A Borrowed Scot (18 page)

“And you, Veronica?” he asked, turning. “You found yourself wife to a stranger, an American. Enough difficulty for one woman, I would think.”

She didn’t answer him.

“I try to stay away. Somehow, I always find my way here.”

His honesty startled her.

She unfastened the rest of her buttons.

“No more questions?” he asked.

“No,” she said, as honest as he’d been. “It’s foolish to pretend. You come near me, and I want to make love to you.”

At that, he was the one to look startled.

“You’re the most amazing woman.”

“Am I?” She smiled. “Amazing enough that you’ll continue to talk to me? I know nothing of you, Montgomery.”

“On the contrary, Veronica, you know a great deal about me.” His smile was slightly wicked.

“I’m not talking about how you look naked, Montgomery. I’m talking about what you do all day in the distillery, or what your plans are for your balloon.”

She stood in front of him, placed her hands on his arms, and allowed her fingers to trail from his upper arms down to his wrists and back, needing to touch him. He’d taken off his coat, but his shirt was in the way.

“We won’t talk about the past. Can we talk about now? Or what might come in the future?”

His eyes stayed fixed on her face. Yet he gave her no hint of his thoughts as silence stretched between them.

She closed her eyes, reached out, and tried to feel the emotions coming from him. Heat. Desire. Need. A loneliness so acute it mimicked her own.

“Veronica.”

Her eyes flew open at the sound of his voice. Low and soft, it had the effect of causing her skin to pebble.

“What price do you demand for a kiss?” he asked, gripping her waist with both hands and pulling her close.

“I’ll give that to you as a gift, Montgomery.”

He pulled her up until she was standing on tiptoe. Her arms wound around his neck, and his lips were on hers. It felt like a lifetime since he’d kissed her.

When he released her, she laid her forehead against his chest, breathing hard.

“What else do you want to know, my inquisitive wife?”

She wanted, desperately, to ask about Caroline, but suspected he would leave if she did. She took another moment to compose herself, then asked, “What do you do in the distillery?”

“I’m developing a navigation system for my airship. It’s in the early stages yet.”

She pulled back and looked up at him. “Why?”

“Come to the distillery next week, and I’ll show you.”

He’d never welcomed her there, and on the few occasions when she’d strayed to the building, had been annoyed at her appearance.

“I’m not taking off my nightgown yet,” she said.

“I’m answering your questions.”

How many women in America had he charmed with that smile? How many women had nearly swooned at his appearance?

He placed his hand on her left breast, gently cupping the linen. His thumb stroked against her nipple.

She closed her eyes at the sensation. A moment later, she opened them again as a thought occurred to her.

“Would you prefer I didn’t feel anything when you touched me?”

He lowered his head until his lips brushed her temple.

“That’s a question too foolish to answer.”

“I can’t help feeling things when you touch me,” she said.

“We’ll keep it a secret between us,” he said. “I’ll never divulge you’re a harlot in the bedroom and a lady in the parlor.”

“I wasn’t very proper in the parlor, either,” she said, trying to concentrate when he was gently squeezing a nipple. Heat pooled between her thighs. “Have you visited many harlots?”

“I don’t think that’s a question I’m going to answer. If I do, I will demand something quite large in return.”

“What would that be?” she asked. When had she become so breathless?

His hand had not moved, and two of his fingers were plucking at her nipple. The soft linen magnified the effect of his touch, sending a spear of heat down through her body.

“The entire nightgown,” he said. “All at once. I want you naked, Veronica.”

The game had become a tug-of-war between them, something almost forbidden, and therefore even more exciting.

“I think not,” she said.

His lips began to trail down her throat, and she tilted her head back to give him better access. He was cheating, in his way, but it felt so delicious, she didn’t challenge him.

“How did you become so adept at lovemaking?” she asked, feeling his lips curve against the tender spot just below her chin.

“Is that a proper question for a wife to ask?”

“No,” she corrected him, “I’m a harlot at this moment. Not a wife. Not a lady.”

“Then you should definitely be naked.”

“I’m a very expensive harlot, Montgomery. A man must earn the right to bed me.”

“I’ve answered all your questions,” he said, bending to kiss her.

She reached out with both hands and gripped the material of his shirt. Her fingers scraped against his fabric-covered skin. She wanted to feel him, feel her skin against his, the friction of damp flesh against damp flesh. She wanted him inside her, bringing her release, coupling with her in a dance of pleasure and passion.

If she were playing the harlot, she should excel at her role. She stepped back, took his hand, and led the way to her bed. She stripped off the nightgown, extinguished the lamp, and slid beneath the covers, reaching for him.

In seconds, Montgomery was naked and joining her.

She trembled when he touched her, reached out a hand and closed it over his hard length and guided it to her wetness. If it were possible to need too much, then she did. She wanted the connection, ached for the pleasure.

