School For Heiresses 3- Beware A Scot's Revenge (35 page)

He shook his head. “After you see a thing like that, hear your fellow countrymen crying out for home as they die, it makes you crave what you’ve lost. Or what you’ve thrown away out of pride.”

Her heart twisting for him, she pressed a kiss to his chest. “And then you came home to nothing.”

A shadow crossed his face. “Father died without my ever making my peace with him. Without his ever telling me—”

“Why he behaved as he did. I know; it’s very odd. If Papa owed him so much money, why did your father agree to such outrageous demands for your punishment? Why should he?”

“Do you still not believe me about the loan?” he said, tensing.

“I’m not saying that. It just seems a vexing puzzle.”

“Aye,” he said, relaxing. “But not one we’re liable to solve just now.”

“Did you ever ask your mother if she knew why?”

“Once. She said Father thought it would be good for me. Put the fear of God into me.”

“And she didn’t try to stop him.”

He arched one eyebrow. “Don’t you remember what I told you about Highland women?”

“Yes,” she said dryly. “And I hope you know I will never be the kind of Highland woman to stand meekly by while you do as you please.”

A chuckle escaped his lips. “No, I don’t expect that, to be sure.” He began to stroke her back.

“Otherwise, why would I be letting you talk to yer father on behalf of me and the clan when he comes to fetch you?”

Her gaze flew to his. “You don’t mean…you haven’t decided…”

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“You’re my wife,” he said with a rueful smile. “If I can’t trust you to argue for us, then who
can
I trust?”

“Oh, Lachlan!” she cried, moved to tears. “Thank you, thank you! You won’t regret it, I swear!”

She stretched up to cover his face with kisses. That became one long and sensual kiss that drove every thought but him out of her mind. And before she knew it, he was rolling her beneath him, settling himself between her legs, kissing his way down to take her breasts in his mouth. And she forgot everything but the delicious maelstrom of making love with her husband.

Hours later, with sunlight flooding the room, Venetia awakened to the murmurs of servants in the hall, probably debating if they should disturb their master and new mistress. She considered ignoring them and going back to sleep, but she was hungry. And knowing her husband, he would be, too, once he woke up.

As she rose from the bed to draw on her shift, she glanced to where Lachlan lay on his back in a sound sleep, his forearm slung over his eyes and the sheet covering only half his body. Hard to believe he was her husband in truth now.

Hard to believe he loved her. She might die from the joy of it. With her heart full, she covered the rest of his body before dropping a tender kiss on his tousled head and taking her clothes into the adjoining dressing room. There, she closed the door and summoned a maid through the dressing room door to help her finish dressing.

“Oh, milady,” the servant exclaimed. “I was just coming to wake you. We’ve guests in the drawing room, and they’re demanding to see you.”

“My father?” she said, her heart dropping to her stomach.

“No, milady. It’s a Colonel Seton. And he’s got a Lady Kerr with him.”

Aunt Maggie. How on earth had she found out that Venetia was here? Dressing hurriedly, Venetia flew down the stairs, eager to head off her aunt before Lachlan awoke. When she burst into the drawing room, she found Lady Ross trying to calm her anxious aunt while Colonel Seton looked on grimly.

“Aunt Maggie!” Venetia cried, overcome at the sight of the familiar face.

“My dear girl!” Her aunt rushed over to enfold her in a hug so strong it left Venetia breathless. Then to her shock, the woman began to cry.

Venetia smoothed her hand down her aunt’s back, crooning softly. “It’s all right. I’m fine. You can see I’m fine.”

“I was so worried…” her aunt choked out.

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It took Aunt Maggie another moment to gain control over her tears. Then she drew back to wipe her eyes. When Colonel Seton hurried over to offer his handkerchief, it was impossible to miss the warm glance that passed between him and Aunt Maggie.

When the woman returned her attention to her niece, her blotchy face held so much worry that Venetia felt a twinge of unwarranted guilt. “I’ve come to take you back,” her aunt went on. “If we leave at once, we can meet your father at the docks in Inverness, for I’ve no doubt Quentin will come by ship—it’s the easiest and quickest way.”

“I’m not leaving,” Venetia protested. “Lachlan and I are married now.”

