A Borrowed Scot (3 page)

“Well? What’s your address?”

She opened her eyes, slowing turning her head to face the man who, inwardly, was so troubled. Outwardly, however, he was taciturn, impatient, and supremely annoyed at her.

“If I give you my address,” she asked, “have I your word you’ll simply let me leave the carriage? That you won’t feel it necessary to escort me to the door and let my employers know what’s transpired?”

He was looking at her that way again, as if he skewered her to the seat with his disapproval.

“When I’ve determined you’re safe, yes.”

Resigned, she gave him Uncle Bertrand’s address, praying her uncle and the entire family would be asleep.

He transmitted the address to the driver, then settled back against the seat.

In a matter of minutes, they were approaching her uncle’s house. She’d had a story prepared before she left this evening should anyone see her returning to the house. She’d simply gone for a bit of air. She missed the solitude of Scotland. Oh, but that was the truth, wasn’t it?

One good thing about being a poor relation was that she hadn’t had a season, wasn’t going to have a season, and didn’t venture out often. The only time she did leave the house was to perform an errand for Aunt Lilly or Uncle Bertrand. None of the shop owners lived in the neighborhood. Therefore, the chances of her being seen and recognized were almost nil.

When the carriage slowed, then stopped, she reached for the door. Before she could leave the carriage, her rescuer leaned forward.

“Promise me you’ll use a little more sense in the future than you demonstrated tonight. I don’t know what they paid you, but no amount of money is worth such degradation.”

“No one paid me,” she said.

“Then why were you there?”

“I was curious,” she said. That was all the explanation she was going to divulge.

“A damn dangerous place to be curious.”

She nodded and opened the carriage door. Gripping the too-long robe with both hands, she stepped to the pavement, feeling the cold seep through the bottoms of her feet. What had happened to her shoes?

The loss of her dress would be difficult to explain since she only had three, each of them in the same blue fabric her aunt said wore well. All the female servants were attired in the same serviceable blue serge, a fact that hadn’t escaped her. She could always say she’d ruined the dress with a stain. Her aunt would fuss about the expense, as well as question why she hadn’t at least torn the dress into rags.

How did she explain losing her only pair of shoes?

“Are you hesitating because you’re afraid you’ll be discovered?” he asked.

She turned, startled to see that he’d left the carriage behind her.

He was an arresting figure, a tall man with a subtle elegance, almost a predatory intensity. Caution made her take a step back.

“Did you kill him?”

His smile was razor thin.

“So, you do remember.”

“A shot,” she said. “Did you shoot him?”

“No, even though he deserved shooting. The ceiling was the only casualty.”

The night was utterly still and softly beautiful. The only sounds were the horses restlessly stamping their feet. The fog was thick, changing the street lamps to small moons. The slightly sulfurous odor stung her nose and caught at the back of her throat, reminding her that her stomach was still in rebellion.

The robe was thin and the spring air damp and cold. She needed to be on her way, but she clutched her hands together, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.

“It
is
enchanted, you know,” she said.

“What is? The mirror?” Impatiently, he glanced over his shoulder at the carriage.

“Would you give it to me?” she asked. “It’s all too clear you don’t want it.”

“It’s not mine,” he said. “It was delivered to my doorstep in a trunk containing women’s clothing. Evidently, it belongs to the previous owner of the house I purchased.”

“Will you return it?”

“If I knew her whereabouts, I would.” He folded his arms and studied her. “Why?”

“If you gave it to me,” she said, “I’d attempt to find the rightful owner.”

“Would you?”

She nodded.

“Your sudden interest in the mirror has nothing to do with its being gold or the diamonds around it, would it?”

“No,” she said, surprised and a little insulted.

“Then why do you want it?”

She could tell him. If she did, he would label her even more strange than he already thought her. Who truly cared if she was eccentric or slightly dotty? As a poor relation, she’d have no substance. She’d be a shadow in the corner, an afterthought. “Oh yes, that’s Veronica, she’s lived with us for ages. Has no money of her own, poor thing. A charity case, you know.”

The mirror had given her the first taste of hope she’d felt in a very long time.

“I would attempt to find the rightful owner. Truly.”

“No.”

She considered arguing with him but suspected that this man, once he’d made a decision, could not be moved.

“Thank you,” she said again, turning to leave him. “For rescuing me.”

He didn’t respond, but his look said it all. If she hadn’t been so foolish, he wouldn’t have had to rescue her.

The townhouse seemed far away, set back from the street to allow a small fenced lawn in the front. Soon, Aunt Lilly would be ordering the planting of flowers. Nothing too garish to attract too much attention but enough to give the white façade a little color.

Her uncle’s townhouse was on the corner; it would be a simple thing to slip around to the kitchen entrance. Uncle Bertrand was notoriously parsimonious. None of the servants was permitted up after ten or before six in the morning. In that way, he saved money on lighting and coal. No one would be awake for hours yet.

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at her rescuer.

“Are you very certain you won’t give me the mirror?”

“Very certain,” he said.

At her silence, he smiled thinly. “It’s a mirror,” he said. “Nothing more.”

It was more than just a mirror. It showed the future, or at least she hoped it did. Before she could explain, a voice rang through the night.

“Oh, Father, it’s worse than I thought. Veronica’s undressed.”

She turned to find Amanda standing there, her cousin’s golden hair illuminated by the white light of the fog-shrouded lamps.

Amanda’s look was one of studied horror. The key to understanding Amanda, however, was never in her expression, but in her eyes. At that moment, they glittered like those of a cat, catching the faintest light and gleaming brightly.

Amanda was amused.

Anything that amused Amanda usually proved to be detrimental to Veronica, a lesson she’d learned well over the past two years.

Beside her stood Aunt Lilly, her hands flailing in the air as if to contain the situation. Aunt Lilly did not like circumstances to overpower her. Behind her stood the other four cousins. Neither Aunt Lilly nor Uncle Bertrand would tolerate their brood being out of doors improperly attired. However, it was obvious that they’d already retired for the night.

Alice’s hair was braided, and Anne had already slathered Mrs. Cuthbertson’s Cream for Young Ladies on her face. Algernon’s jacket was askew, and Adam, for once, did not have his nose in a book.

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

“Y
ou 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 11
th
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.

M
ontgomery 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, frowning 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.

V
eronica 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.