A Borrowed Scot (19 page)

Chapter 20

V
eronica watched Montgomery leave the room, then turned to Mr. Kerr.

“Can we try to contact another spirit?”

Mr. Kerr nodded. “Who, Lady Fairfax?”

“Caroline,” she said, speaking the name in a whisper. She didn’t explain. Nor, to her surprise, did Mr. Kerr ask about Caroline’s identity. Again, she wondered if Montgomery had divulged more to his solicitor than he had to her.

Mr. Kerr held out both his hands. Veronica grasped his right hand while Mrs. Brody took his left. They were linked by their joined hands, as each of them stared into the flickering candle flame.

“Come forth, Caroline,” he intoned, then repeated the request a number of times. As before, no sign appeared of the requested spirit.

If Caroline had chosen to appear, what would Veronica have said to her? Who are you to my husband? Why does he grieve for you so? Or finally, and more important: will you go away and leave him alone?

“The spirits are not willing to listen tonight,” Mr. Kerr announced nearly an hour later. They disbanded, with some discussion of meeting again at a more propitious time.

To her surprise, Montgomery was outside the Armory and escorted her to the family dining room, where they were joined by Mr. Kerr.

“Have you finished communicating with the dead?” Montgomery asked.

She nodded, hoping Mr. Kerr didn’t mention Caroline’s name.

“Any revelations?”

“No, they weren’t in the mood to communicate,” Mr. Kerr said, his look making her wonder if he blamed Montgomery’s entrance for their failure.

“Do you really believe in such things?” Montgomery asked.

“It has been scientifically proven,” Mr. Kerr said, his voice prim, as if he resented Montgomery’s doubts.

“The dead don’t speak,” Montgomery said.

The remainder of the conversation between the two men consisted of Mr. Kerr enumerating the many tasks he’d amassed for Montgomery to perform and Montgomery’s utter disdain for each one.

Montgomery didn’t seem to like being Lord Fairfax at all, given his disinclination to participate in any activity honoring him. He outright refused to attend the summer celebration held by Doncaster Village or the crowning of the Summer Queen in Lollybroch.

When she excused herself from the table, Montgomery was still ignoring Mr. Kerr, who was refusing to be silenced. She darted into the kitchen to thank Cook for a lovely meal, spoke to Mrs. Brody, and released Elspeth for the night.

She returned to her chamber, surprised to find the door to her sitting room open.

Montgomery was sitting there in the dark.

He turned his head when she entered and lit the lamp. Slowly, she closed the door behind her and turned to face him.

His fingers curled against his chin, finger resting on his cheek, pointing to his temple. A contemplative pose, one of judgment, as if he studied her and found her wanting.

She sat on the adjacent chair, conscious her insides trembled. Why was he waiting for her? Had he discovered she’d summoned Caroline after all? She prepared herself for his anger, surprised when he didn’t say anything.

Gradually, the silence became peaceful, as if he were simply content with her presence.

“Do you pretend I’m someone else?” she finally asked. “When you lie with me, Montgomery, is Caroline on your mind? When you touch me, is it her you feel? When you kiss me, do you pretend it’s her?”

She bowed her head in an agony of waiting. When he didn’t speak, remaining silent, she dared herself to look over at him. He was staring at her.

“How do you know about Caroline?”

“You were talking to her on our wedding day, remember?”

He looked stunned by her answer.

“All this time? You’ve never said anything?”

“Would you have answered me?” she asked. “You never speak of her,” she said. “Yet I can feel her in your heart. You never talk about what saddens you, but it’s there, Montgomery. It’s there and as real as if you’d painted a sign on your forehead.”

“Sometimes, it’s better just to forget the past, Veronica.”

She nodded. “You’re right, of course. Forgetting has been so easy for you. That’s why you walk every night, why you look so haunted sometimes, why you hold on to me in your sleep as if I’m your anchor.”

His eyes went from hot to cool in the space of a breath, but she didn’t relent.

“Whoever she is,” she said, “you still love her.”

“How do you know that? Your Gift?”

She smiled. She was familiar with people ridiculing what she knew to be true.

