The Scottish Companion Read online

  She also suspected that whatever she was feeling was a fierce and carnivorous emotion and that it would demand a price.

  Gillian followed Grant into the building, and was once again struck by the palace’s beauty and serenity.

  Sunlight poured in through the stained glass ceiling of the cupola, bathing the space in cobalt and gold light. She walked slowly toward the recessed floor, and stood looking down at the marble circle.

  Grant, however, was intent upon reaching his laboratory. She glanced at him over her shoulder and wondered at this small yet telling tableau. He was immune to this beauty, probably having seen it all his life. Yet she was enthralled.

  At that moment, he looked over and returned her gaze. He halted in the doorway.

  She wanted to say something profound to him, something that would ensnare him, and cause him to abandon his scientific inquiry and come to her side. But she doubted if any words could sway him once he was intent on a goal.

  Who was she, Gillian Cameron of Edinburgh, to intrigue the 10th Earl of Straithern?

  He hadn’t thought her shameful. Nor had he thought her wanton. Or perhaps he had, and that’s why he invited her here. Why should she care for her reputation, when it was so very clear that she’d none left? Perhaps her youthful improprieties would lead to a greater freedom. If Grant did banish her from his property, then perhaps she would open a salon in London, become a famous courtesan.

  Otherwise she’d have to remain at Rosemoor, and watch him marry Arabella.

  Slowly he began to walk toward her.

  “You look like something ethereal standing there, with the light behind you.”

  “It’s a beautiful place,” she said, smiling. “It’s a shame more people can’t experience it.”

  “I actively discourage visitors.”

  “Except for me,” she said.

  “This was an invitation. You cannot be simply a visitor if you’re invited.”

  “What shall I be?” she asked.

  He’d reached her now, and stood so close that she could touch him if she wished. Oh, she did wish, but she kept her hands at her sides.

  “My apprentice?”

  “Your friend?”

  “Have I need of one?”

  She tilted her head up to view the cupola roof. “I think you would need a friend occasionally, Your Lordship. Despite your rather prickly exterior, you are just like everyone else.”

  “Prickly? Like a hedgehog?”

  “An aristocratic hedgehog,” she corrected. “A very haughty-looking one, who’s quite aware he’s an earl, with a long nose, perhaps, and a supercilious air.”

  “Do you think my nose too long?”

  “No, I don’t. But I can imagine a hedgehog with a very long nose.” She glanced at him. “I wouldn’t change one of your features. They’re all perfect. But of course you know that. How could you help but notice the attention you get from women. At the ball, for example. All of your female guests were staring at you.”

  “Women don’t stare at me,” he said, clearly uncomfortable with her comment.

  “Nonsense,” she said, “of course they do. They sigh when you enter a room. They start adjusting their skirts immediately, and angle to glimpse themselves in the mirror. They flirt with you outrageously, and you can’t help but notice.”

  “They do not. Or if they do, it’s because I’m an earl.”

  “Do not stand on modesty with me, Your Lordship. I don’t care one way or another. I don’t think it has anything to do with your rank. I think they would feel the same if you were a footman.”

  “But you don’t,” he said.

  “On the contrary,” she said, giving him the truth. “I think you’re devastatingly handsome.”

  He looked flummoxed, as if no one had ever complimented him before this moment. Instead of arguing with her, he stepped down into the circle of light. His arms were at his sides and his head was tilted back, and he was staring at the sunlight streaming down around him, encapsulating him in an otherworldly bluish light.

  For the longest time, she stood and watched him, transfixed by the beauty of Grant Roberson. Tall and strong, broad-shouldered, he seemed the embodiment of all that was truly wondrous about Scotland: its independence, its beauty, stark and unapologetic. He sought answers for riddles that no one else even knew existed. And yet he was like a hawk, fierce and alone, protecting what was his while at the same time giving comfort to those who depended upon his strength.

  He should have frightened her. The sheer magnetism and power of the man should have made her cautious. Oddly enough, she felt more comfortable with him than with any other man she’d ever known. Any person she’d ever known.

  Why had she told him the truth about her past? Had it been a test of sorts, a measure of him as a man? Or had she simply wanted him to repudiate her once and for all, and end the suspense? Yet he’d not done what she’d expected. He’d acted as if it had not mattered at all. As if she were no more than a stranger, a woman of mystery who was telling her sordid tale to a passerby. How odd that she was both pleased and disappointed.

  She should have known better than to dare anyone, because Fate always ended up shaking its finger at her, delivering a blow in equal measure to the one she’d attempted.

  Very slowly, he turned his head, raised one arm, extending his hand to her. His gaze was unreadable; his expression somber and unsmiling.

  She didn’t say anything, merely descended the three steps and walked to where he stood. The light was so brightly colored that it seemed as if they were in an underwater cavern.

  She looked up into his face, knowing she was being foolish for being here, but unable to stifle the surge of happiness she suddenly felt. If there were repercussions for this moment—and she’d discovered there always were repercussions for foolish deeds and heedless moments—she would pay them willingly. For now, she was content to stand here with him.

