by Karen Ranney
“Can you imagine a repeat of dinner for the next two weeks?”
Dinner the night before had been a higgledy-piggledy affair, with Mrs. Brody’s careful menu thrown out due to the unexpected arrival of seven relatives and their three servants. They’d cobbled together a meat course, a fish course, a vegetable course, and pudding, but Uncle Bertrand and Aunt Lilly had not ceased complaining, along with Adam, Amanda, Alice, and Anne, about the paucity of the food and its quality. The only person who hadn’t ventured a negative opinion was Algernon, because he was feeling ill and had remained in a hastily prepared guest chamber.
“Perhaps if I was exceptionally rude,” Montgomery said, “they’d leave earlier.”
She shook her head, feeling panic rush in. “On the contrary. Aunt Lilly would take it upon herself to instruct you on proper manners. She’d stay longer.”
They looked at each other. For the first time in their married life, they had a shared goal as well as a common enemy.
“You could come and help me with the balloon,” he said.
“Are you asking because you’re feeling sorry for me? Or because you genuinely wish my assistance?”
“I’m asking because I haven’t any other idea how to spare you your aunt’s attentions,” he said, holding out his hand.
“I should warn Mrs. Brody,” she said. “Tell her to pay Aunt Lilly no heed.”
He nodded.
“And warn Ralston as well,” she added.
He only smiled.
“We should be a good host and hostess.”
“We should,” he echoed. “But Mrs. Brody and Ralston will simply have to fend for themselves. As will your family.”
She placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her to the servants’ stairs. By the time they reached the arched bridge, they were running, like children escaping the schoolroom.
At the top of the bridge, he placed his hands on her waist, twirled her around until her skirts were swirling above her ankles. She began to laugh, teased into merriment by the look in his eyes and the smile on his face.
Who knew that Montgomery had a mischievous side?
He hadn’t been speaking in jest when he said he would put her to work. He gave her a leather apron and directed her to several crates stacked in the corner.
Tom, one of the stableboys who’d come to work with Montgomery, was to assist her. Tom was young, and shy, a fact she discovered when she smiled in his direction. His face flushed, he ducked his head, and he mumbled something she couldn’t hear. Rather than ask him to repeat himself, she took pity on the boy and looked away.
“What is it, exactly, you want me to do, Montgomery?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, startled to notice he’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. She’d never noticed how well developed his arms were. Even fully clothed, Montgomery was arresting.
He’d remained in his room last night, and she’d stayed in hers, feeling a little odd about her entire family being in residence and in rooms down the hall. Instead of feeling reticent, she should have gone to him.
Their gazes locked, and she flushed.
“I’m looking for the blades of a fan,” he said. “I thought I’d unpacked it but couldn’t find it. It’s time I unpacked everything, I think.”
He gestured toward the six crates, and she nodded.
Tom used an oddly shaped iron tool to pry off the lid of the first crate. By the third crate, she was ankle deep in wood shavings and sneezing periodically, as ladylike as she could. Tom, on the other hand, was enjoying himself immensely, as evidenced by his broad smile each time they discovered something new and unusual.
She’d unearthed an oval crystal object Montgomery identified as a thermometer. Something else that looked like a weathervane incited a word of praise from him. He strode across the distillery, took it from her, and held it up in front of him.
“I wondered where that was,” he said. “I ordered it from Italy, you see, and hadn’t thought it was here yet.”
Without telling her exactly what it was, he strode back to his worktable. Her gaze followed him, watched as he perched on the stool, and smiled at the weathervane-like object as if it were a well-cherished friend.
The air was filled with dust, and the temperature was rising in the distillery to almost an uncomfortable warmth. She didn’t know what she was doing yet she couldn’t remember a time when she’d been happier.
After her adventure the day before in the balloon, she was more than willing to go up again. Even eager, a comment she made to him when the last of the crates was unpacked and the wood shavings piled into a barrow for use as kindling. He smiled at her, as if pleased at her enthusiasm.