“Is it to be like this for the rest of our lives, Montgomery? Me, wanting to know, and you, hiding every one of your secrets?”

“Isn’t that why they call them secrets?”

She stood, moved into the bedroom, extinguishing the lamp before returning to the sitting room.

“Why are you here, Montgomery? To bed me?”

“Are you sending me away, Veronica?”

“You know I won’t,” she said softly. “I can’t.”

He stood, reached out, and cupped her shoulders with his hands, slowly drawing her toward him.

She tilted her head back and stared at him, wishing he wasn’t quite so tall. Yet her female cousins had remarked, many times, on how tall she was compared to them, how dull her appearance.

Abruptly, she asked, “Would you prefer if I had blond hair?”

Was Caroline blond?

He shook his head slowly, as if uncertain where her question would lead.

“Or if I had blue eyes?”

Were Caroline’s eyes blue, like yours?

“Why are you asking that?”

“Do my looks displease you?”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Veronica.”

She felt a glow of pleasure but pushed it aside for another question.

“Then what is it about me that displeases you?” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Is it my Gift?”

He studied her for a long moment, and she had the feeling he was treading carefully, walking barefoot on gravel.

“Is it that I’m not an American? We have a heritage in common, Montgomery. Your family is from Scotland as well as mine.”

He gripped her upper arms so tightly she had the feeling he wanted to shake her.

“Nothing about you displeases me,” he said, and it sounded like the truth. “When we make love, there’s no one else on my mind. How could there be?”

Yet he could not love her. He had no more love to give another woman.

Wasn’t she foolish to want more when she had him?

H
e couldn’t stay away, yet every time he was with her, she pulled a little more from him. As if he were a knitted garment, and she was unraveling him bit by bit, wrapping him around her finger. The only way to silence her, and ease himself, was to love her, long and hard, until she was too damned tired to question him.

Either bed was suddenly too far away. In one smooth move, he sat and pulled her onto his lap, dove beneath the mound of skirts and petticoats to find the slit in her pantaloons.

She made a sound, a soft little gasp that aroused him further.

He swore, half to himself, half to her, need rising without his conscious volition. She was there; he wanted her, as elemental as day and night. He wondered if she knew how damn helpless he was around her, how much he thought of her, how easily she could arouse him. She smiled, and he wanted her. She frowned, and he wanted her. Whatever emotion she was feeling, whatever she was wearing, whatever she was doing, he wanted her.

“Montgomery,” she murmured in that sensual Scots accent of hers. She might have been fussing at him, but he found it seductive as sin itself.

“Open your legs,” he said, wondering if she would.

She widened her legs just the smallest bit, so his fingers could play there.

They were a pair, cautiously circling each other, besotted by desire, desperate to mate. He’d never felt this way about any woman, wasn’t certain what to call it, then uncaring as she made another sound at the back of her throat.

If someone entered her sitting room, they wouldn’t see his fingers stroking her wetness, teasing that soft and delicate opening.

She moaned, such a demure little sound it might have been from any cause, not his finger stroking her, then entering her a moment later.

He was so hard he hurt.

“Are you thinking of the Queen?” he asked, his voice rough.

Her eyes fluttered shut. “No.”

“Bad Veronica,” he said, and pulled his hands away.

Her eyes opened, and she blinked a few times. “I’ll try,” she said, her voice thick.

He returned his fingers to her, gently touched each swollen fold, then placed both hands on her thighs to lift her.

“Widen your legs.”

She did, and he unfastened his trousers, slid home in one long, smooth movement.

Veronica gasped.

“Don’t move,” he said, leaning his head against the back of the chair, lost in the feel of her.

How the hell could he think of another woman? Hell, he could barely hold on to any thought at the moment.

She leaned forward, at precisely the perfect angle, as if she’d done this before and knew how to drive him insane.

“You feel so damn good,” he said, his voice a rasp. “Don’t move.” God, please don’t move.

She sat erect, in that same posture, her hands folded on her lap. He was inside her, buried to the hilt, her heat and tightness threatening to end this interlude before its time.

