In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams Page 19

  She frowned at him again and slapped both arms down on her skirt.

  He had marshaled his arguments well, especially the one about the mill.

  Her mother would be spared any further worry. They’d be able to keep the household without losing Mabel, Lily, and the upstairs maid.

  “For the love of all that’s holy, Glynis, would you just answer?”

  She blinked at him, uncertain why he was so suddenly irritated.

  Despite all his talk of being pressured to marry, she didn’t believe him. In addition, he could as easily give her the money and she’d tell Duncan the amount came from the diplomatic service and they’d been mistaken about Richard’s estate.

  She didn’t make those arguments for one reason: this was Lennox. Who cared if he offered for her out of misguided pity? What difference did it make what the reason was? She’d be Lennox’s wife.

  But he hadn’t listed the one reason that would have tipped the scales. He hadn’t said he loved her.

  What did he feel about her?

  She was his childhood nemesis. She’d trailed after him endlessly as a girl. She’d annoyed, exasperated, and amused him. But she was no longer a child.

  Then there was that kiss in the garden.

  She wanted him in her bed. She wanted him to hold her and kiss her. She wanted to feel the passion she’d felt that moonlit night at Hillshead. If she were his wife, no one would tell tales. No one would dictate her behavior. She would be Lennox’s bride, free to kiss him awake and fall asleep with him holding her close.

  How long had she wished for that? How many years had she dreamed of it?

  Her cheeks warmed as she nodded, acceptance in a gesture.

  He simply watched her. Did he want the words? Very well, she’d give them to him.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Lennox.”

  He kissed her before she could move or even think. Suddenly, his lips were on hers, his arms around her waist.

  She was trapped by having to keep her recalcitrant hoop from flying in the air, so she had no choice but to submit to his embrace and his kiss.

  She had no choice at all.

  His thumbs were pressing against her corset at the base of her breasts while his lips tasted hers. His tongue was entirely too brash, darting into her mouth and out again, forcing her to chase him for a taste.

  She wanted to hold his face still, rain kisses over his bristly cheeks and his eyebrows, his ears, his chin, and his lovely throat.

  What a pity she couldn’t take his shirt off and feel the expanse of his chest.

  She pulled back with difficulty, blinked up at him, gratified to see his gaze wasn’t as focused as it had been a moment earlier.

  Passion had them both in its snare. She was trapped in a web and Lennox was the spider. For once she didn’t mind feeling like a fly.

  Come and get me.

  “When?” she asked.

  “When?”

  She nodded. How long must she wait until he came to her? How many months until they could be man and wife?

  “A week.”

  “A week?”

  Her mother wouldn’t understand. Or maybe she would. Still, all of Glasgow would be shocked, but then they already thought she and Lennox were racing through the garden like Adam and Eve, didn’t they? Lucy had been their snake and was now doing everything in her power to ensure a scandal.

  “Why so soon?” she asked.

  “Why not?”

  She couldn’t think of an objection. If they were going to wed, why not immediately?

  “A week,” she said. “As long as you don’t invite Lucy Whittaker to the wedding.”

  He frowned at her. “Or Matthew Baumann.”

  She nodded.

  Before she knew what he was going to do, he stood, still clasping her waist with both hands. Her hoop twanged as it assumed its proper shape.

  Why were women fitted with all these clothes ensuring they couldn’t move easily? One day hoops would be outlawed and she’d cheerfully take hers into the backyard and burn it.

  She leaned forward, constrained by the damnable garment, and placed both hands on his chest.

  Words didn’t come as easily with Lennox as they had at one time. Was it because she had so much more to hide? Or because she felt vulnerable around him?

  It was one thing to tell herself she felt nothing for Lennox. Quite another to discover she’d been lying all this time.

  She wanted another kiss. She wanted to stay here for hours kissing Lennox. She might even tumble to the floor in front of the cold fireplace with him.

  The knock on the door put an end to that idea.

  “Glynis,” her mother called out, nervousness in her voice. “Charlotte is leaving.”

  Charlotte.

  She bowed her head and sighed.

  “I forgot all about Charlotte,” she said.

  Lennox grabbed her hands, raised both to his lips, and kissed her knuckles.

  “She couldn’t be here at a better time,” he said. Moving past her to the door, he opened it wide.

  Her mother stood there flanked by a scowling Charlotte.

  Lennox glanced behind him, stretching out his hand for her.

  “I hope you’ll congratulate me,” he said, smiling.

  She stepped forward, put her hand in his and stood at his side.

  “Glynis has agreed to be my wife.”

  Her mother took a deep breath, released it, and looked upward.

  “Thank the saints,” Eleanor said, although she was a good Presbyterian.

  Charlotte’s eyes just widened. How many times would this story be retold at the confectioner’s?

  Glynis was certain within hours the tale would be spread about how her engagement occurred after only moments alone with Lennox. No doubt Charlotte—or her husband—would regale their audience with how well-kissed Glynis looked when the door finally opened. How Eleanor MacIain, long despairing of her daughter, looked relieved enough to cry.

  At least she was fully dressed.

  She blew out a breath, held onto Lennox’s hand tightly, and realized it was a great deal easier playing the role of a proper Washington matron than it was being herself.