“Yes,” her aunt said as she seized her hand, “Lady Ross has told me that you married the scoundrel, but—”

“He’s not a scoundrel.”

“He kidnapped you! You know he’s the Scourge, don’t you?”

“I know a great many things about Lachlan, including why he chose to masquerade as that person,”

Venetia said firmly. “Most of all, I know I love him.”

“And I love her,” said a voice from the doorway. With a black scowl, Lachlan strode in to stand beside Venetia, slipping his arm possessively about her waist. “We’re married, and there’s naught you can do about it, Lady Kerr. You’re sure as the devil not taking her from me.”

He turned a hard gaze on the colonel. “Why did you bring Lady Kerr here, damn it? You were supposed to keep her in Edinburgh.”

“I tried!” Colonel Seton shot back.

“You told me he wasn’t part of your plot,” Venetia said under her breath to Lachlan.

“I wanted to protect him,” Lachlan snapped. Then he glared at the colonel. “Clearly, he didn’t feel the same loyalty.”

“Damnation, man,” the colonel snapped, “Maggie’s no fool. She figured out what I was up to and threatened to ruin everything. I had to tell her. I had no choice.” He thrust out his chin. “Besides, I’m glad I did. And you will be, too, once you hear what she’s got to say.”

But Aunt Maggie was now pacing and thinking aloud. “Perhaps we can still fix this. You haven’t had time to marry in the church; no bishop would give a special license to a dead man.” She halted to cast Lachlan a pleading glance. “So you must have had an irregular marriage. And that can be overturned in court, depending on the circumstances.”

When Lachlan tensed, Venetia said hastily, “Our vows were spoken before a roomful of witnesses, Aunt Maggie. It can’t be overturned.”

Her aunt sank onto the settee, her face ashen. “Then your father will kill him, my dear.”

“He won’t!” Venetia hurried to take a seat beside her aunt and lay her arm across her shoulders. “I know Papa is liable to be angry, but—”

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“Angry!” Aunt Maggie shook her head. “You have no idea. If he arrives here to find Alasdair’s son married to his only daughter, he’s liable to commit murder.”

“But why? Papa is the one who never repaid his loan.”

“And with good reason. A reason that Alasdair clearly accepted.”

“But I am not my father,” Lachlan said sharply. “My clan needs that money. I won’t stand by and let Duncannon run roughshod over my people because Father was too much a coward to demand what was owed him!”

“A coward? That’s not what it was at all,” Aunt Maggie protested.

“Then what was it?” Venetia pleaded with her.

Aunt Maggie wrung her hands, her gaze darting first to Lady Ross, then to Venetia. “I’ll explain it to Lachlan, and Lachlan alone. I’ll say no more with Lady Ross and you in the room.”

“If my husband had something to do with this mess,” Lady Ross broke in, her gaze fierce, “then I’ll be hearing what he did, no matter how bad.”

“And since this affects my husband, it affects me,” Venetia added. “You have to tell us all.”

“You don’t want to know, my dear,” her aunt said, her voice plaintive. “Please don’t make me tell you. Just come back with me—”

“No.” Venetia rose and went to Lachlan’s side. “Not without my husband.”

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Aunt Maggie remained silent a long moment. When she began to speak again, her voice had taken on a tragic tone. “Whatever financial agreements may have been made between Alasdair and Quentin were overturned the summer my sister died.”

“This has to do with Mama? But how? Why?”

“Because as far as Quentin is concerned…” Aunt Maggie paused, pain flashing over her face. “As far as your father is concerned, Alasdair Ross killed your mother.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dear Charlotte,

We must stop this foolish argument. I will never say what you want to hear—that all men can be
painted with the same brush. I’ve lived long enough to learn that plenty of fine fellows are forced
into seeking rich wives by the necessity of doing their duty. And plenty of scoundrels hide their
perfidy behind their supposed morality. Life is not simple, and neither are people.
Your true friend,

Michael

L
achlan stared at Lady Kerr, a horrible premonition seeping into his bones.
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“But Mama died in childbirth,” Venetia said.

Her aunt nodded. “Yes. She was bearing Alasdair Ross’s child at the time. Your half brother.”

“Half brother,” Lachlan said in a whisper. “Please tell me that Venetia and I are not…we were never…”

“No!” Lady Kerr hastened to assure him. “No, you’re not related. The affair between your father and my sister happened long after Venetia was born. It barely lasted a year.”