When she saw one of the maids on the arched bridge, carrying Montgomery’s lunch, it was a clear signal she needed to return to the house to ensure that her relatives weren’t ordering everyone around.
“Is there anything I can do to convince you to accompany me back to Doncaster Hall?” she asked.
He kept his attention on the mass of metal parts arranged on a workbench. For a moment, Veronica was certain he was unaware she’d spoken. A second later, however, he proved her wrong by glancing at her and smiling. He set the tool he was using down on the workbench, wiped his hand on a cloth, and met her in the middle of the building.
Sunlight speared through the door of the distillery, bathing him in a bright light. She walked closer, stopping only when the toes of her shoes met the toes of his boots.
Since the day before, she’d been filled with an effervescent feeling of excitement, an emotion that even the appearance of her relatives couldn’t destroy. She tilted her head back and looked up at him, blinking against the light. Placing both hands on his chest, she could feel his heat, and the steady and certain beat of his heart.
“Regrettably,” she whispered, “good manners dictate I’m a lady in the parlor at the moment.”
“Pity,” he said. “I would much prefer a harlot in my bedroom. Or the old distillery,” he amended.
He covered her hands with his, a tender touch, and something he’d never done. Nor had he ever lifted her hand and kissed her palm, sending a spear of heat to her core.
The maid placed Montgomery’s meal on the table beside the door and spoke to Ralston for a moment. Tom made a comment, Ralston answered him, all commonplace sounds, and all of them an intrusion on the moment.
She wanted, almost desperately, to be alone with her husband. From the glint in his eye, Montgomery felt the same.
“Ralston,” he said suddenly, turning to the older man, “I’ve an errand for you.” He left her, went to his worktable, and took a piece of paper from it. “Take this list to Mr. Kerr. It’s supplies I need to replenish.” He glanced over at Tom. “Take Tom with you.”
The older man, bless his instinct for tact, didn’t ask one question. All he did was incline his head, nod slightly, then gesture toward Tom. In moments, the two men were gone.
He turned toward Veronica once more.
She brushed her hands against her apron, smiling quizzically at him as he approached.
“Where did you send my helper?” she asked.
“To perdition for the moment,” he said, reaching her. Slowly, he untied the leather apron, allowing it to fall to the dirt floor.
She tilted her head, a look appearing in her eyes that fascinated him: curiosity, delight, excitement, and perhaps a little doubt.
“I’m hungry,” he said softly.
“Are you?”
She looked toward the door, which Ralston, bless the man’s intuitive heart, had had the sense to close.
“Mrs. Brody has sent a tray,” she said faintly.
“What Mrs. Brody sent is not what I’m hungry for,” he said, his lips curving in a smile.
“Oh?”
Veronica took one cautionary step away from him, but he remedied that by simply gripping her wrist and gently pulling her toward him.
She cleared her throat. “In the d
istillery, Montgomery?”
“I’ve been thinking of possible places,” he said. “Not on the ground. There’s the pile of shavings, of course. I doubt we’d be able to return to the house in any sort of order if we used them as a mattress. You might get splinters on your delectable bottom from the worktable. Unless, of course, I fuck you fully clothed.”
She looked away, her face delightfully flushed.
He began unfastening her bodice. “I like this dress,” he said, his gaze fixed on the row of buttons. The fabric was royal blue, but the white piping on the cuffs and collar rendered it pretty rather than plain. “Is this one of your new dresses?”
She nodded, looking down at his hands.
“Do you have any new shifts?”
She nodded again, catching her bottom lip with her teeth.
“A few dozen, I hope,” he said, spreading the bodice open. A delicate pink bow held her shift closed. A gentle tug, and it was open.
He rubbed his knuckles over her fully erect nipples, pleased at the sight of her breasts plumped up by the corset. He bent his head, trailed his tongue across one nipple, smiling at the sound of her gasp.
