In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams (37 page)

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

He nodded, and with a wave of his arm, banished the engineers and draftsmen from the room. He waited until the door closed behind the last of them before motioning James to the chair beside his desk.

James Sinclair was his hull foreman. Not only was the man brawny and capable of taking on any longshoreman who gave him grief, but he had a sharp mind and canny wit.

Full bearded with brown curly hair, James always wore a smile, an expression at odds with his narrowed eyes and suspicious nature. Lennox didn’t know much of the man’s history, other than he’d come to Glasgow to make his way in the world. He’d been with Cameron and Company for the last three years, advancing up through the ranks and proving himself invaluable.

But it was for James’s skill outside work that he’d summoned him to his office. James was a prize fighter, winning bout after bout with hands nearly black from a daily treatment of green vitriol and copperas.

“Makes them hard as iron, sir,” James said when questioned. “I’d put it on my face like some of the other men, but I don’t intend to get hit in the face all that often.”

From his pocket Lennox withdrew the piece of paper Charlotte had given him.

“I’d like you to go to this address,” he said. “Find a man by the name of Matthew Baumann and bring him here.”

James didn’t say anything as he read the address, merely nodded. Another aspect of the man’s personality he liked: James didn’t ask unnecessary questions.

“He won’t want to come with you, of course,” Lennox said. “Persuade him.”

“By any means necessary?” James asked.

He smiled. The man was going to pay for what he did to Glynis. “By any means necessary.”

“
B
UT
M
RS
. C
AMERON
, Mr. Cameron told me all of your belongings were to be moved into his suite.”

Mrs. Hurst looked worried, her hands fluttering in the air like butterflies.

“He won’t be pleased if I don’t do as he asked.”

“While I assure you, Mrs. Hurst,” she said, “he will be grateful you didn’t succeed.”

In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if Lennox wanted her to move back with her mother.

“Truly, Mrs. Cameron,” the housekeeper said, trailing after her, “he was most adamant.”

He had meant the move into his suite as a surprise, she was sure. Just like the honeysuckle overflowing several vases in his sitting room. He knew how much she loved the smell of the flowers.

Lennox did things like that.

She turned at the door of the guest suite and faced down the housekeeper.

“Mrs. Hurst, I’m not going to change my mind. I want to sleep here, and here is where I’m going to sleep. Please have my belongings brought back here.”

Before the woman could say another word, she entered the suite and shut the door in the housekeeper’s face.

When the door opened less than five minutes later, she didn’t turn, merely continued staring out the window at the darkened garden.

“I’m certain you’re very good at your job, Mrs. Hurst. Right now, however, I must insist. My decision is my decision.”

“As is mine,” Lennox said.

Startled, she turned and faced him.

“I’m sure you have no objection to me occupying this room, Lennox,” she said.

“On the contrary,” he said. “I do. As my wife, you should sleep beside me.”

She thrust down the emotion bobbing to the surface. Neither hope nor joy had any place in this discussion.

“If you felt that way, you would have moved my things to your suite on our wedding night.”

Lennox stared at her. She had the impression she’d just flummoxed him.

“You’re right,” he said. “Forgive my oversight, Glynis. But I want you there now.”

“Have you forgotten what I told you?” she asked.

“Have you forgotten we’re married?”

Since this last was said at a near shout, she fisted her hands, planted them on her hips and frowned at him.

“You’re angry.”

“Damn right I’m angry.”

“Well, I’m not in the mood to be shouted at, Lennox, so go away.”

“I’m not angry at you, Glynis,” he said.

He advanced on her and, in one sweeping movement, gathered her up in his arms.

She’d never been carried by anyone before, even Lennox.

“You’re not?”

“I’m angry at the whole damn situation,” he said. “I’m angry at Baumann, who seems to have disappeared. I’m angry because someone killed a good man. I’m angry because my ship was damaged. I’m angry at Charlotte for not being a good enough friend to you. I’m angry at Smythe.” He stopped, shook his head. “No, that doesn’t describe what I’m feeling. I want to dig Smythe up and kill him again.”

She stared up at him, bemused as he carried her from the room.

“I’ve never imprisoned a woman before, Glynis, but I’m almost tempted now. Perhaps a very long chain, one connected to your ankle. So you can’t stray farther than Hillshead. No more leaving Glasgow. No more leaving me. There will be no desertions in this marriage.”

A thought occurred to her. Had Lennox thought she would leave him like his mother had?

“I wasn’t leaving you. I didn’t think you would want to be married to me any longer,” she said.

He stopped, raised his face as if searching the ceiling of the corridor, and shook his head.

“Are you daft, Glynis? Why, because of what happened in Washington? Baumann took advantage of the situation. He blackmailed you.”

“That may be part of it,” she said, compelled to give him the truth. “But maybe some of it was I felt needed, valuable in some way.”

“Well, you’re needed here.” He looked down at her. “I need you here. I love you, damn it.”

“Do you have to say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“I love you, damn it.”

His lips quirked.

“I love you, my darling wife. I love you, Glynis. I love you.”

A weight fell off her, as if she’d been carrying a yoke on her shoulders and had just now shrugged it off. She took a breath, feeling somehow lighter than before.

He strode through his sitting room and into the bedroom, dropping her onto the mattress.

Her hoop would not cooperate and insisted on flying upward and exposing her undergarments again. Lennox solved the situation by laying on top of her.

She reached up and placed her hands against his shirt, feeling the fine linen weave.