Lachlan’s gaze flew to his mother. He’d been about to ask if she’d known, but one look at her stunned expression told him she had not. Damn.

Lady Kerr shot his mother a pleading glance. “I’m so sorry, Lady Ross. You were never supposed to know of it. Quentin doesn’t even know that my sister told me before she died.” The woman’s gaze returned to Lachlan and Venetia. “Neither of you were supposed to hear of it. They never meant for any of you to be hurt.”

“They?” Lachlan still couldn’t quite take in this new development.

“Quentin, your father, my sister,” Lady Kerr explained. “Your father and my sister took the secret to their graves. Quentin would have done so, too, if not for—”

“Me,” he choked out. “If not for the Scottish Scourge stirring up trouble about that loan.”

Venetia laid a soothing hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off, going to gaze blindly out the window. All these years and he’d never guessed, never once realized that such an ugly family secret lay at the root of their troubles. His father. And Venetia’s mother.

No wonder Duncannon had refused to repay the money he owed. What man with any spine would repay the man who’d cuckolded him?

Lady Kerr rose from the settee. “I never knew about the money, I swear. My sister never mentioned it, and back then women of our rank were rarely told such things, anyway. If I’d known, perhaps—”

“That’s why Alasdair didn’t press the earl for repayment,” Lady Ross said in a hollow voice. “Out of guilt. He’d killed Duncannon’s wife.”

“I don’t see why you two keep saying that,” Venetia burst out. “Mama died in childbirth. It was no one’s fault, even if she had been carrying Sir Alasdair’s child. She could just as easily have been bearing Papa’s.”

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” Aunt Maggie said gently. “After you were born, the surgeon told Quentin that another childbirth would kill her. Your father loved her and he wouldn’t risk her life. So they didn’t share a bed from then on.”

Lachlan turned to see Venetia quietly crying, the tears streaming down her face. Anger at his father swelled in him. Father was responsible for ripping the lass’s mother from her. God help him. God help them all.

“Don’t think too badly of your mother,” her aunt said, putting her arm around Venetia’s shoulders. “She
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was terribly lonely. She begged Quentin, pleaded with him to ignore the surgeon. She said it was worth the risk. He refused. So Susannah turned for companionship to the only other man she saw as a friend. Lachlan’s father.”

“Companionship!” Lachlan’s heart grew heavier by the moment. “He seduced her, you mean. My father, the high and moral clan chief, the man who spent my childhood lecturing me for my wicked urges, seduced her. He was an adulterer, plain and simple.”

His mother went ash-white. “Lachlan, please—”

“No, Mother, I won’t defend him! He took Duncannon’s wife, and he did what he always did to everything he touched. He destroyed her.” His gaze fell on Venetia. “He destroyed your mother, lass. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “Everyone at fault is dead.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “Ah, but what happened afterward is my fault,” he said in an aching whisper. “I made it worse by demanding my due when all your father wanted was to forget. And then I kidnapped you—” His voice broke. “Oh God, what have I done? My father took the earl’s wife, and now I’ve taken his daughter.”

“It’s not the same, Lachlan!” She hurried across the room to grab his arm. He looked down at that small, defenseless hand, and shame washed him anew. “No, don’t, lass. Don’t.”

Removing her hand, he backed away. He glanced to his mother, then to Lady Kerr, then whirled for the door. “I have to think on all this…I have to figure out what to do. What’s right.”

What must be done if he was to be able to live with himself.

Venetia gave a little cry and started after him, but her aunt stayed her. “Let him go, my dear. Give him time.”

He heard the words dimly as he strode from the manor, but they barely registered. Because his mind was drifting back long years to a childhood he’d never wished to examine too closely before. One event burned in his memory: the time he’d startled his father crossing the bridge from Braidmuir. Lachlan had received such a tongue-lashing that it had kept him from wondering what his father might have been doing on the Duncannon estate in the wee hours of the morn. Now that he thought of it, there’d been other signs. Duncannon’s surprising behavior in the months after the impending “blessed event” had been announced. Even now, Lachlan remembered seeing rage on the earl’s face every time his father entered a room. His father had said they’d quarreled, but no mere quarrel could have produced such anger.