  “You’re going to kiss me, aren’t you, Your Lordship?”

  “Grant,” he said. “Have we not progressed enough for that?”

  “It’s not proper, Your Lordship, and you of all people know that I should observe the proprieties.”

  “Propriety is an odd subject to bring up in the same breath as a kiss. Besides, what happened to friendship? Did you not offer a moment ago to be my friend?”

  “I’ve had a few minutes to reconsider the offer,” she said. “Earls do not make friends of fallen women.”

  “Is that what you are? It seems to me they would be the very best type of friends. They would not lecture you endlessly on your responsibilities and burdens. Instead, they might kiss you.”

  Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

  Run away, Gillian. Run away before he captures you as ably as you earlier wished to ensnare him.

  “You promised.”

  He drew back. “I did, didn’t I?” An instant later, he smiled. “Then you must begin.”

  “I must?”

  “Unless you don’t wish to kiss me.”

  What a very foolish comment.

  She rose up on her tiptoes. “In the spirit of friendship,” she said, and brushed her lips over his.

  He pulled her to him with no subtlety whatsoever, and deepened the kiss. She gasped, and he inhaled the sound of her surprise, pressing his lips against hers.

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up into his embrace, and she in turn entwined her arms around his neck and held on as he kissed her.

  Finally she pulled back, and when he reached for her, she held up one hand and shook her head. Someone, of the two of them, must have a little sense.

  “Your footmen are still here,” she cautioned.

  He nodded and kissed her again.

  Moments later, she’d finally caught her breath. For safety’s sake, or perhaps for prudence, she took a few more steps away from him. He smiled at her caution, but didn’t reproach her.

  “I’ve been taking advantage of your library,” she said.
There, a change of topic, something without passion or temptation.

  “Have you?” His voice sounded disinterested, but he was smiling.

  “I have. I wanted to find something about your experiments, but I could find nothing about electrics.”

  “Nothing published for the general public, I’m afraid. I have several papers from associates of mine in Italy. I would be more than happy to share them with you. Do you read Italian?”

  It was her turn to smile. “Of course I don’t, and well you know it. What would a girl from Edinburgh be doing reading Italian?”

  “Then I shall have to read them to you. Shall we adjourn to the laboratory, Miss Cameron?” He held out his arm, and she walked toward him and placed her hand upon it. Together they mounted the steps and crossed the floor to the door leading to his laboratory.

  Michael and the second footman were standing behind the long table on which they’d placed the glass bottles. At a nod from Grant, the two men bowed and left the room.

  “There, now my footmen are nowhere to be seen.”

  “Your experiments, Your Lordship,” she said, directing his attention to the bottles in front of him.

  “Grant,” he corrected.

  “Gillian,” she added.

  They smiled at each other in perfect accord.

  She leaned against the table and watched as he began to arrange what he needed. First came the odd arrangement of metal discs in their cage. Then a second machine consisting of a crank and a large flywheel around which a wire was wrapped. A second pile of disks was placed beside the first, and Grant connected a wire to both.

  “What is it?” she asked, reaching out with her hand to touch the very strange apparatus with the crank.

  He pulled her hand back.

  “I don’t want you shocked,” he explained.

  “Shocked?”

  “Have you ever walked across a carpet and then touched the metal latch of a door? A spark emits from the contact, and it’s called a static charge.”

  She nodded.

  “This will produce the same type of charge, only stronger.”

  “But why would you want to do such a thing?”

  “For a variety of reasons,” he said, smiling. “To create a better compass. To create a form of power. Because it exists.”

  “It’s what you’re going to use to ignite the gas, isn’t it?”

  “You’re a very good student, Gillian. Would you like a demonstration?”

  She nodded again. “I would.”

  “You might wish to step back,” he said. “As a precautionary measure. I never know how strong the gas might be. It seems to vary in intensity.”

  “Are you not afraid that you might be injured?”

  “I am as safe as I can be. Electrics are inherently safe, if one uses common sense.”

  She didn’t feel the least bit reassured.

  Instead she moved to where he indicated at the back of the room near the windows, and folding her hands behind her, leaned against the wall. She watched him intently as he began his preparations. First, he moved one of the bottles away from the others, and closer to the engines. Secondly, he began to crank the strange machine with the flywheel. It seemed to work in conjunction with the other two machines to produce a spark at the end of a wire. Grant held it in his left hand while he removed the cork from the greenish glass bottle with his right. Only then did he touch the wire to the lip of the bottle.

  The explosion was so loud that she lost her hearing for a moment. The bottle shot off the table and nearly to the door before falling to the floor and shattering into a thousand shards.

  “Did you see that?” he exclaimed with all the excitement of a boy.

  She nodded, speech impossible at this moment.

  “Would you like to try it?”

  She shook her head, still unable to talk.

  “Are you quite certain?”

