A Borrowed Scot (9 page)

Now,
that
was a challenge.

He removed his hand and her eyes popped open. Evidently, their first kiss hadn’t impressed her. He lowered his head again, his mouth gently resting over hers.

His tongue traced her bottom lip, coaxed her mouth to open, then thrust inside. She made a sound in the back of her throat. Protest or appreciation? At the moment, he neither knew nor cared.

Kissing Veronica was a surprise. She was trembling in his arms. One of his hands reached around to smooth over her back. The other slid to her bodice, a thumb reaching up to rest just below her breasts.

When his hand moved, she gasped, such a delicate protest he wasn’t certain if she was offended or simply surprised. He tested the thought by cupping a breast.

She abruptly drew back, her face crimson.

“That wasn’t a kiss,” she said.

“You haven’t any experience, have you?”

She stared at him. “Any experience? Of course I haven’t,” she said, sounding shocked. “I think I know how it’s done well enough. We had cats and horses. They’re not altogether shy about mating.”

He wanted to smile but knew if he did, she might interpret his emotion incorrectly. He wasn’t feeling humor as much as he was an unexpected tenderness.

His celibacy was suddenly useless and unnecessary. He wanted his wife, his unexpected Scots wife, who was all innocence and ignorance, who spoke of being fey, and who managed to startle him with her directness.

She was like the wind, as changeable as the flow of air itself.

He should stand, excuse himself, and be about his work. Instead, he lowered his head to kiss her again.

“P
roper behavior, Veronica, is what separates the upper classes from those who would ape their betters.” Aunt Lilly’s dictum. “You know nothing of proper society, Veronica.” That comment from each of her cousins in turn.

“I don’t think it’s proper to be kissing in the parlor,” she said, pulling back from their last kiss.

From the smile on Montgomery’s face, she’d obviously amused him. She didn’t have time to think about it because he leaned down and kissed her again.

He tilted his head a little, and the kiss became something different. She felt as if the top of her head were spinning. His breath entered her mouth, and it was the most intimate act she’d ever experienced with another human being.

He deepened the kiss, and she no longer thought about being proper. Besides, compliancy was the mark of a good wife. Until, of course, he started unbuttoning her bodice. She slapped his hand away, but it returned. The second time he did it, she broke off their kiss and glared at him. The third time she slapped his hand away, he shook his head.

“I have no intention of becoming naked in the parlor, Montgomery Fairfax.”

“Not naked, Veronica. Just a little, shall we say, loosened?”

“I’m loosened enough, thank you.”

“You’re a bride, remember?”

He was down to the fourth button, and she placed her hand against the skin he exposed. She suspected he would continue unbuttoning her, but she was already revealed nearly to her waist. She grabbed both sides of her bodice and held them together, a fact that didn’t disturb him one whit.

Instead, he reached past her hands and began to work on her corset laces.

That was too much.

“Stop it, Montgomery,” she said.

“Very well,” he said, and reached up to cup one of her breasts.

Oh dear.

Gently, almost tenderly, his thumb brushed across the tip, and a jolt traveled through her body. She shook her head, as if to negate the sensations, then gripped his wrist with both hands to stop him.

He kissed her again, and it didn’t matter.

Her shift was fastened at the front with a tiny silk bow. He pulled one end, slid his hand inside the garment, his fingers dancing across her skin to rest against the outer slope of a breast.

Exactly what part of the Empire was she supposed to think about at the moment? She would think of Scotland, deeply grateful she was returning home, despite the circumstances. She would think of her own little village, Lollybroch, and all the joy she’d felt while living there. She would not think about what he was doing with his fingers.

How could she think of anything when he was kissing her so deeply?

She moaned, reached up, and gripped his jacket with both hands, fisting the material to pull him closer.

His hand came up to touch her cheek, and before she knew what he was doing, his fingers were spreading through her hair, dislodging her careful bun.

Heat was pooling in her body, coming from everywhere at once. Her cheeks flamed; it was difficult to breathe, and any thoughts of Scotland flew right out of her head.