He moved her hair away from the nape of her neck, trailed his fingers over her skin to her collar, properly buttoned. He smoothed his hands down her bodice, feeling the fabric over her cinched waist, his thumbs running back up each seam as if to test the propriety of her attire. His right hand flicked at a fold of her skirt, his left was at her hip to keep her in place.

Her dress covered his legs and most of the chair. He pressed down on the mass of the fabric between her back and his open trousers, his fingers dancing up her clothed spine.

Her breath was fast, her lids half-shut, a becoming flush turning her cheeks rose. She’d caught at her bottom lip with her teeth. Because of his position, he couldn’t reach her mouth. He surged up just once, to punish her for making him want to kiss her.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes bearing a lambent gaze of arousal coupled with awareness. The lady hadn’t been replaced by the harlot. Instead, the lady knew the strength of her own allure, the price he’d pay to drive both of them to madness before this was finished.

Anything.

“You’re perfectly dressed and proper, Veronica,” he said. “I wish Elspeth would enter now and see us sitting together in such accord.”

He could feel her thighs clench at the thought and moved a little in reward. His restraint was nearly at the breaking point, and they’d just begun. She was motionless, hot, and wet, so tight that even her breathing was an unbearable friction.

His hands dove beneath her skirts again, pulled on both sides of her pantaloons until they ripped apart. He reached for her, trailing a circle in the wet between her thighs, her moans driving him mad.

She pressed both palms flat against her bodice, just below her breasts, her breath coming fast.

“You want me to touch your breasts, don’t you, Veronica?”

She nodded.

“That wouldn’t be proper.”

She shook her head.

“Even asking me to suck on your nipples would be wrong.”

She nodded, caught up in the game. “Very, very wrong.”

His thumbs met, stroked softly as her eyes closed.

He wanted to move, was nearly desperate to move, but he remained where he was, solid and hard inside her. She was so damn hot, he felt scorched by her heat.

“Are you thinking of the Empire?”

“Yes,” she said, breathlessly. “All those ships.”

“Sailing around the world.”

“All those very tall masts,” she said, leaning gently to the side and accompanying the movement with an inward squeeze.

He grinned at her talent, drew his hands from beneath her skirts and placed them on both sides of her clothed waist, and lifted her up, then down. A reward, then, for her wholehearted participation in this game.

“Such strong, thick masts,” she murmured, clenching him again. This time, she placed both hands on the arms of the chair and levered herself up slowly, then just as slowly down.

“You’re not being the least proper, Veronica Fairfax,” he said, when he could breathe again. “I shall have to punish you.”

“Please,” she whispered. “No.”

She turned her head again; the look they shared was one of lovers.

“Don’t leave,” she said. “Please.”

As if he could leave her.

She’d turned the game neatly on its head, overpowering him by simply enjoying herself. Her face and neck were flushed, her lips full as if he’d kissed them swollen, her eyes wide and hinting at green. She began a rhythm between them by planting her feet full on the floor and lifting herself up and down and to each side, using him.

He was so damn pleased with her he could have laughed.

Instead, he placed his hands on her hips and urged her higher, raising up when she lowered herself, glorying in each of her soft moans.

“You aren’t being proper at all, Veronica,” he said, before leaning forward and scraping his teeth against her throat, breathing into her ear.

“I know,” she said, turning her head. Wicked delight showed in her eyes.

“Faster.”

“Yes,” she said, a sibilant murmur of need. “Yes.”

He wanted to tongue her, taste her, bite her nipples, and suck her into his mouth. All he did was sit there, allow himself to be taken, used, drained. He felt himself gush into her, the exquisite pleasure so powerful it stopped at the barest edge of pain.

Her climax was announced with a keening moan. When she was done, when her rhythmic contractions eased, and her breathing was long and slow, he lifted her and carried her to his bed, staggering a little, but feeling as if he’d conquered the whole damn world.

W
hen dawn woke him, Montgomery watched Veronica as she slept, the rising sun casting an orange glow over the room.

Passion was wrapping a net around both of them, yet he had no intention of fighting free. From the beginning, he’d been startled by her complete surrender to him. Now, he was beginning to know the woman herself, and knowledge of Veronica only bound him closer.