A Borrowed Scot Page 3

  Of course not, this debacle was more interesting than anything he might read.

  Standing in front of them, his expression thunderous, was Uncle Bertrand.

  He was a stout figure of a man, his buttons bulging on his vest. The Earl of Conley was fond of his food, and most of life’s pastimes, he was fond of saying. At the moment, however, he didn’t look particularly fond of her.

  “Well, niece? How do you explain this outrage?”

  Chapter 3

  “You foolish child! What have you done? What have you done?”

  Aunt Lilly stepped forward and slapped at her. When Veronica wasn’t quick enough to dodge, one of the blows struck her on the cheek. She pulled back, both of them momentarily horrified. As angry as Aunt Lilly had been with her in the past, she’d never before struck her. Especially in public. Outside. In front of an audience.

  Aunt Lilly shook her head, as if to negate both the action and the rage that fueled it. “See what you’ve made me do, child? I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life.”

  She glanced behind her, the look one of summons. None of her cousins mistook it and trailed behind their mother like ducklings heading for a pond.

  At the top of the steps, Aunt Lilly turned and looked down at her, decorum evidently pushed aside for her anger. “I took you in because you were family,” she said. “And because your uncle is a kind and generous man. You are his only sister’s only child. But if I had known, on that day, that you would shame us to such a degree, I would have let you starve in Scotland.”

  “Lilly,” Uncle Bertrand said, silencing her with one word.

  It was evident, from the look on her aunt’s face, that she waged an internal war between anger and obedience. In this rare instance, however, Uncle Bertrand did not win.

  “I refuse to have that harlot in my home,” Aunt Lilly said, extending one imperious finger toward her.

  Aunt Lilly leveled a look of such fulminating hatred on her that Veronica took a step back. She’d always known that family was intensely important to her aunt. She’d forgive her children anything, any slight, any imperfection, any failing. Evidently, her attitude of tolerance did not extend to a niece by marriage.

  “You have offended us in the most grievous way possible,” she said, her voice lowering in pitch as if conscious that the neighbors might be listening. “Not only have you sneaked out of our house in the middle of the night, but you return naked. Naked!” Evidently, decorum was being mightily trounced by anger. “You have jeopardized the futures of your cousins. If you cannot think of your own lamentable life, have you no Christian charity to spare for those who’ve done you no wrong? Indeed, everyone in this house has done nothing but welcome you to their bosoms from the moment you became an orphan. You were never alone. Never left to grieve or mourn. You were surrounded by love from the moment you came to this house, Veronica MacLeod. And what do you do to return that great love?”

  Aunt Lilly stood upright, her chest heaving, her florid face trembling with emotion. “You have brought shame to us.”

  They disappeared into the house, leaving the three of them standing outside in the fog-laden air.

  “You’re not a servant,” the stranger at her side said.

  “I never said I was. That was your assumption.”

  “Of course,” he said dryly. “One can naturally assume a lady to be at a Society of the Mercaii meeting.”

  “What sort of meeting?” Uncle Bertrand asked.

  The man at her side furnished the details. “They’re given to studying oddities of nature, the supernatural. No doubt ghosts and goblins and the like.”

  Her uncle turned and looked at her in contempt.

  “Your Gift again, Veronica?”

  She clasped her hands together, feeling the cold seep from her bare feet all the way up through her body. Or maybe her soul had simply turned to ice.

  “I merely wanted an answer, Uncle.”

  “And did giving you an answer require that you remove your clothing?”

  She’d never heard her uncle’s voice quite that loud. The neighbors were probably enjoying the spectacle.

  She’d never thought to be reprimanded on the front steps of her uncle’s townhouse. For that matter, she hadn’t thought to return home naked, or nearly so.

  Dear God, what had she done? Any criticism leveled at her was rightfully earned. She’d been worse than an idiot—she’d been a gullible, naïve idiot.

  Her uncle mounted the steps in front of her; but when she would have followed him, he held up his hand.

  “Do you think to enter this house with no further ramifications for your actions, Veronica? You are not welcome here.”

  “While I agree that your niece’s actions were reprehensible,” the stranger said, “surely banishment is a bit much?”

  Uncle Bertrand ignored him, addressing his comment to her.

  “You have set upon your own course, Veronica. Continue on with it.” He glanced at the man at her side. “At least you found yourself a titled protector.”

  “You know who I am?”

  “Montgomery Fairfax,” Uncle Bertrand said. “An American, recently come to England to prove your right to the title of 11th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster. I’m the Earl of Conley, a member of the Committee for Privileges of the House of Lords, sir. I oversaw your application.”

  “Should I thank you for your decision, sir?”

  “It was a fair one. It’s an old title and the line of succession was proven successfully, for all that you’re an American.”

  Uncle Bertrand’s glance swept up and down Montgomery in a gesture no doubt meant to be insulting.

  The man at her side stiffened.

  “A fact that might adequately explain your part in tonight’s disaster. However, my niece is not exempted by ignorance. She knows what constitutes proper behavior.”