  Chapter 26

  Glynis realized her mother was looking up at her.

  “Did you hear nothing of what I said, Glynis?”

  “I didn’t, Mother,” she said, feeling her cheeks warm. “I was thinking of other things.” She’d been remembering Lennox’s kiss and wondering if he was as superb a lover as he was at kissing.

  Her mother was seated before her as she stood on a crate. They’d decided to alter one of her mother’s dresses to serve as her wedding gown. Although the garment had to be taken in at the waist, let out at the bodice, and hemmed, it was better than marrying in mourning or dark blue.

  “I’m so glad you chose this one,” Eleanor said, handing a pin to Lily. “The cream color was always too young for me, but it will serve admirably. Of course, it would have been nice to order something new. Time being what it is, we didn’t have that option.”

  “You don’t mind it being so soon?” she asked.

  Tonight she was going to be married. Tonight she was going to marry Lennox. Tonight Lennox would come to her bed.

  The thought was terrifyingly wonderful.

  “Of course not, my dear. It’s seven years too late, now, isn’t it?” Eleanor smiled up at her. “My darling daughter, you’ve always loved him. To the detriment of your good sense, I think. But love is that way. It grabs hold and shakes your mind until you have no sense left.”

  She glanced down at her mother, surprised. “Is that how it was with you and Father?”

  Her mother’s smile held a tinge of sadness. “From the very day I saw him. There he was and I couldn’t look away. I made my sister find out who he was but he didn’t wait for an introduction. He stepped up to me, proud as you please, and introduced himself as a MacIain.”

  Glynis had heard the story before bu
t she never tired of listening to it.

  “‘A MacIain?’ I said. ‘Aye, from the Highlands.’” Eleanor smiled. “Your father was the most handsome man I ever saw in his kilt.” She picked up the hem of the dress and smiled again, this time with more amusement. “I think the women of our family must love deeply and well. That kind of love brings great happiness, but there must always be a trade. You must sacrifice something for it.”

  “Pride,” Glynis said.

  Her mother looked surprised. “Perhaps it is pride,” she said. “The ability to cast aside anything but love. To give without thought of return. Whatever it is, loving the way we do requires some sacrifice.” She smiled. “I’m so glad for this day. You claimed him when you were five years old.”

  Her mother stared at the hem, sighed and finally spoke.

  “I was not adverse to Lucy’s talk,” she said, surprising Glynis. “I hoped it would lead to just this conclusion. I know it’s a terrible thing to admit and I hope you’ll forgive me for it. I didn’t want you to leave again.”

  “You were hoping scandal would force us to wed?”

  Eleanor smiled. “Nothing is actually forcing you to wed, Glynis. Scandal is just giving both of you an excuse to lay down your pride.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Was her mother right?

  Eleanor stood and embraced her, her perfume a cloud of warm spicy scent.

  What if Lennox didn’t want her? That was a question she couldn’t ask anyone because the answer might be too difficult to hear. What if he only wanted to marry her to protect her? Either by keeping Baumann or the police at bay, or ensuring the mill was still operating.

  They hadn’t discussed emotions. He hadn’t declared his undying love for her. Nor had she confessed she’d always loved him.

  She gave Eleanor a kiss on the cheek and smiled at her.

  “I wasn’t going to leave, Mother. I won’t, I promise.”

  Eleanor held her hand as she stepped down from the crate and walked to the pier glass.

  “You are the most beautiful bride, Glynis,” her mother said, smiling at her again.

  She wasn’t altogether sure she looked beautiful. Her face was too pale and there was a blemish forming in the middle of her cheek. Powder covered it, and gave her complexion an even more masklike appearance. She used a rose-colored pomade on her lips an hour ago but it had disappeared.

  She blinked at herself, wishing she was as pretty as Lennox was handsome. Her face was a strange shape, almost pixielike, and her bottom lip so full she always looked like she’d been chewing on it. Her eyes commanded attention, and she’d grown accustomed to strangers staring at her because of them.

  She was of average height and slender except for her breasts, which seemed to belong to a much larger woman. They’d always been a source of consternation to her mother, who had to order the seamstresses in the past to take in the waist of her garments and let out the bosom.

  The cream-colored gown made her look even paler. The style seemed to accentuate her flaws rather than her assets, and those assets were spilling out the top of her dress.

  She wanted to be beautiful tonight, and it had never mattered much before. She wanted Lennox to be happy circumstances had forced them together. She wanted him to be glad for their wedding night.

  Seven years ago she’d imagined her wedding with the whole of Glasgow attending the ceremony uniting the MacIain daughter to the scion of the Cameron and Company empire.

  People would have come from miles around to watch the two of them. Speculation might abound but there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind they adored each other, from the rapturous smiles they shared to the longing glances in each other’s eyes.

  She would have worn something from Worth, perhaps, a gown her father declared was perfect for her. It doesn’t matter what it costs, he might have said.

  Her mother would’ve spent the weeks before the ceremony inviting people to come and celebrate the most glorious of days, the uniting of the MacIain and Cameron families.

