She laid a row of cushions down the center of the bed, carefully dividing it into two sides.... "I dinna know how this strategy escaped Napoleon's notice. If only he'd erect a barricade of feathers and fabric, we Highlanders wouldna have known how to get over it.

I'm Captain Logan MacKenzie. I received every last one of your missives, and despite your best attempts to kill me, I am verra much alive." He propped a finger under her chin, tilting her face to his. So she would be certain to hear and believe his words. "Madaline Eloise Gracechurch... I've come here to marry you.

Silly me. I dreamed big." He gave her a sly grin. "And you got it.

What I'm saying isna romantic. It's raw, primal, and entirely crude." He lowered his voice to a growl. "You, Madeline Elise Gracechurch have been driving me slowly mad with lust. For years.

There's more than one way to share pleasure." She was quiet for a long moment. "How many ways?" He rolled onto his side to face her, skimming a single finger from her breastbone to her belly. Here's an idea. I'll demonstrate them, and you keep count.

I've nothing suitable to wear." "I dinna care about the color of your frock, lass. I'm only going to take off you again." She blinked. "Oh.

This really, truly, could not be happening. Captain Logan MacKenzie could not be alive. He could not be dead, either. He didn't exist.

What's the worst thing you've ever done?" He pushed his hands through his hair. "I'm beginning to think it was marrying you.

Quickly, say something unfeeling. Mock my letters. Threaten my beetles. Just do something, anything reprehensible.