“A proper wife simply endures,” she said.
She glanced at him in the gray light. “Is it proper to couple in the middle of the day?”
“It’s not the middle of the day,” he said, turning away from her.
Did other women feel the same as she did? Her lips were swollen, her cheeks chafed by his emerging beard. Her breasts were different, somehow, as if they were larger, more sensitive. Beyond the physical sensations, she was filled with both contentment and confusion.
Were other women as amazed?
“Have I done something wrong?” she asked, steeling herself for his cutting reply.
She told herself what they’d just experienced was mating, pure and simple. It had not been a spiritual joining or a deepening of their understanding of each other. They’d not become lovers; they’d merely consummated their marriage.
“Was it your aunt?” he asked. “Or your mother?” He turned his head and regarded her. “The person who told you that you shouldn’t enjoy the marriage bed?”
“My aunt.”
He nodded as if he’d suspected it.
“You did nothing wrong, Veronica,” he said, sitting up on the other side of the bed.
He didn’t say anything further, but she had the decided impression he could have filled volumes with what was left unsaid.
Montgomery moved from the bed to the washstand behind the screen. His trunks had been sent on to Doncaster Hall, so he went to his valise, where he’d packed enough clothes for the stopover in Inverness.
He believed in planning.
Planning had kept him sane.
Planning had kept him alive.
Planning had gone to hell the day he’d met Veronica MacLeod. Veronica Fairfax.
He didn’t like confined places, and the room was just small enough to qualify. The other reason for wanting to escape lay in the bed, hair tousled, lips well kissed, a flush coloring her cheeks, a lambent look in her eyes.
She’d managed to seduce him when all he’d wanted was to consummate his marriage.
He’d lost himself in her. Exquisite pleasure had taken over his mind, his memories, and any anxiety he felt about coming to Scotland. Even with the memory of their lovemaking barely faded, she tempted him.
He left the room without looking at Veronica again, knowing if he did, he’d probably return to the bed. Passion was an opiate stronger than drink. He wanted her again and after that, probably again.
Outside the hotel, the air was balmy, almost soft to the touch, reminding him of summers at Gleneagle, when heat boiled up from the ground, and the breeze off the river cooled his skin.
Carriages and pedestrians forced him away from memory for a time, into an appreciation of the wooden bridge stretching across the River Ness, and a sky turning purple with dusk.
At home, when he was restless, he’d stroll from room to room at Gleneagle, or spend some time reading the newspapers he’d ordered from Washington. If his mind wouldn’t settle, he’d leave the house and walk down the hill to the river. Occasionally, he’d take the road to the church that had once been at Gleneagle but had been relocated where it had found a larger congregation.
Sometimes on his walks, the moon was high and full, casting shadows and bluish white light over the fields. Sometimes, likenow, the moon hadn’t yet risen, and only a softly scented night greeted him.
Occasionally, either Alisdair or James would accompany him, as if his older brothers knew when he needed company. Trained for the law, he was not prepared to be a planter, but he’d handled his duties as well as he was able, stepping in when his family had needed him.
“You need to marry, Montgomery,” James had said one night. “Your wife would keep you home and in bed.”
James had been the tallest of the three, whipcord lean with broad shoulders and black hair. His angular face was covered by a beard, but his mouth was wide and habitually curved in a smile. His eyes were intense blue, the Fairfax eyes. They all had them.
“Ah, but you’ve stolen the best of the available women, James,” he’d answered. “Why should I settle for second-best?”
“Caroline has a sister,” James said. “You’d be doing me a big favor if you’d consider courting Ethel.”