He drove into her. Her body, pierced by pleasure, arched in response. Her fingers clenched on his shoulders before reaching down to grip his hips.

Her skin was slick, her heart pounding. She wanted to experience it all, the feel of Montgomery, the wildness of his passion, the strength of his body, the sound he made when his head arched back, and his face tightened.

They were separate people, each strangers to the other. They came together in passion, though, didn’t they? If that was the only way they could communicate, then so be it.

It would do for the moment.

Chapter 19

M
ontgomery may have answered some of her questions, but two remained uppermost in Veronica’s mind. Who was Caroline and did Montgomery still grieve for her?

Nor had his response about leaving Scotland appeased her.
I don’t know.
Hardly a satisfactory answer.

She hadn’t lied to him; she didn’t want to go to America.

She could close her eyes and hear the timbre of the speech of the maids and know herself home, feeling a closeness to her parents she hadn’t felt in London. The sheer beauty of the mountains surrounding Doncaster Hall and the undulating flocks of sheep declared her in the Highlands, and this was where she wanted to stay.

A borrowed Scot, that’s what Mr. Kerr had called Montgomery. Did the solicitor know something she didn’t? Had Montgomery been more candid with him? He’d professed to know nothing in London, but had something changed once Montgomery reached Doncaster Hall?

“Lady Fairfax.”

She nearly jumped at the sound of the solicitor’s voice.

“Mr. Kerr,” she said, placing her hand flat against her chest. “You frightened me.” Especially since she’d just been thinking of the man.

“Forgive me, Your Ladyship, it was not my intent.”

The solicitor stood at the base of the stairs, looking up at her.

Slowly, she descended the steps, halting when she was two steps above him.

“You met His Lordship at the Society of the Mercaii, did you not?”

She nodded. Montgomery’s solicitor must know of the circumstances of their meeting. Did he know the entire story?

“Doncaster Hall is experiencing many temporal disturbances, Lady Fairfax. It’s my intention to attempt to contact the spirits and calm them.”

She descended the next step, coming so close to Mr. Kerr that she could reach out and touch him.

“I didn’t know you had an interest in the occult, Mr. Kerr.”

“I assume, Your Ladyship, by your attendance at the Society, you share my interest.”

She didn’t answer, merely waited for him to continue.

“Would you care to assist me in a gathering?” he asked.

“You’re going to talk to the dead, Mr. Kerr?”

He nodded.

She could feel his thrumming excitement. If he’d been a squirrel in truth, he’d have been standing on his hind legs, his paws scrabbling in the air and his nose twitching frantically.

She wondered if she’d misjudged him. Or was it simply the idea of contacting the dead that inspired her to smile at him, matching his toothy expression? She might solve the mystery of Caroline’s identity on her own.

“Yes, Mr. Kerr,” she said, “I would very much like to assist you.”

M
ontgomery hadn’t gotten any productive work done all day. Every time he tried to concentrate on the design, he thought of Veronica’s words.

Did you have slaves?

He could hear the barely veiled horror in Veronica’s voice when she’d asked that question.

Gleneagle had been left to all three of them equally. One brother had no more say than another, despite his birth placement. However, two of them could outvote the third, and he’d found his wishes being overridden by Alisdair and James.

In an action that, even to this day he couldn’t accept, his brothers had continued the practice their father had instituted. Gleneagle had been no different from any other James River plantation. Everything Magnus Fairfax had believed in, everything he’d taught Montgomery, everything Montgomery had come to accept was right and moral, had been pushed aside.

His decision to join the Union Army hadn’t been an easy one. Nor had it been simple to explain why he did so to his family. His brothers hadn’t understood and decided it was his airships dictating his decision. He’d allowed them to continue to believe that.

If he had it to do over, he’d tell them the truth. Even now, he sometimes wished his ghosts were real. If they had been, he’d address Alisdair first, as the oldest. Then James, waiting until his brother’s mischievous twinkle sobered.

Would it have changed anything? No, but at least he wouldn’t have been left with this feeling that he’d not been honest.

“I’m stopping,” he said to Tom, who, until a week ago, had been more than happy to work in the stable. In the past week, however, the boy had gotten a touch of airship enchantment and was checking all the seams in the balloon Montgomery would take up in a few days to test the air currents.

“You can give it up for the day, Tom,” he said, guessing that if the boy had his wish, he’d keep working.

“If you don’t mind, Your Lordship,” he said, “I’ll finish what I’ve started.”

He nodded, approving of Tom’s work habits. All the people employed here were the same, leading him to wonder if being industrious as well as capable were traits of the Scots, or if they were reserved for those who worked at Doncaster Hall.

Gloaming had settled around Doncaster Hall by the time he entered the front door. Ralston wasn’t at his post, but that in itself wasn’t unusual since Ralston had, for the last several weeks, been absent, devoting himself to errands necessary for the care and maintenance of Montgomery’s airships. Yet when he went in search of Veronica, he couldn’t find her, either.

