Gregor’s gaze darkened. He placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face. “Then I shall wish you good night, Venetia.” He bent and kissed her cheek.
Venetia closed her eyes, her body trembling. She leaned toward him, savoring the warmth of his lips upon her skin, soaking in every sensual second. Slowly, without breathing, she pulled away and met his gaze.
His green eyes smoldering with intent, his mouth suddenly covered hers, and passion exploded. He lifted her from the ground, molding her against the hard length of his body.
He plundered her mouth, possessed it in a way no one ever had. No kiss had encouraged her to go beyond that point, none had tempted her to try more, and none had ever burned through her like a hot flame.
Gregor moaned low in his throat, a possessive growl that made Venetia’s knees weaken even more. His mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue sliding between her lips, taking more and yet more.
Venetia couldn’t think, could only feel, and, oh, what she felt! Her skin tingled, her lips burned, her heart thundered, and her toes curled.
It was a branding, and Venetia feared she might explode with the heat that burned through her. Just as she thought she might faint from the overwhelming feelings, Gregor broke the kiss, slid her to her feet, and released her.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over. They stood, breathing heavily, stunned amazement on both of their faces.
Gregor raked a hand through his hair. “Venetia, I—”
“No.” She turned and almost stumbled toward the door.
She heard him take a step after her, and she ran as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels, slamming the door behind her and taking the stairs in a blur of motion. She needed to be alone, to release the confused feelings that tore through her.
She had stumbled to her door and reached for the knob when the door across from hers opened, and Miss Platt came out onto the landing, still dressed in the gown she’d worn to dinner. The woman jumped a little at the unexpected sight of Venetia, and then frowned. “Why, Miss West!” Miss Platt said in a pseudo-whisper. “Are you ill? You look flushed.”
Venetia whispered, “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
Miss Platt gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I daresay you are; it has been a busy day.”
The kind words, combined with the comforting pat on the shoulder, almost broke Venetia’s tenuous control. With an effort, she managed a smile and said, “Miss Platt, I would like to speak with you tomorrow.” She glanced at the closed door behind Miss Platt. “In private.”
“Very well. Perhaps in the morning? I am an early riser.” She tittered nervously and whispered, “Mrs. Bloom is forever telling me to be quiet in the mornings so I will not wake her.”
“Excellent. I shall look forward to—”
“Miss Platt!” called Mrs. Bloom, her voice booming through the quiet inn.
Miss Platt started. “Oh, dear! I must fetch some water! Excuse me, Miss West.” She dashed down the stairs, her skirts flying behind her.
Shaking her head, Venetia slipped tiredly into her own room and undressed. Though she wished to think more about Gregor’s startling kiss, she could not keep her eyes open. Within seconds of slipping between the sheets, she fell into a deep, deep sleep, where she dreamed of knights in shining armor with dark green eyes and wicked smiles.
Chapter 6
We all do things fer which we’re woeful and sorry. Indeed, ye’d not be human if ye didn’t err a wee bit now and ag’in!
OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND
TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING
V enetia awoke slowly, pulling the covers higher and snuggling deeper into the cocoon of warmth. Then the painfully clear memory of Gregor’s kiss shocked the last few vestiges of sleep from her mind.
Her lips tingled as if longing for another.
She scrubbed them with the back of her hand. It had really happened, then. Gregor had really kissed her. Which meant…what?
Nothing, she told herself. She said it again, aloud. “It means nothing. Gregor kisses women all the time. It was merely the strain of the day’s events.”
When they met today, they would pretend the kiss had never happened. Though things might be awkward at first, she was certain they’d quickly settle back into their normal pattern.
She climbed out of bed, shivering when her feet hit the wood floor. Where on earth was her robe? She glanced around, finally seeing the edge of it peeking out from under the bed. She snatched it up and bundled into it, wishing it possessed less lace and more material, then made her way to the window and flicked back the edge of the curtain.
Sunlight streamed into the innyard below, blindingly bright and sparkling on the snow. For the first time in two days, there was nary a cloud in the sky. Better yet, there was a line around the barn where large fat icicles dripped away, slowly melting.
