“I might,” Logan muttered.

Even if he was willing to crack himself open, he would find little there to offer her.

“You’re all making this too complicated,” Munro said. “She’s a lass. Bring her flowers. Take her dancing. Give her an excuse to put on a pretty frock. That’s all it takes.”

“But Madeline’s different. She doesna like those things,” Logan said.

“Trust me. They all like those things.”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled. Perhaps Munro was right. In the village, Maddie had said the same.

Women are women, Logan. Every girl needs a bit of luxury and a chance to feel pretty now and then.

Wasn’t that what her letters had been about? She didn’t think she could ever be a success at a party or an assembly. And her dream had been a man who would want her anyway.

He didn’t want to be her dream man. But maybe he could play the role for one night.

Perhaps all Madeline Gracechurch had ever needed was a bit of everyday courting. The same sort of attention any girl her age would receive. And she deserved that much and far more.

Logan knew exactly what he had to do.

“Bloody hell,” he said. “I’m going to have to attend the Beetle Ball.”

“You want to attend Lord Varleigh’s ball?” She replaced a pen in its inkwell and turned to face him. “Logan, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s impossible. For a dozen reasons.”

She folded her arms over her ink-­stained work smock. She tucked her bottom lip under her teeth. And that single fingertip went to her collarbone again, tracing back and forth. Driving him wild with wanting.

He crossed his arms and jammed his own hands in his oxters. It was the only way he knew how to keep from reaching for her. “Tell me the reasons. One at a time.”

“Firstly, we already declined the invitation. I told Lord Varleigh we weren’t attending.”

“Easily mended. You write a message telling him we’ve changed our minds. I’ll dispatch one of the men to deliver it this afternoon. Next reason.”

“I . . . I have nothing to wear.” She gestured at her frock. “I’ve been wearing half-­mourning for years. All my gowns are gray wool.”

“We’ll find you a ready-­made gown in Inverness tomorrow. Next problem.”

“And I suppose you could wear your best uniform. An officer’s dress is always acceptable attire. But you’ve invited everyone here for Beltane, and that’s less than a fortnight from now.”

“All the more reason to find you a new gown and give the skirts a spin or two. The lady of the castle canna welcome her guests in gray wool.”

She sighed. “Lord Varleigh lives in Perthshire. It’s too far to travel.”

“I’ve heard they have these new things called inns. Often located near roads. We’ll find one nearby to stay the night.”

Now Logan was really starting to appreciate this idea. The Beetle Ball itself sounded like many-­legged torture, but the prospect of spending a night with Madeline in a tiny room at a coaching inn, with an even tinier bed, away from his men and her aunt—­now that sounded worth a few hours of anything.

It also sounded like the perfect way to finally make this marriage real.

“But it’s a ball.” She turned away from him, continuing the work of straightening her desk. “I don’t go to balls. I’m miserable at them. I can’t dance.”

“Neither can I. Not that sort of dancing, at any rate.” He came to stand behind her, lightly placing his hands on her waist. “We dinna have to dance, mo chridhe. We’ll just go and listen to Lord Varleigh talk about his beetles. Most importantly, you’ll be there to see your work unveiled.”

“I don’t really want that kind of attention.” She tapped a pencil against the blotter on her desk. “But I confess, I would like a chance to meet a man who’ll be there.”

Now this made him take notice. “A man?”

“Logan, don’t be jealous.”

He tightened his grip on her waist. “You like it when I’m jealous.”

“Very well, perhaps I do.” He could hear a little smile in her voice. “Lord Varleigh told me of a scholar he knows in Edinburgh. One who’ll be attending the ball. Apparently this scholar is planning an encyclopedia. Insects of the British Isles, in four volumes. He might be in need of an illustrator. Lord Varleigh promised to make the introduction.”