  She took a step forward, wondering what she could say to soften her uncle’s anger. She hadn’t undressed herself. The fact that she couldn’t remember exactly what had happened was a worry, but was gullibility punishable to such a degree? Surely, he couldn’t mean what he said? Did he intend to cast her out, naked, onto the street?

  “Please, Uncle. I never intended to harm you or Aunt Lilly, or any of my cousins. I only wanted to know what they thought.”

  He disregarded her words, turned, and pulled the door open.

  She began to shake. She clasped her arms in front of her chest and willed herself not to fall. She would not faint or beg.

  But what was left her?

  She mounted two steps. “I wanted to know if my Gift was real,” she said. “My parents always said it was, but ever since coming to England, I’ve wondered.”

  Her uncle halted in the doorway.

  “You’ve always said I was foolish to believe them, to believe in it. I just wanted to know the truth.”

  “That explanation is supposed to excuse your behavior? I’m supposed to be reassured that society will call you daft as well as wanton?”

  She wasn’t going to tell him the other reason she’d attended the meeting. Doing so would probably garner her even more punishment. But what could be worse than being sent to live on the streets?

  Her uncle gave her a look no doubt meant to chastise her—and succeeded admirably—before closing the door in her face.

  Montgomery had seen men paralyzed by fear on the battlefield. They couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that war was real, that death was truly imminent. So they stood there and waited to be shot or blown to bits by cannon.

  Right at that moment, he knew exactly how they felt.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  “Damn it,” he said, striding toward the door.

  He glanced at the woman on the steps. “Don’t make this situation worse by crying,” he said. “I’ll not tolerate it.” A moment later, he looked back over at her. “I mean it,” he added, before turning and pounding on the door.

  When no one answered the knock, he turned, fr
owning down at her.

  Now what did he do?

  “Will you take me in?” she asked.

  When he didn’t—couldn’t—respond, she smiled tremulously. “My reputation is evidently destroyed. Does it matter if I stay with you?”

  “It matters to me. I’ve no intention of caring for a woman. A silly woman. A woman without an ounce of sense.”

  “Why are you so angry? I’m the one who’s just been tossed out of her home. Not you.”

  He glanced down at her.

  “I felt, for some reason, compelled to rescue you from the events of tonight. I didn’t realize that would require finding you a place to live, too.”

  At that, her spirit seemed to rise in some contradictory fashion. She tilted her chin up and glared at him.

  “I did not ask you to rescue me.”

  “No,” he said, biting off the words. “You’d have preferred being raped in full view of dozens of men.”

  That shut her up.

  What the hell did he do with her?

  He didn’t underestimate the Earl of Conley’s stubbornness, especially since the man had admitted to being part of that insufferable body of aristocrats before whom he’d had to appear last week. They’d been supremely aware of their position in life as well as their exceptionality.

  The Earl of Conley might well leave his niece to starve.

  Nor would remaining huddled on the front door of her uncle’s home do anything to repair Veronica’s reputation.

  “You needn’t frown at me,” she said, her voice sounding as if she were trying not to cry.

  “I can’t say that I’d do any different if you were my niece,” he said, barely restraining his anger. “You’ve been an absolute idiot.”

  She turned and, without another word, marched down the stairs, down the path, and to the street. He thought she was going to the carriage, but she disregarded it and kept walking.

  She was an idiot.

  He caught up with her finally, grabbed her arm, and twirled her around to face him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Leaving.”

  “Do you have a friend to stay with? Or another relative?”

  “I don’t know anyone else in London,” she said, her curious accent making the words sound almost lyrical.

  “Then where did you think you were going?”

  “Away,” she said, looking up at him. “Anywhere. It’s quite evident that neither you nor my uncle wants me around.”

  The fog was lifting, the lamplight glowing like a yellow moon.

  He speared his hand through his hair, offered her the unadorned truth. “I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m going to do.”

  “Neither do I,” she said primly.

  “Get in the carriage,” he said.

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it wouldn’t be proper.”

  He began to laugh. Probably not the right time for amusement, but her comment caught him off guard.

  “After tonight? You worried about propriety while you’re walking down the street nearly naked? Get in the carriage, Veronica.”

  “You should address me as Miss McLeod,” she said, then evidently realized the foolishness of that request because a fleeting smile graced her lips for a second before disappearing.

  She turned and began to walk back to the carriage, with him following slowly behind. He couldn’t leave her there, especially since he was certain her uncle wasn’t going to allow her into the house. Nor could he take her home. That would make the scandal worse.

  Although standards had relaxed in the last five years because of the war, if he’d been caught with a Virginia girl in his carriage, attired in nothing more than a robe, he’d have been given the immediate option of marrying her or deciding where he’d like to be buried.

  If he’d known anyone else in London, if he’d made any friends close enough to drop Veronica on their doorstep, he’d have done so. Unfortunately, he’d only been in the city a few weeks, and during that time, he’d deliberately kept himself aloof. He didn’t like London, and he wasn’t certain he liked the English. No, after that night, he was dead certain of it.