Venetia smiled with relief and dropped the curtain back into place. Perhaps they wouldn’t be stuck here very long—which was a good thing, considering how things between her and Gregor had gone awry so quickly.
Unwilling to examine the events of last night without her breakfast, she crossed to the washstand, picked up her silver comb, and began to tame her long hair.
Venetia tugged through the last tangle, wishing she’d brought her handheld mirror. The one over the washstand was so spotted and cloudy she could hardly make out her face, much less tell anything about her hair.
Sighing, she began the laborious task of pinning up her long locks. She was just sliding the last pin into place when she heard the door across the hall open.
Miss Platt’s voice drifted into the room. “Yes, ma’am! I will go at once and see why no one brought hot water.”
Mrs. Bloom’s shrill voice complained at length.
When she finally paused, Miss Platt said in her breathless voice, “Oh, yes, my dear Mrs. Bloom! It’s most disgraceful. I’ll go at once, and I will not return until I find some water.”
Venetia went to the door and cracked it open. Miss Platt was just closing the door to Mrs. Bloom’s room, a harried expression on her face.
“Miss Platt!” Venetia whispered.
Miss Platt paused, glancing back over her shoulder. She was dressed in gray again, with no ornamentation to alleviate the drabness of her attire. “Miss We—”
“Shhhh!” Venetia opened her door wider and whispered, “Do you have some time to speak? It will take only a moment.”
Miss Platt glanced nervously at Mrs. Bloom’s door. “I don’t know if I—”
“Please.”
The thin woman managed a nervous smile and entered Venetia’s room.
Once there, Venetia took Miss Platt’s hands and led her to the only chair. “Pray have a seat. I am sorry I don’t have more comforts here, but we have to make do.”
Miss Platt shook her head. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take the only chair!”
Venetia rather wished Miss Platt could. The woman was far taller than she and it was a bit of a strain to look up into her angular face. The light from the window was not very kind to Miss Platt. Her skin was sallow, her lips very thin, and her eyelashes nonexistent. Her only claim to attractiveness was the unusual light blue color of her eyes.
Of course, the exterior was a poor indicator of the soul, as Venetia knew after countless lectures from her father. It had often been proven that a plain exterior harbored a pure soul.
Looking up into Miss Platt’s plain features, it was easy to imagine that they shone with an especially angelic goodness. “Miss Platt, I hope you don’t think I’m being forward, but Mrs. Bloom seems—that is to say, she’s not always—how did you come to be in her employ?”
Miss Platt flushed a rich hue that showed her to even more disadvantage. “That’s a very complicated story.”
Venetia had expected as much. “I didn’t wish to bring it up at dinner last night, because there were so many people present, but I couldn’t help but wonder.”
<
br /> Miss Platt wrung her hands, glancing nervously at the door. “Mrs. Bloom does not like me to tell.”
“Because it might show her in an ill light?”
“Oh, no! It’s not a bad story, but Mrs. Bloom feels that some people might take her part wrong.”
Indignation warmed Venetia’s heart. Her instincts had been right once again; Miss Platt was in sore need of a champion. “Pray tell me what happened! At least, do so if you wish.”
“It’s not much of a story. It—it has to do with my brother, Bertrand.” As she said the name, Miss Platt’s thin lips curved into a shy smile, her face softening. “My brother is a wonderful man, quite handsome and debonair, though a bit—” She hesitated, clearly unable or unwilling to say anything bad about him.
“Naive?” Venetia offered helpfully.
“Yes!” Miss Platt looked relieved. “Bertrand is several years younger than I. Through an odd set of circumstances, he found himself in London.” She leaned forward and said in an awed whisper, “With more than a thousand pounds!”
“That’s quite a sum of money.”
“He inherited it from my uncle. My brother and I were raised in the wilds of Dover, and nothing would do but that Bertrand must go to London with his funds. I fear he was a bit out of his element there. He is quite impulsive.” Miss Platt’s voice came in a rush, her hands tightly clenched before her, a trace of color on her thin cheeks. “It’s a family trait, I am afraid. My father suffered from just such an affliction.”