He wondered if he’d missed dinner again and consulted his pocket watch to ensure he hadn’t. Mrs. Brody, always assiduous in her duties, sent a maid to the distillery with provisions each day, in case he grew hungry or thirsty while working. Therefore, hunger was never a distraction.

Mrs. Brody, also, was not to be found.

He strode toward the Armory, intent on asking Edmund if he knew the whereabouts of the inhabitants of Doncaster Hall, only to be halted at the doorway by the sight before him.

One of the tables had been moved from another room, covered in a white cloth, and placed in the middle of the Armory. Five chairs sat around the rectangular table, several of them occupied by people he sought.

Edmund sat at the head of the table. To his right was Veronica, with Elspeth beside her. Mrs. Brody and a young woman he didn’t recognize made up the rest of the group. The wall sconces had been extinguished. The only lighting in the room was a lone candle in the middle of the table.

No one noticed he was standing there, so he moved into the shadows, folded his arms, and leaned against the wall. He knew what they were doing. His Aunt Penelope had conducted numerous séances in an effort to reach her son and husband. No one had attempted to stop her since she seemed to gain some comfort from her spiritualistic sessions.

What he couldn’t understand was why Edmund was leading the group.

Something caught his attention, a black space where there should have been a wall. He walked to it and realized part of the wall was ajar. Doncaster Hall evidently had some secrets. He peered inside and could see the shadow of a step.

“Please don’t shut it,” Veronica said.

He glanced back at her to find she was still staring intently at the candle.

“You need to be very quiet, Montgomery. We’re summoning spirits.”

“Why?” he asked. “Who?”

Edmund startled him by turning and sending him an irritated glance.

“There have been a variety of disturbances at Doncaster Hall, Your Lordship, ever since you ascended to the title. We are trying to contact the 10
th
Lord Fairfax to see if he is displeased.”

“Does it matter if the 10
th
Lord Fairfax is displeased? The 10
th
Lord Fairfax is dead, buried in a crypt.”

Elspeth evidently thought that was amusing, because he glimpsed a wisp of a smile before her face assumed a more sober expression. Veronica, however, was still staring at the candle and not looking in his direction at all.

“Do you contact the dead often?” he asked Edmund.

“Alice says she has heard footsteps in the secret passage, Your Lordship,” Edmund said, inclining his head toward the girl Montgomery didn’t recognize.

“The 10
th
Lord Fairfax liked us using the secret passages, Your Lordship,” Mrs. Brody said. She gestured with her chin toward the open passage door. “That particular one leads to your chamber, sir.”

Not after he nailed it shut. Why the hell hadn’t anyone told him about the secret passages? It made him wonder if his grandfather had replicated those as well. If he had, surely he’d have let his grandchildren know. What greater exploration could there have been for three curious boys?

Or perhaps Magnus hadn’t known all of Doncaster Hall’s secrets.

“Maybe the 10
th
Lord is hard of hearing,” he said dryly.

Mrs. Brody turned to Edmund. “He was quite aged when he died, Your Ladyship. Perhaps we need to speak louder.”

He’d been jesting, but each person at the table took his comment seriously.

Perhaps you should tell them you talk to ghosts yourself, Montgomery.

He smiled at James’s voice. “There’s one difference between us,” he said mentally. “I
know
you’re not there.”

Maybe one day you’ll think we’re real,
Alisdair said.
Once, you did.

He was delirious and ill,
Caroline said.

Caroline was always coming to his defense, even in her imaginary state.

He pushed away his ghosts to concentrate on what Veronica was saying.

“We are here if you wish to speak to us. Or let us know if you’re unhappy.”

Montgomery couldn’t believe she was serious.

His solicitor nodded as if he approved of Veronica’s comments. “Ask him if he’s trapped between the living and the dead, Your Ladyship.”

“Stephen,” she said, addressing the 10
th
Lord Fairfax by his given name, “show us a sign you can hear us.”

Montgomery looked around the room, knowing the others expected one of the weapons to fall off the wall or the candle to sputter out. Nothing happened. Not even a gust of wind from the secret passage.

Perhaps he should speak in an elderly whisper, just to give them some excitement.

“I don’t think he’s upset,” Veronica said to Edmund after moments of silence. “Could someone else be haunting us?”

“There’s a girl who came to a tragic end a hundred years or so ago,” Mrs. Brody said. “We call her the Green Lady because she’s always wearing a green dress.”

“Perhaps she’s changed her dress since then. That is, if ghosts feel the need to change in the hereafter,” he said.

Veronica glanced over at him. He regarded her steadily. Her chin tilted up, and she narrowed her eyes.

She was taking this much too seriously.

“Someone has disturbed the atmosphere, Your Lordship,” Edmund said, glancing at him again.

“No doubt,” he said, deciding he’d leave them to their insanity. He wasn’t going to contribute to it.

Even if he did talk to ghosts.