  Now what?

  He couldn’t drive around London for hours.

  Do the right thing. He’d heard Caroline’s words as if she’d whispered in his mind. Damn it, he’d done the right thing, only to be punished for it now.

  Veronica turned at the door of the carriage.

  “Where are we going?”

  There was no other answer, was there?

  “To my home,” he said, feeling the noose of responsibility tighten around his neck.

  Veronica did not have a good feeling about this. Not a good feeling at all. She’d been banished from her uncle’s home. What on earth was to happen to her?

  Her aunt’s voice sounded in her ear: You should have thought of that earlier, Veronica.

  She didn’t feel well. What she wanted most to do was to go to bed, Perhaps draw the covers up around her and stay there for the next year or so. Just then, however, she didn’t have a bed. Or a roof over her head.

  If dreams were pennies, we’d all be rich—one of her father’s sayings.

  She was not going to cry.

  Really, she wasn’t.

  Tears are foolish. How many times had Aunt Lilly said that to her?

  She turned her head as the carriage began to move, watching the fog-shrouded scenery. The square was quite orderly and lovely in its way. Everything was regulated and precise. The iron gate was never allowed to sag or rust. The trees were trimmed so they had a pleasing appearance.

  Nothing was ever amiss in Dorchester Square.

  Except for her.

  She was the only odd creature in Dorchester Square.

  People did not come in one shape or size. People had different colors of eyes, different shades of hair. Some people were tall, while others were short. Some were rotund, while others were scrawny.

  Very well, she wasn’t like her cousins. She didn’t have their blond prettiness. Her hair was an unremarkable brown. Her eyes were the same color as her mother’s, a soft green that on some days faded to a brownish color. They had an odd dark ring around them, so they were arresting, whatever color they chose to be for that day. She was not possessed of many social graces, having been reared in an isolated part of Scotland. She was truly amazed by the life she saw around her and wanted to know the answers to a thousand mysteries.

  Surely that wasn’t considered odd.

  Despite being four years older than Amanda, the oldest cousin, she sometimes felt young and naïve compared to all of them. She knew nothing of the London season, according to Amanda. Nor, according to Alice, could she dance well enough to comport herself properly in a ballroom. She was not, as she’d kindly been told by Algernon, the type of girl who’d attract the attention of the right kind of suitor.

  She’d responded she didn’t want to attract anyone.

  Adam had countered with a reassuring smile, but most of the time Adam had his nose in a book and couldn’t be bothered with what was going on around him.

  Anne was the nicest of the girls, and only because she was engaged to be married soon and consumed with her own affairs. In the last seven months, Anne had undergone a transformation. She was no longer as flighty, and had taken to having an almost matronly air. Alice said it was because she felt superior to them because she was due to be married and move to Cornwall with her baronet.

  One day, Anne had confided to her that she was already planning the names of her children.

  “I shall not name them all names that begin with A,” she said. “Instead, I think good, biblical names would be best.”

  Veronica hadn’t an answer. Nor did she have any explanation for what she sensed in Anne: a growing dismay, a certain kind of dread like black ink dissolving in water. The longer it remained, the more it spread, until the whole surface of the water itself was gray and no longer clear.


  On that day, only weeks ago, she’d wanted to lean over, place her hand on top of Anne’s, and ask her what was wrong.

  Anne would no more have confided in her than any of her cousins. Instead, she would’ve laughed gaily and made some cutting remark, such as, “You’re being fey again, aren’t you? Is it a Scottish thing?”

  Sometimes, the impressions she got were so strong she had to make a concerted effort to block everyone out. Otherwise, she couldn’t even hear herself think for all the conflicting feelings. The worst part of it was that sometimes she felt as if those feelings—anguish, joy, and fear—belonged to her. When it got to be too much, the only remedy was to close the door on her chamber and seek out the silence.

  She was not odd.

  Was it wrong of her to want to know what learned men thought?

  And even if she were, surely such a quest for knowledge wasn’t deserving of banishment.

  Dear God, what was to happen to her?

  She glanced at Montgomery Fairfax.

  He was taking her to his home.

  She’d escaped the Mercaii only to find herself in a worse predicament.

  What would her uncle say to that?

  Chapter 4

  Montgomery Fairfax’s townhouse was not appreciably different from Uncle Bertrand’s home. It was smaller, of course, being in the center of a row of houses, but the square in which it was situated was as proper and well maintained.

  Veronica had a brief view of a long corridor and a steep staircase, but that was all she was able to see since Montgomery had grabbed her hand once she’d exited the carriage and marched up to the third floor, nearly pulling her behind him.

  Lust was evidently not on his mind, for which she was deeply grateful. However, she didn’t like being treated as if she were a package he’d been given, one that belonged to another person and whose disposition was an irritant.

  He knocked on a door at the end of the hall, and when it was opened by an older woman, thrust her forward.

  “You are to guard her, Mrs. Gardiner. She is not to leave your company. You are not to let Miss MacLeod out of your sight. Do you understand?”