Venetia placed a hand on Miss Platt’s shoulder and squeezed sympathetically. “I think I know what happened. Someone took advantage of your brother and encouraged his weakness?”
“Oh, yes!” Miss Platt grasped one of Venetia’s hands between hers, a beseeching look in her eyes. “Miss West, you cannot know the agonies of being so far away from one’s only blood relative!”
“Your brother is the last of your family?”
“Oh, yes. Except for Mrs. Bloom.”
“You are related to her?”
“She married my mother’s brother, which makes her my aunt by marriage. My uncle, Mr. Bloom, was a very wealthy man. He and Mrs. Bloom took care of Bertrand and me until he died, some years ago. He left the two of us some funds.”
“That’s where Bertrand got his thousand pounds.”
“Yes.” Miss Platt’s expression darkened. “I’ve always thought Mrs. Bloom resented that.”
Venetia patted Miss Platt’s hand. “Where is Bertrand now?”
“In London.” Miss Platt’s lips quivered. “In debtor’s prison.”
“Oh, no!”
“Yes! Mrs. Bloom and I are on our way to save him.”
Venetia’s mouth opened. “Mrs. Bloom is going to pay his debts?”
Miss Platt flushed awkwardly. “Yes, but—” She closed her lips for a moment before speaking again. “I am not to speak of that. Mrs. Bloom doesn’t wish me to say more on the matter.”
Suddenly, Venetia saw it all. Miss Platt was serving as Mrs. Bloom’s companion to repay the clutch-fisted old bat for getting poor Bertrand released from gaol. Of all the mean, uncharitable behavior! Mrs. Bloom had completely taken advantage of poor Miss Platt.
Venetia’s father always said that charity was an act not counted in gold, but Venetia was certain Mrs. Bloom was doing just that. She probably thought she was doing Miss Platt and poor Bertrand a great favor, congratulating herself on her grand charity and reminding poor Miss Platt a thousand times a day of how much she “owed” her benefactress.
Venetia squeezed Miss Platt’s hand. “I don’t wish to say anything untoward, but there are other ways to find funds than selling yourself into servitude.”
Miss Platt blinked. “What other ways?”
“Well…there is…I mean, surely you could…” Venetia bit her lip. “I don’t know right now, but I am certain I will think of something.” At Miss Platt’s fallen expression, Venetia said earnestly, “You must have hope. Surely you don’t see yourself serving as a companion for Mrs. Bloom all of your days.”
“Well, no—I suppose not. I hadn’t really thought of it. Except, of course, in my dreams. But that is another matter altogether.”
“Your dreams?” Venetia smiled a little at that. “What do you dream?”
Miss Platt couldn’t turn any redder. She waved an agitated hand. “Nothing, really. I—I just sometimes daydream. Mrs. Bloom says I’m perfectly useless when I do so, though I can’t help but wonder…never mind.”
“No, no! What were you going to say?”
“I shouldn’t be so silly. Mrs. Bloom says one must face realities, but sometimes it is so lovely to dream.”
“I don’t care what Mrs. Bloom says! Tell me about your dreams! Please?”
“I—I suppose it won’t hurt.” Miss Platt said in a low voice, “One day, I would like to get married.”
Venetia nodded encouragingly. “And?”
Miss Platt blinked. “And…that’s all. I would just like to get married.”
“Oh.”
Miss Platt blushed. “It’s a silly dream, isn’t it? And not very likely to happen.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Venetia said bracingly.
“No. For me, it’s a dream and nothing else. I’m not like you, Miss West. I don’t have a beau like Lord MacLean.”
“MacLean? He’s not my beau!” He was a thorn in her side, a pain in her—
“But you two seem so familiar with each other.”
“We are. I’ve known Gregor MacLean since I was five.”
“Oh! So you are more like brother and sister!”
“We are just friends. Nothing more.”
“I thought he told Mrs. Bloom he was your guardian.”
“He’s my guardian and friend. But that is all.” Venetia could see the woman’s brow furrow as she considered something. “Miss Platt, what is it?”