Montgomery should wear a placard, some type of warning stating he was dangerous. The tips of her fingers tingled, as if they sought to touch the planes of his face and smooth over his jaw.

Was that permissible? Or was it considered wanton? And was wanton the same as common?

Montgomery’s hand lingered on her breast, his fingers trailing over her skin. He kissed her until her face was hot, and her lips felt swollen. Her heart was beating fast, and other parts of her body were throbbing in time.

She had never been so thoroughly enchanted.

Her hands rested on his shoulders, and when he moved to kiss her throat, her head dropped back to allow him . . . anything.

When he kissed the base of her throat, she held her bodice open for him. When she heard the fabric of her shift rip, she wished, in a fleeting and forbidden thought, that he’d managed to remove her corset as well. As it was, her breasts were plumped up in a manner that was most assuredly lascivious and thoroughly naughty.

She almost fainted when he kissed her there, and when Montgomery drew a nipple into his mouth, she felt it throughout her body. First one breast, then another, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked on her. Her hands reached up to trail through the hair at his temples, measuring his cheekbones and the angle of his jaw. When he would have pulled away, she kept him in place, pressing her palms against the back of his head.

Oh my.

His hand trailed beneath her skirt, and she shivered when she felt his palm against her thigh. His fingers pulled on the bow of her garter, shocking her further.

Did he think to undress her here?

“Montgomery,” she whispered frantically.

“Veronica,” he said, his voice soft and smooth and seductive.

“Should you be doing that? Here?”

“No,” he said. “I shouldn’t.”

He did not, however, stop. His fingers began to walk up her leg.

No one had ever mentioned something like this might happen. No one had ever warned her she might be ravished in the parlor.

Montgomery was stroking her skin as if learning every inch of her.

She should have begged him to stop. Instead, she shockingly wanted to be naked so no barriers of corset and petticoats and hoops stood between them.

“Oh, pardon, Your Lordship.”

Montgomery froze.

She kept her eyes closed, holding her breath, shocked into immobility. She kept her cheek against Montgomery’s. If she couldn’t
see
Mrs. Gardiner, then the housekeeper wasn’t there.

“What is it, Mrs. Gardiner?” Montgomery asked, flattening his hand against the apex of her thighs. His fingers danced over her skin, horrifying her.

Was he going to continue to ravish her in full view of Mrs. Gardiner?

He placed his other hand against her back, pressing her against him. Perhaps Mrs. Gardiner wouldn’t see her bodice was gaping, her breasts visible, her nipples wet from Montgomery’s mouth.

“I’ve prepared a hamper for your journey, Lord Fairfax. Is there anything else I can do?”

Go away. Oh, please go away.

She’d never been so embarrassed in her life.

A moment ago, she was willing to be taken on the parlor floor. Now, she wanted to sink into that same floor and disappear.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gardiner. We don’t require anything further.”

She still didn’t move. He brushed aside her hair to whisper in her ear, his voice sounding amused.

“She’s gone,” he said.

“She was never here,” she said. “Never here, Montgomery.”

Brushing aside his hands, she buttoned her bodice herself, noting with some dismay his hand hadn’t moved from beneath her skirt.

His fingers toyed with her garter again, and she grabbed at it outside her skirt.

“Stop that!”

“You’re right,” he said, his eyes glittering, his smile producing the dimples she’d once suspected. “The rest will have to wait, Veronica.”

She couldn’t breathe again, and that pulsing ache was only growing. She wanted to touch him, stroke her palms up his chest, down his arms.

He should be half-undressed as well.

With some regret, she pulled away from him and stood, straightening her skirt with deliberation, her gaze focused on the action of her hands. She would
not
look at him.

What had happened?

Was that seduction?

Because if it were, she knew why all the warnings had been issued to her and to any unmarried woman. If she’d known, if they’d all known, what seduction was like, they would have fallen, moaning, into the hands of their seducers, begging for more of the same.

Chapter 10

B
y the time they reached Inverness, Veronica was furious with her new husband.

