A Borrowed Scot Page 10

  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.”<
br />
  “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.

  Chapter 11

  Veronica had never stayed at a hotel before, but The Royal George Hotel had been visited by the Queen herself, they were told. The manager who made that announcement also escorted them into the building under a wide umbrella before ringing for a chambermaid to escort them to their room. They were given demonstrations on the various amenities, the location of the buzzer to ring for assistance, and directions to the hotel’s dining room.

  When they were left alone, she was surprised at how much smaller the room suddenly felt.

  The iron bed was enormous, taking up most of the space. The mattress looked as if it were double the size of her bed at her uncle’s home. A small table, two straight-backed chairs, and a washstand comprised the rest of the furniture in the room. A small fireplace was set into one wall, while two windows on the far wall boasted a view of the river through a curtain of rain. Although it was early afternoon, the day was as dark as night.

  The chamber was pristine. The hotel was lovely, the staff amenable. She could find no fault with her accommodations.

  The problem was her husband.

  “Are you hungry?” Montgomery asked.

  She shook her head. They’d eaten the contents of Mrs. Gardiner’s hamper during the first part of the trip, and taken tea when they’d arrived at the station.

  “Then we’ll begin, shall we?”

  She glanced at him, her eyes widening.

  He walked up to her, brushed aside her hands, and began unbuttoning her bodice. She slapped his hands away, as useless as batting away the sun. He just waited until she stopped before beginning again.

  “It’s still daylight!”

  “Somewhere,” he said, unconcerned.

  He finished unbuttoning her bodice and moved to her cuffs. Soon, she was divested of her bodice, watching as it sailed across to room to land in the corner.

  One of them should behave with some decorum. Shouldn’t she? After all, this business of losing her maidenhood was a serious one.

  “If you mean to scare me,” she said, “I have to tell you I’m not frightened.”

  He halted in the action of unlacing her corset to glance at her.

  “What a hell of a thing it would be if you were,” he said, once again concentrating on his task. “Intimidation is equally shared, you know. After all, you’ve demanded I take your virginity from the moment the ceremony was finished.”

  She blinked several times, trying to act nonchalant as he loosened her corset and pulled it off. In seconds, it, too, was flying across the room.

  “I suppose I have,” she said, considering the matter with what attention she could since he was working on the fastening of her skirt.

  Something sparkled in his eyes, something she couldn’t identify. At that particular moment, she didn’t know if she’d made him angry or if he was amused. Nor did she have the concentration to use her Gift.

  Bending his head, he pulled her skirt free and watched as it sank to the floor. He extended a hand to help her step out of it.

  “Let’s just get this done, shall we?”

  “It’s not a chore,” she said, frowning. “Or is it?”

  He took her hand and pressed it against his trousers until she felt something very hot and very hard there. He felt as large as a mastiff she’d once seen, trailing after a bitch with his mouth hanging open and his instrument fully erect.

  “Oh.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Oh.”

  “I quite enjoyed what we did in the parlor,” she said.

  “Did you?” he asked absently.

  She was down to her shift, hoop, stockings, and pantaloons.

  “Shouldn’t you close the drapes?” she asked.

  “I would, but I don’t want to stop.”

  “Oh.”

  “I want to see you naked again,” he said, pulling at the tabs holding her hoop. “Have I rendered you speechless, Veronica?” he asked, as it collapsed to the floor.

  She nodded as she stepped out of it.

  “I shall have to remember exactly what I was doing when that happened.”

  “I believe I can remember,” she said, since he was kneeling before her, reaching up to roll down her stockings. Her pantaloons had a large slit in them to accommodate certain personal needs and were hardly any protection from his eyes.

  She looked anywhere but at him.

  He pulled the ribbon of one garter free, his fingers trailing a path of heat from her thigh, over her knee, down her calf, to stroke around her ankle.

  Veronica wasn’t the least ticklish, but she could feel each movement of his index finger.

  She licked suddenly dry lips and wondered when it had become so warm in there. Why wasn’t he undressing?

  Were they going to have relations with the curtains open?

  Her eyes widened at the touch of his fingers on the drawstring of her pantaloons. He was standing in front of her, gently pushing them off her hips. Not simply content to allow them to fall, he was following the garment with his palms, feeling every inch of her.

  Her heart was beating so furiously she was breathless, incapable of speech. Incapable, too, of telling Montgomery he really should not look at her in quite that way.

  The same way the mastiff had when the bitch glanced over her shoulder at him, slowed, and braced herself in the dirt.

  Oh my.

  A lock of hair had tumbled onto his forehead. He wore the strangest smile, an expression that was definitely not amused. Intent, perhaps, as if this task took all his focus.

  His fingers hooked in the scoop neckline of her shift and began to pull. She slapped a hand over his.

  “Please don’t rip it. It’s my only shift.”

  “Only?”

  She nodded.

  He frowned. “The Earl of Conley is a wealthy man.”

  She bent her head, concentrating on the floor, his shoes, and his trousers. Her gaze crept up his legs, hesitated. If she placed her hand there again, would she feel the same hardness? Or was it possible that he’d gotten even larger?

  “Veronica.”

  Her face warmed as her gaze flew to meet his.

  “Why don’t you have more than one shift?” he asked gently.

  “Uncle Bertrand had not expected to bear the expense of clothing and housing me,” she said.

  His face changed a little, but the emotions she suddenly felt from him were like tinder exploding in a fireplace.

  “Just how many times did he utter that little comment to you?”

  She placed her hand against his chest.

  “You cannot blame him, Montgomery. I was his sister’s daughter, not his own child.”

  “You’re family.”

  “Should we be discussing Uncle Bertrand now?” she asked. “I’d just as soon we didn’t.”

  He nodded, bent, and grabbed the hem of her shift before pulling it over her head.

&nb
sp; She was naked again.

  His large hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing against the nipples. His attention was not on the action of his hands, however, but on her face.

  Veronica could feel heat rush through her body, pool in the core of her.

  What did he want?

  Her hands reached up to grip his wrists. Instead of pulling his hands away, she merely kept her fingers there, feeling the beat of his heart at his wrists. A beat as rapid as her own.

  Her legs trembled; her entire body shivered, not from the cold or even anticipation. What she felt was something different, something that hollowed out her insides, pushed aside all reticence and shyness.

  Anything he wanted, she’d do.

  “Will you kiss me?” she asked.

  “Now?”

  He smiled, an almost wicked smile, one that fascinated as much as it charmed.

  “Please.”

  He leaned forward, placed his mouth softly over one nipple.

  That wasn’t what she’d meant.

  His tongue flicked her nipple, his lips gently surrounding, sucking.

  Her hands moved to curve around his shoulders.

  “Montgomery,” she said. That was all, just his name.

  He stepped back, removed his jacket and vest, his eyes never leaving hers. Instead of touching her again, he turned her slowly, wrapped his arms around her, his shirt and trousers gently abrading her bare back.

  His arm covered her breasts, one wrist resting against a nipple, while his fingers brushed against the right. His other hand pressed against her stomach, pulled her back against him as he kissed his way down her neck.

  She felt cut off from him in that position, distanced, as if he wanted to touch her but didn’t want her to reciprocate.

  His hand moved lower, his thumb playing across her navel, fingers combing through the soft hair at the apex of her thighs. She laid her head back against his shoulder, and he took advantage of the position to place a kiss beneath her jaw, his lips hot, his tongue tasting her skin as if to measure the frantic beat of her blood.