  Finally she was able to speak. “I can assure you, Grant, I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life.”

  He glanced at her. “You’re upset.”

  “The bottle could have exploded in the other direction,” she said. “It could have hit you. Or shattered in your face.”

  “Of course it couldn’t. The opening was toward me. The force of the blast would have carried it toward the door, which is why I asked you to move. I’m a scientist, Gillian. I have done this experiment many times.”

  She frowned at him, uncertain whether she was annoyed or still frightened.

  “You were worried about me, weren’t you?” He placed the still glowing wire on the edge of the table and then turned to her. “You truly were?”

  “An exceptionally foolish emotion,” she said. She was no longer frightened, but she was annoyed.

  “You mustn’t be,” he said. “But thank you for the compliment.”

  She glanced at him curiously.

  “It’s always a compliment when a beautiful woman worries about a man.”

  “You are insufferably arrogant, Your Lordship. And possibly very lucky. You must take more care.”

  “Have I taken on an apprentice who’s going to lecture me now?”

  “Someone must, I suspect.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and regarded him impassively. “Are you never afraid that you’re going to set the palace on fire?”

  He didn’t look up as he answered. “There was a time when I thought it should be razed to the ground,” he said surprisingly. “All manner of evil was once done here.”

  “What type of evil?”

  “It’s better if you don’t know,” he said, glancing at her quickly and then away. “I myself would have preferred to never know. Now I’m beset with memories, and I’d much rather not have them.”

  “Then why make this building your laboratory?”

  “The palace is only stone and brick. It doesn’t retain thoughts, feelings, or memories. Only people do. Therefore, it is for me to dismiss those memories.”

  “Sometimes memories remain with us.”

  “Only if we allow them.”

  She sat in the overstuffed chair at the other side of the room and regarded him critically. She was not yet his lover, or quite a stranger. Every time she saw him, however, she discovered something new about him. What did he see in her as the days passed?

  She sat forward, propping her elbows on her knees and planting her chin on her knuckles.

  There was such a vast gulf between them: lineage, history, interests. But there was as much that linked them: grief, loneliness, need, and the grandest of all of these: a physical awareness that thrummed between them.

  She watched him as he straightened up his workspace. “Are you not going to explode the other bottles?”

  He smiled. “I’m thinking that it would be wiser to do so outside. The gas seems particularly strong this time of year. There’s an area to the rear of the property that I’ve cleared for just such experiments.”

  “I commend your restraint, as well as your wisdom.”

  “So, the apprentice approves?”

  She stood and walked to the other side of the table, bracing her hands on the edge. After a moment, she slid her hand across the table, and it sat there for a moment before he did the same thing, covering her hand with his.

  “I don’t want you harmed,” she said. “Whether I remain at Rosemoor or not, I would not like to think of you causing damage to yourself.”

  His expression stilled. “Are you planning on leaving?”

  “Not now, but one day.”

  He didn’t answer, didn’t comment, but he moved his hand, suddenly intent on his equipment.

  “You can’t think I would stay here for the rest of my life.”

  His fingers stilled on the apparatus, his hand resting against the metal coils. Slowly he removed them, placing them on the table. He didn’t speak, neither to condemn nor to cajole, or even to question her further. But his gray eyes were suddenly smoldering, and she wondered if she’d anger
ed him.

  He walked around the table.

  “Why are you smiling?” he asked. “I confess to not feeling much humor at the moment.”

  “You look so determined,” she said. “As if I am some citadel that needs to be stormed.”

  “Do I? A marauding knight, is that what I am? I believe the first Earl of Straithern was similar in disposition.”

  “I wonder if most great families began with marauders.”

  “How else?”

  He was only a few inches from her. His eyes hadn’t warmed, and his expression was still somber. Her smile faded the longer he stood there, silent, intent, and almost intimidating.

  “What do you want of me?” she finally asked. Unwise words, perhaps, especially as he answered her.

  “I want you.”

  His thumbs brushed beneath her chin as the heels of his hands gently pushed her head back. “Shall I kiss you again, Gillian, simply to ensure that the experience was what we both remember?”

  “Do you want to?”

  He ignored her question.

  “Then I’ll take you to my bed.”

  “It’s morning,” she said, shocked.

  “Do you think that people only make love at night, Gillian?”

  “I’ve never given it any thought,” she said. Assignations with Robert had been done in the darkness, furtive couplings when they could both escape their households.

  Before she could say another word, he bent his head and kissed her. This kiss was not like the one in the chapel, or even the cupola. Sensations overwhelmed her to the point her words vanished immediately. His lips were warm, his tongue intrusive and hot, capable of inciting so many emotions that she couldn’t keep track of all of them. Abruptly she was in a vortex, spinning in a world suddenly dark and swirling with a multitude of bright colors.

  Her hands reached out to grip his shoulders. He was her anchor. He was creating these wonderful sensations, and yet he was the only oasis of safety in her altered world.