For hours, she’d sat beside Montgomery in the first-class cabin with a dozen other people, all prosperous citizens. The accent of Scotland welcomed her home, and the closer they got to their destination, the more grateful she was to Montgomery for making the journey possible. Her gratitude did not, however, offset her irritation with him.

Montgomery had been taciturn, if not downright forbidding, for the whole of the journey. Whenever she was tempted to broach a subject, he’d send her a look, and she’d keep silent.

After a full twenty hours aboard the train, they’d finally reached Inverness station in the middle of a storm.

The station was very loud, its tall, pitched roofs and ceiling windows echoing the rain. Dozens of arches led from one platform to another, each of them filled with talking people, purposefully walking toward their destinations.

She waited while Montgomery finished attending to other matters, and when he joined her, they hired a carriage.

“I wanted to meet with the stationmaster,” he said, as they entered the carriage. “The trunk containing the mirror came from Inverness station.”

“Was he able to tell you anything?”

Montgomery shook his head as he settled opposite her.

Tomorrow, they’d finish their journey to Doncaster Hall, but tonight they’d stay in Inverness, in a hotel, information Montgomery had imparted before leaving London.

Their departure from London had been accomplished with some rapidity, a fact for which she’d be eternally grateful. She’d only had time to utter a hurried thank-you to Mrs. Gardiner before being rushed into a carriage. She had not, blessedly, had to face the woman for long.

Montgomery had no such reserve. He’d thanked the housekeeper, spoken softly for several moments, giving her instructions as to the care of the house, no doubt. Was he returning to London? Were they?

Twice, she almost asked him. Twice, she stopped herself from asking.

As they traveled through the city, Montgomery remained silent.

He was too easy to read, his emotions a combination of grief, irritation, and an odd touch of anxiety. Why was Montgomery anxious? She knew he wouldn’t tell her if she asked.

“You were more communicative to me when I was drugged,” she said, jerking angrily at the bonnet ribbon before retying it in a perfect bow. She hated bonnets, hated wearing anything on her head. “Is it me? Or are you simply this uncommunicative around everyone?”

Montgomery didn’t say a word, didn’t even glance toward her.

“I felt my lips move, Montgomery. I know I spoke.”

There, that garnered her a glance before he once again stared at the rain-streaked window.

She leaned forward, looking into his eyes. “I was just assuring myself you were awake,” she said, sitting back. “Very well, shall we talk of the weather? It’s raining again. We’ve now exhausted that topic.” She glanced out the window. “The scenery? It’s difficult to discuss the scenery when it’s raining so hard. One could say everything looks a bit watery.”

They crossed the River Ness on the Black Bridge, the wooden timbers making a hollow sound of welcome.

“Tell me about America,” she said. “Tell me about Virginia. Or your home there.” She was searching her mind for a list of other acceptable topics when he smiled at her.

“You don’t like being ignored, Veronica.”

“I have spent the last two years being ignored, Montgomery,” she said. “I’m quite used to it. I was not, however, expecting it from my husband.”

Especially after he’d seduced her in the parlor.

“My home is called Gleneagle,” he said, turning his head and staring out the window at the curtain of rain. “My grandfather was both its architect and its builder, and he named it as well.”

“Do you grow tobacco in Virginia?”

He glanced at her, evidently surprised. Both the look and its implication annoyed her.

“A woman can be educated, Montgomery.”

“Yes,” he said. “Tobacco, as well as a variety of other crops.”

Now, what did she say? She didn’t want to ask this question, but she did so anyway. “Do you miss it?”

“With my whole heart,” he said.

The emotions swamping her weren’t difficult to understand. Fear, because she faced the unknown. Would Montgomery remain in Scotland or return home? Regret, because she didn’t want to be transported to a strange country, and sadness, because a man should evince that kind of longing for a person, not a place.

Yet what would she have done if he’d mentioned someone?

She wanted, almost desperately, to ask about his grief. For whom did he mourn?

Rather than looking at him, she concentrated on the passing scenery. The rain had lightened a little, enough to see the river. She’d visited Inverness often, and the series of bridges in the city had always fascinated her.

