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There’s much I have to do for tomorrow.”
    “Won’t you stay for dinner?”
    “There’s something very charming about the tradition of being separated from the groom the night before the wedding. Don’t worry about me eating, I’ll order from the hotel. Sorry, I’m not very hungry now.”
    He was concerned. “Are you feeling any better?”
    “Yes, much.” Her eyes were brighter, her lips fuller and pinker.
    “Do you need help with anything at the hotel? I’m sure Mrs. Dunleigh would be pleased to lend a hand. With your wardrobe, for instance.”
    “I’ll be fine.”
    He felt suddenly shut out of her life.
    He understood she was a bride needing her privacy, but back in Chicago, she’d always shut him out of her thoughts and feelings. He shoved his hands into his pockets, brought back to their days there, when he’d been much younger and much more nervous around the fairer sex. Hell, he was a lot more experienced than he used to be, and being with Cassandra shouldn’t affect him. But the five years he’d spent carousing in saloons with entertaining women didn’t seem to help him now.
    “I hope you’ll consider this a fine home, Cassandra,” he said.
    “I look forward to it very much.”
    He wondered whether he should show her the second floor, where the bedrooms were located—his, soon to be theirs—but decided not to. It would be awkward to press something so personal upon her, in full view of the staff, when he and Cassandra weren’t yet married.
    “Tomorrow at six,” he reminded her. “I’ll have the Dunleighs come to your hotel at quarter to the hour to escort you to the church.”
    She nodded and kept her distance.
    He stayed at arm’s length, too. He wanted to kiss her, but his staff persisted in intervening. Cassandra didn’t seem to expect, nor did she appear to miss the fact that he didn’t approach her. When he was called away again by his foreman to check on a sluggish colt, Jack said goodbye to her and asked Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh to accompany her to the hotel.
    “We’ll see each other tomorrow,” Jack said.
    “Have a good evening,” she replied, as cool as a moonbeam. She pulled her shawl around her slender shoulders and was gone.
    * * *
    He hadn’t kissed her!
    Hours later, alone in her hotel room with a towel wrapped around her newly washed hair, Cassandra still couldn’t believe the slight. It was all she’d thought of since the moment they’d parted, during her ride back to town with Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh, and during her bath on the lower floor of the hotel.
    She stared at his pink roses on the nightstand. She’d placed them in a vase beside the lone lantern, which cast a dim glow. Why hadn’t Jack tried to kiss her? Had he found her repulsive?
    She didn’t think so, for he was about to marry her. Most men wouldn’t wed a woman unless they found her appealing in some way. Besides, the way his burning gaze sometimes raked over her, she knew with a rush to her pulse that he sometimes found her attractive.
    Perhaps he’d wanted to be affectionate, but the sight of her marred cheek had stopped him.
    She couldn’t imagine how their wedding night would go. Was that promise of sexual excitement in his dark brown eyes deceiving? Or would his physical skills match the apparent appetite in his hungry gaze? If he was a passionate man, then why in blazes hadn’t he kissed her?
    Some men put up a good act, pretending to be what they weren’t. Troy Wainsborough had been a prime example. On the surface, he’d been a successful attorney, a protégé of her father’s at his law offices. She’d been coaxed and prodded for years in his direction by her father. Beneath the surface, however, Troy had a darker side that involved drinking and loose women. He’d been belligerent to her, not a family man at all.
    His cousin, Jack, who was taken in by Troy’s family at a young age upon the death of his parents, had always been labeled the black sheep. Her father had believed it,