“You’re a Glaswegian,” she said. “You should be wearing cotton.”

She both felt and heard his laughter.

“And I’ve no yen to talk about fabrics,” he said.

“Oh, and what have you a yen to do, Lennox Cameron?”

“Seduce my wife, Glynis Cameron.”

He kissed her slowly, as if they were new to it. Her heart expanded. In a moment she would be buoyant with joy, floating upward toward the ceiling.

What was love? A feeling of belonging? Was love safety? She felt safe with Lennox. She always had. No, love was more; it was the feeling of joy around the other person. The knowledge you could be yourself, share honest thoughts and concerns. Love was freedom. Love was Lennox.

“You have too many clothes on,” he said. “And that damnable hoop.”

She most certainly agreed.

He got up from the bed, extended his hand and helped her down.

Each of them removed a garment, matching their movements: his shirt to her bodice, his trousers to her skirt, and his shoes to hers.

“The shift and corset should count as one,” he said. “Otherwise, you’ll still be dressed while I’m naked.”

“But then I could study you while I’m undressing.”

He put his hands on his hips and grinned at her. “Study, is it?”

“I could stare at you for hours,” she said. “You’re very impressive.”

His grin disappeared but his eyes glowed.

The itchy, warm feeling spread through her, making her breathless.

“You’re still dressed,” he said.

Fumbling with the tape of her hoop, she sent a near desperate look to him. Lennox came to her, giving up all pretense of patience and tearing the garment.

“I may burn this,” he said, nearly snarling.

She giggled, laying her forehead against his chest.

Within seconds she was down to her shift and stockings, and those were dealt with swiftly until they were both naked.

They looked at each other.

Passion, lust, want, need, all blossomed deep inside, warming every part of her. Moisture pooled between her thighs, hunger pricked her skin.

She’d never been aroused by anyone but him. She’d never felt the sensation of being hungry for touch before.

Slowly, she walked to him, placed her hands on his shoulders, curling her fingers against his skin. She stepped closer until her nipples were gently abraded by his chest hair.

His arms went around her, his legs spread apart. They were almost mated standing up, impatient yet unhurried. Each movement, the placement of his hand on her hip and her fingers on his back, was measured in minutes rather than seconds. She moved until her feet trapped one of his. He placed his palm against her buttock.

His breath quickened. Her heartbeat raced.

Resting her forehead against his chin, she breathed in his smell: a faint odor of smoke, varnish, wood, and the sea, but most of all, Lennox. She placed a kiss on his throat, feeling the sound he made beneath her lips.

She stroked her hand over his ribs, his hip bones, the muscular plane of his chest. The sensation of knowing him stunned her.

When he led her to the bed with the delicacy of a
courtier leading her to the dance floor, she followed his lead, her hand clasped in his.

She took the steps, turning and sitting on the edge of the mattress before him. Any modesty she might have had disappeared in the simple
rightness
of this moment.

His hands framed her face, holding her captive for his eyes and then his lips. She sighed into his kiss and wrapped her arms around his waist.

He tumbled her back on the bed and joined her. She watched his face, adrift in wonder. This moment thrummed with tenderness and almost reverence, a coming together of two people who’d searched and finally found each other after years of being apart.

She brushed her knuckles down his arm, marveling at the bulge of muscle. He was so gloriously made.

He mouthed a nipple, gently grazing it with his teeth, summoning her soft moan. She gripped his buttocks, learning their curve. He kissed her beneath her ear, in the sensitive spot at the juncture of neck and shoulder. She undulated beneath him, loving the feel of him hot and hard against her.

Slowly, he entered her, an act of possession executed with tenderness. Tears pricked her eyes.

The girl she’d been must have done something right to have earned Lennox as her husband.

He whispered her name against her temple as he pushed deeper.

Her hands clenched his shoulders with nails biting into his skin. She hurt with need. She whimpered, opened her legs wider, lifted her hips up for his thrusts. She was in a long dark tunnel, heading for somewhere, the destination tantalizingly out of reach.

No, it was a vortex, a whirlpool in which he was her lifeline. Clinging to him, she felt no fear, only exultation. She knew nothing more than Lennox.

Now. Now. Now.

In those moments she lost herself. Breath rushed from her. Sound blurred in her ears, deafened by the thundering of her heart.

He groaned her name and she surrendered, exploding in a shower of stars.

She was his and he was hers, just as he’d always been.

G
LYNIS SLIPPED
out of bed, grabbed her wrapper and walked to the window.

Down the hill the lights of Glasgow glowed, the city awake even in the depth of night. The river shimmied as if a creature stirred uneasily beneath its surface.

From here the moon appeared to nest in the limbs of a young tree, the faint bluish light illuminating the gardener’s cottage and the graveled paths connecting the different sections of the garden.

Something was bothering her. Something she should have noticed before now, like hearing a song and being unable to finish the refrain. Or remembering the first line of a poem and not the rest of the stanza. Whatever it was, she couldn’t sleep for trying to remember.

She wasn’t surprised Baumann had disappeared. He’d always been a chameleon, capable of becoming anything he wanted to be. As such, he could be in plain sight and you’d overlook him.

She didn’t doubt he’d torched the
Raven.
But had he killed Gavin Whittaker? He was a man used to hiding in the shadows, manipulating others to do his bidding. Blackmail, yes. Coercion, yes, he was capable of that and more. Murder by his own hand? It didn’t fit what she knew of Baumann.