Inverness reminded her of her parents.

“I didn’t want to marry you either,” she said, a few minutes later. “If I’d had my say, I would’ve chosen almost anyone else. A stranger on the street, a lamplighter in the square. If he talked to me periodically and didn’t look through me as if I were a pane of glass, he’d be a very acceptable husband.”

He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth turning up.

“Do I amuse you, Montgomery?”

“Yes,” he said, startling her. “You do.”

She looked away, uncertain whether to be offended or hurt.

“I had no intention of being rude,” he said.

Something in his voice made her turn and look at him again.

“I understand,” she said, her irritation banished beneath her compassion. “Truly I do.”

He sat back against the seat and closed his eyes.

“Your clairvoyance again?”

“I know Scotland is strange to you. I know what it’s like to have everything you’d thought familiar and normal suddenly vanish,” she said. “I know what it’s like to look around and see that your entire life has changed.”

His eyes opened, his gaze intent.

“Is it permissible to ask you about the war?” she asked.

Anything she’d learned about the American Civil War had come from newspapers, and she wasn’t certain her information was accurate. She was willing, however, to talk about anything rather than be ignored.

“How did the war affect you?”

He smiled, but the expression didn’t have any humor in it.

“How it affected me?” He shook his head a little as if to negate the question.

She lowered her gaze.

“Very well, I’m not to ask about the war. Will you please tell me what I am to talk about?”

“People who don’t know anything about war always want to know everything about it. Do you want to know if I got sick the first time I killed a man? Or how I lay on my pallet at night staring up at the stars, wishing I could somehow transport myself home? How, at the end, I didn’t care much about anything, even my own survival? I lived because of luck, Veronica, not because I wished it or even wanted it. I lived because I didn’t die, and that’s how war affected me.”

Perhaps it would be safer to distance herself from Montgomery just as he distanced himself from the world. In her case, it would be for protection, to prevent him from hurting her, or fascinating her, or even seducing her.

Was it the same for him?

Still, she wanted to say something to ease him, to take away a little of his pain, but she had no words. She’d tolerated the kindness of people after her parents’ death but wanted them gone more than she’d wanted to hear their condolences. So she said nothing, an intention lasting until the carriage halted in front of the hotel.

“Will you come to my bed tonight?”

She clasped her hands together, forced herself to meet his look, refusing to glance away.

“Is it a Scots thing?” he asked. “This directness of yours?”

“I think it’s mostly a Veronica thing,” she said. “Isn’t it better to ask than to wonder? To discover, rather than to guess?”

For the longest time, he didn’t answer her, and she wondered if he was going to retreat into silence once more. If he was, she’d follow him. Perhaps, in the future, people would remark on how attuned they were, how they didn’t need to converse. They wouldn’t know she and Montgomery had simply stopped speaking to one another.

“Please do not tell me we’re strangers, Montgomery,” she said. “You’ve had your hand up my skirt and your mouth on my breasts.”

She could
not
believe she was saying those things. Her skin was prickling with embarrassment.

“You would have no objection to bedding a man you hardly know?”

“Not if he’s my husband.”

He nodded. “You’re very dutiful.”

“Dutiful?” She smiled. “I doubt if it’s dutiful. It must be done, and I’m all in favor of doing it. It’s what one does, after all, when one is married.”

He folded his arms and stared at her as if she were the most unusual creature he’d ever seen. She wasn’t certain it was a polite look he was giving her.

Since she’d already revealed herself, probably too much, she continued. “I am told I shall not like it one little bit. I’m supposed to close my eyes and think of the Queen.” She doubted that was entirely true, if the experience in the parlor was any measure.

“You’re a very well made man, Montgomery. I doubt I’ll dislike seeing you undressed. As for me, you’d know only too well what I look like naked. We might as well get down to the act itself.”

He still didn’t comment.

The carriage door abruptly opened, and Veronica felt as if she’d been saved from the further embarrassment of being unable to stop herself from talking.

She smiled brightly, pasting an expression of such utter bliss on her face that anyone looking at her must surely know she was terrified.