore, for all you consider me ruined for other men.”

“Then the rules are for me,” he said. “Because I’m definitely ruined for other women, and I haven’t even had the pleasure of seeing you in the buff.”

She blushed at that and said nothing.

“I think we’d better stop kissing,” he said with a sigh. “Because I know where this is leading.”

Annabel felt an acute pulse of disappointment. Kissing Ewan was the only thing that made her confusion and fear evaporate. “Of course, if you’re not able to control yourself,” she said loftily.

“Eve!” he said. But she could see him weighing his male wish to claim control against this fear of her that he had.

“As you said, this is our courting period,” she reminded him. “In the normal course of things, you’d be trying to lure me into any handy garden.”

“I would, would I? So were many men trying to pull you off the garden path, then?”

She grinned at him. “And what do you think?”

“I think that gardens came into my mind the very moment I saw you. You were cheated of a courting, I’ll give you that. How about if we simply count all the efforts of those men toward my courtship?”

“Mr. Lemery asked me to ride in Hyde Park, and then he drove down an empty path, but he had a very wet mouth.” She made her eyes tragic. “Does his kiss count in your favor, then?”

He laughed. “Surely all Englishmen aren’t wet kissers?” He was liking that idea, she could tell.

“Certainly not. Lord Simon Guthrie kissed me before he asked me to marry him and it was quite pleasant.”

For a man who seemed generally good-natured, he had a ferocious scowl. “Asked you to marry him, did he?” But then he realized. “And why did you say no, if he was such a splendid kisser, then?”

“He was a third son,” Annabel said. “We’d be living on the parish. But his kisses…perhaps he’d had a great deal of practice…” She let her voice trail off provocatively, even though it was all poppycock because Ewan’s kisses were in another class from poor Simon Guthrie’s.