Page 45 of To Bed the Bride
She glanced at him.
“I can’t understand, however, why you would agree to marry Herridge. The man’s an idiot.”
“I don’t think that’s a fair assessment. You and he may have differing opinions on certain matters, but it doesn’t mean that he’s an idiot.”
“Very well, he’s an ass.”
Anyone else would offer an apology for that particular word, claiming that it slipped out unintentionally. Knowing Logan as she was beginning to, she knew it was deliberate. She also knew that he wasn’t going to apologize.
“Why did you agree to marry him?”
No one had ever asked her that question before. She looked at him and then away, concentrating on the line of oaks stretching out before her.
“Everyone has to marry.”
“Do they?”
She glanced at him again. “Don’t tell me that you’ve never given a thought to marriage.”
“It isn’t something that’s important. At least, not yet.”
“When? When you’re old and doddering?”
His smile was quick, amusement mirrored in his eyes. “Perhaps not that far away. But it hasn’t been something I’ve given a lot of thought to.”
“Perhaps you should. No doubt you have a great many women interested in you. After all, you’re probably a catch. You’re a member of Parliament. You have some intellect. You have all your limbs.”
“What about my sterling character, my ethics, my morals?”
“No doubt those all play a part,” she said.
“What was it about Herridge that made you say yes? I doubt it was his sterling character, ethics, or morals. Was it his title?”
“No,” she said, looking down at Bruce adrift in dreams. Was he herding sheep? Or just running through the grass? “If anything, his title was a detriment.”
Logan’s expression wasn’t difficult to read.
“I know you don’t believe me, but it’s the truth. Oh, everyone in my family is overjoyed, but the prospect of being a countess is rather frightening.”
Why on earth had she told him that?
He looked at her the way Bruce did sometimes with his head tilted slightly, an expression in his eyes that made her think he was waiting to be convinced.
She shook her head. She really didn’t want to continue this conversation. It was too personal.
“What happened last night?” she asked.
“Last night?”
She frowned at him. He knew perfectly well what she meant.
“Did Michael insult Scotland? Or did Hamilton demand to know about Abyssinia?”
He smiled. “Neither. We were discussing women, as I recall. How emotional they were and how lacking in sense.”
“Do you feel that way?”
“It wasn’t me. That was your future husband.”