  Mr. Cameron would have been there, beaming, proud of the new daughter his son had brought into the family. Mary would’ve kissed and hugged her, grateful to be getting a sister.

  She envisioned the occasion so many times it had achieved the status of a dream. Nothing could hope to measure up to it, certainly not her civil wedding to Richard attended only by her parents, Duncan, her London cousin, and Richard’s aged mother.

  Now she was dressed in a borrowed gown. Her father was gone and Mr. Cameron and Mary in Bute. Both households were going to be in attendance for the ceremony, to be officiated by a Presbyterian minister, but there would be none of the pomp and circumstance she’d dreamed about as a girl.

  The only time her dream and reality blurred together was in the wedding supper. Her mother had decided the event should be grand. Lennox had offered his staff and larder. The house had been a beehive in the last four days. She couldn’t take a breath without smelling the delicious odor of roasting meat and plum pudding, and she could hardly move without encountering a servant from Hillshead.

  She knew why she was marrying Lennox—she had always adored him. Her feelings hadn’t changed however much she pretended they had. But why was Lennox willing to marry her? Was it only a way to help them financially? Did he simply feel sorry for her?

  How horrible to marry because of pity.

  Even worse, that she didn’t care.

  LUCY CLOSED the door on the chambermaid, walked to the reading chair the hotel had finally provided for her and sat staring out at the view of Trongate Street. The thoroughfare looked nothing like civilized London.

  Two weeks, they said. Two more weeks before the inquest, and she could go home.

  She stretched out her stocking feet, delighting in the freedom from shoes. All in all, being a widow pleased her more than having a husband. Everyone commiserated with her. Even the Scots had been kind and considerate.

  Would she like some more cream in her tea? Another currant scone? What about a better light for reading?

  She didn’t know if the consideration was because Lennox paid her bills and left instructions that she was to be given anything she wanted. Or because people she encountered were genuinely sorry for her. It could be a combination of both.

  So far she’d only been able to acquire two black dresses, with promises another would be ready before her departure and the other three to be sent to her. If Lennox was paying for a new wardrobe, why should she skimp?

  Tonight he was marrying Glynis in a private ceremony, she’d been told. Most of Glasgow had been invited to the reception. She had not, of course, since it would be a glaring breech of decorum.

  She wasn’t the least disappointed to miss the event.

  Tonight, while Glynis was forced to accept her bridegroom, Lucy would be free to read or eat biscuits in her bed.

  Gavin wasn’t there to tiptoe up to her or whisper how fetching she looked in her new peignoir.

  No more “Lucy, honey, how about a little kiss?” No more “We’re married, darlin’, it’s expected.”

  Her nights were her own. She needn’t pretend to be tired or ask Gavin how many times must he bed her in a week. Her mother had counseled endurance, but how much was a woman supposed to tolerate? Gavin had always been touching her.

  She didn’t miss him telling her how she must act. No “Lucy, you can’t say such things. People won’t understand. They like their country, however barbaric it may appear.”

  Or: “You’ll love Georgia, honey, I know you will.”

  She’d wept for Gavin yesterday at his funeral. Lennox had paid for that, as well, and the vault in the Necropolis. The City of the Dead was a most disturbing place, filled with shadows and swift breezes whining around the mausoleums. She’d been very distressed by it. A good thing she’d never visit it again.

  Gavin had been such a handsome, personable man, and so solicitous when they’d first met. All her friends complimented her on his courtliness, his wonderful man
ners. She would never tell them that he’d been a rutting beast with his mind too focused on carnal acts.

  When she returned home, she would be the recipient of the same pitying glances as when she ventured down to the lobby in one of her new black gowns. The porter nearly tripped over his feet to escort her to a banquette in the tea room.

  People were probably whispering about her. Dear Lucy, widowed so young. A terrible thing, to lose her poor husband in such a way. Gavin would forever be enshrined in everyone’s memory. What a tragedy, for the man to go off and get himself murdered.

  She would have to practice looking sad.

  LENNOX ROLLED up the plans for the newest ship, added a note to one of his designers, and put it in the satchel that would be taken to the yard.

  Carving out time from his schedule was difficult but he had a good staff and they could carry on without him for a few days. Finishing up another set of estimates took an hour, during which he found himself staring out his library window, wondering at his emotions.

  She’s always been in love with you, you know.

  Glynis hadn’t said anything, hadn’t revealed her emotions. Nor had he, for that matter.

  He didn’t like this feeling of tricking her into marriage. He’d held out the inducement of helping the mill, and it might have been enough to make her agree. He doubted gossip bothered her. The girl he’d known would have simply ignored the rumors. Or had she?

  She’d thought he was going to marry Lidia Bobrova. Perhaps it was fitting that gossip led to their marriage. It had certainly changed their lives seven years ago.

  She’s always been in love with you, you know.

  But was she still that girl?

  The Glynis he’d known said what she felt, had been ferociously loyal to her parents, Duncan, and her friends. She went out of her way to be kind to others, but she was often awkward socially, as if she wanted to do everything at once and didn’t have time to be polite.

  Glynis had been impulsive and reckless, filled with life and laughter. There wasn’t anything deceptive about her; each emotion shone through her eyes.