She was always so damn responsive.
With one hand, he grabbed the hem of her skirt, raised it, and slid a hand through the froth of her petticoat.
“Thank God you didn’t wear a hoop,” he said, his lips against her heated cheek.
She shivered, turned her head, and rewarded him with a soft, chaste, kiss.
“It’s a very small one,” she said demurely. “Suitable for at-home.”
He slid his fingers across her thigh, smoothing little circles over her skin, hearing her breath catch as he drew closer to the slit in her pantaloons.
Drawing back, he watched her as she lifted her head. Her eyes were beautifully green at the moment, wide, and filled with desire. Her breath was coming in shallow pants, her heart beating so fast he could see the pulse of it in her throat. He loved seeing her aroused, second only to the look on her face when she climaxed.
His hand trailed between her thighs. She was dampening for him, legs widening as he cupped her, then slid a finger through her folds.
She was his.
“You’re wet. Show me how wet you are. Open your legs wider.”
An involuntary growl escaped him as she did.
Veronica startled him by pressing her hand against his trousers, feeling his erection, clasping it possessively.
“You’re as hungry as I am,” he murmured, kissing the edge of her jaw. A delicate kiss that didn’t reveal his raging need.
“Montgomery,” she whispered. “Anyone might come in.”
“Up on the worktable,” he said.
“What about splinters?”
“Kneel.”
Her eyebrows rose, but she did as he asked.
In moments, she was kneeling on his worktable, fully dressed, the skirt hiding her from his view. His cock was still trembling in its fabric prison and, when he released it, pointed at her as if seeking its home.
Slowly, he raised her skirts. There she was, hidden in the cave of cloth, her dampness evident to him even then. He ran one finger from her bottom through her pink and swollen folds to slide inside her.
Her back arched, then she lowered her head between her shoulders, a small moan escaping her.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “I want to put my mouth on you.”
Her head turned, her face aflame. Desire and hunger flared in her eyes.
“Spread your legs wider,” he ordered, smiling when she did.
“Now, move closer.”
She backed toward him. The perfect angle, the perfect height. He ripped her pantaloons, bent his head, and gently bit one of the beautiful globes of her bottom.
Her breathing was raspy, her hair tumbling over her red cheeks.
“I’m going to come in you, now.”
Her back dipped; she supported herself on her forearms.
Then, before he spilled his seed from the sheer sight of her, he entered her in one smooth movement, closing his eyes as she sighed his name, her nails scraping the wood of the worktable.
“Now, if anyone comes in, they won’t know.”
She shook her head, not allowing him that sophistry. Anyone could tell, from her face, exactly what he was doing to her.
He pulled her skirts down over both of them, gripping her clothed hips with both hands, jerking her back onto him. Wondering, as he did so, how much of this he could take.
She was trembling, her body a furnace gripping him possessively. He was in deeper than he’d ever been. A dozen thrusts, and she was rocking back against him, milking him of his seed, moaning with each movement. A dozen more, and she cried out. He joined her seconds later, feeling himself explode into her.
For long moments, neither said a word. He didn’t move. No doubt he had a stupid smile on his face. Beneath the satisfaction was another emotion, one that troubled him.
He couldn’t keep his damn hands off his wife.
Not only that, but he was beginning to want her in his bed. To roll over and be able to touch her, to feel her warmth. To smell roses when he dreamed, to know the scent meant Veronica was near.
She rose a little, looking away, then back at him, her expression a little difficult to decipher. She was satiated; he knew that much from the pulse beats still pounding against his deflated cock. She was a little embarrassed; not all the flush on her face was due to arousal. Yet she was also a little proud if he wasn’t mistaken, as if she’d done something for which she deserved acclaim.
She’d fucked him stupid, and he, for one, was damn glad of it despite the warning bells clanging in his brain.
He moved back.
What the hell did he say now? Stay with me? Or help me, I don’t know what the hell is happening?