“I was just thinking. Miss West, do you think—” She winced, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m just being silly.”
“Silly? Why do you think that?”
“My father always said that one should know one’s place in life and not live above, for there was naught but heartache on that path.”
“Of all the horrid things to say!”
Miss Platt blinked. “It was?”
“Absolutely. There is no telling where you might find yourself, if you will only take a few chances. Stop letting life and other people dictate who you are, and tell them instead!”
“Chances?” Miss Platt looked positively amazed. “You think it’s good to take chances?”
“Of course! I take them all the time, and they always work out.” Venetia thought for a moment. “Well, most of the time.”
Miss Platt stood, eyes wide, blinking slowly. Then, in an awed voice, she said, “I love taking chances. And I used to, but Mrs. Bloom always says—”
“Forget about Mrs. Bloom! What about you? What chances do you wish to take?”
“Oh, Miss West, there are so many! I should like to learn how to flirt and how to attract a gentleman. A real gentleman like Lord MacLean!”
Venetia’s smile faded, an odd sense of alarm pressing against her. “You wish to learn to flirt? With Gregor?”
“Or someone else. I’d like to learn to flirt and then marry. It’s the only way I might catch a man.” Miss Platt pressed her hands to her cheeks, a sublime look upon her thin face. “I should like to marry a gentleman with a title and money, and he would have to be handsome, too, of course! And have a lovely house. And horses. Servants. At least one carriage, maybe two.” Miss Platt giggled, her face alight. “In fact, you are right. I should like to marry someone like Lord MacLean.”
“But…” Venetia said blankly.
Miss Platt clasped her hands beneath her chin and closed her eyes. “He is the handsomest man I’ve ever met.”
And the most arrogant.
Miss Platt dropped her clasped hands to her lap, her bright blue gaze on Venetia’s face. “Miss Wes
t, do you think that a gentleman like Lord MacLean might be interested in someone like me?”
Venetia looked at Miss Platt, with her flat chest and too-large feet and hunched shoulders, at the lank, mousy brown hair and the hooked nose over the too-thin lips. Venetia then thought of Gregor, with his savage male beauty that was defined by the rapier-thin scar down his face. The scar began above his eyebrow, skipped his eye, and continued in a pale slash down his cheek. But his disfigurement hadn’t dampened the enthusiasm of the women of London. It seemed to enflame them all the more, adding an element of exotic danger to an already heart-stirringly handsome man.
Venetia had seen woman after woman throw herself at Gregor, which was why her heart sank at Miss Platt’s hopeful tone.
As she opened her mouth to reply, Mrs. Bloom’s shrill voice rang out. “Miss Platt!”
Miss Platt started. “Oh, dear! I must go!” She gave an awkward curtsey, and scurried to the door. “I don’t know why they didn’t bring hot water this morning, but Mrs. Bloom won’t rest until she gets it.” She paused at the door, smiling shyly. “Thank you for speaking with me, Miss West. I don’t know if I can ever do what you suggest, but—”
“Of course you can!” Venetia said, banishing her uneasy thoughts. “And you should be aware that there are far better men than Gregor MacLean.”
Miss Platt shook her head. “I can’t imagine!”
Venetia gave Miss Platt a bracing smile. “Just wait until you reach London and spend a little time amongst civilized society. There are many men far more charming.”
Miss Platt tittered. “La, Miss West! How you do talk! You are very kind, though, and I appreciate—”
The door across the hallway could be heard to open, and Mrs. Bloom’s shrill voice snapped, “Miss Platt! Pray come at once!”
The door slammed closed.
Miss Platt winced. “I had better go. Thank you for your advice.” With a wiggle of her fingers over one shoulder, she was out the door.
Venetia followed Miss Platt to the landing and watched her rush down the steps and disappear around the corner. Who would have thought poor Miss Platt’s one dream was to flirt? Obviously, there was a lot more work to do in raising Miss Platt’s sense of value. If Miss Platt did not develop a sense of purpose for her own life, other people would run right over her. People like Mrs. Bloom.
To Scotland, With Love Page 8