He helped her from the workbench, occupied himself with putting himself to order, then helping her dress, his trembling fingers fastening each button much more slowly than he’d unbuttoned her.
Lust had made him gallop for the end of the race. Caution slowed him now. Did he apologize for his haste? Attempt to explain he couldn’t control himself around her? He was damned if he knew how to handle it.
“Go and be a good hostess for us, Veronica. I’ll make it back for dinner,” he said, bending his head to kiss her. He held her for a few more minutes, longer than was wise because she cuddled against him. Even her soft sigh was enough to make him want her again.
He walked with her to the door and kissed her again after opening it.
He hadn’t wanted to be married and had made little secret of that fact. He hadn’t wanted to rescue anyone, but he’d been compelled to rescue Veronica from the Society of the Mercaii. For that, he’d been rewarded with a marriage to the most confusing, fascinating, desirable woman he’d ever known.
She’d never spoken of her parents, and yesterday, he’d discovered that she had her own deep well of grief. Today, she’d been a cheerful helpmate, even charming Tom. She’d worked tirelessly for hours, then effortlessly been a siren he couldn’t ignore.
As he leaned against the brick doorway and watched Veronica walk back to Doncaster Hall, he suspected he wasn’t the same man he’d been before coming to Scotland.
Why was he suddenly so damn happy?
As she crossed the arched bridge, Veronica pressed her hands against her skirts, feeling a flush when she remembered Montgomery had done the same. She could almost feel him still inside her, stretching her, claiming her, a memory that brought another rush of heat. He touched her, and she melted. He looked at her in a certain way, and her body grew moist. She heard his voice, and she recalled all the deliciously decadent things they did together.
Passion was a word she’d never used before her marriage. Pleasure was a word limited to innocuous pursuits and inane occupations. She felt pleasure when she finished a difficult cross-stitch. She wiggled her toes in pleasure when her shoes didn’t hurt.
Montgomery had changed
those words. He’d changed her.
Right at the moment, she was feeling so wonderful she didn’t want to see her relatives. Yet it was her duty to ensure that their needs were met, so she continued to her room, needing to wash and change before the confrontation. Her aunt and cousins would find fault with the state of her dress, and she was determined to give them no further reason to criticize her.
During the noon meal, she’d find some way to ascertain exactly how long her relatives intended to remain. She’d also take time to speak with Mrs. Brody and insist no changes be made to Doncaster Hall because of her aunt’s dictates.
Hopefully, the housekeeper was still speaking to her.
Elspeth was in her chamber, arranging her new dresses in the armoire. Her expression was mutinous, however, and even before she spoke, Veronica knew Elspeth’s mood had something to do with her cousins.
“There you are, Your Ladyship,” Elspeth said, forcing a pained smile to her face.
“What is it, Elspeth?”
“I am your lady’s maid, am I not, Your Ladyship?”
She nodded.
“I am to care for your belongings, bring cut flowers into the room, and straighten up if necessary. Although, I must say, Your Ladyship, you don’t leave your things lying about.”
Elspeth twisted her hands together, evidently made some sort of decision, and began to speak rapidly.
“It was a great advancement for me, Your Ladyship, and I’m very proud to serve you. Millicent is still angry about it and gives me cold looks. But I must know when you send someone to order me about. Otherwise, I don’t know if they have your best wishes at heart. How am I to know you’ve directed them to do something, and if I argue with someone, Your Ladyship, you’ll become angry at me, and I’m not wanting to lose my position.”
Veronica moved to the chair beside the window, composed herself, and gestured to the bed.
“Come and sit here, Elspeth, and tell me what happened. Slowly, please.”
Elspeth sat on the edge of the bed, dangling her feet, watching them for a moment before she spoke.
“About an hour ago, Your Ladyship, I was bringing your newly laundered dresses back. That stain on the front of the blue stripe came out, you’ll be happy to know.”