Elliot’s hands burned again as they wrenched away the rifle. They spit at him and called him a coward, then wiped the blood of their fallen comrades on him and tried to kick him to death. Stacy was gone, and rescue would not come.
Elliot flinched as the blows came down, feet and sticks, the butt of his own rifle.
His thrashing tossed water onto the floor, and Juliana’s hands came to rest on his shoulders. “Elliot.”
He opened his eyes to Scottish sunlight, tepid bathwater, Juliana sliding her arms around him from behind.
Juliana didn’t ask why he’d started fighting, nor did she demand him to tell her what he’d remembered. She simply held him, never minding that her sleeves were getting all wet, the blue broadcloth becoming dark with water.
Elliot turned his head and kissed her cheek, liking how her breath felt cool on his damp skin. The screams, shots, and enraged shouts of men faded, to be replaced by the quiet sound of his lips on hers.
He reached his very wet hand up to undo the buttons of her bodice, but his fingers were too slick. “Take this off,” he said, tugging a button.
Her eyes widened. “Right now?”
“You charged in here while I was in my bath.” Where Elliot couldn’t walk away from her. “What did you think I’d do?”
He drew his finger down her closed placket, finding the damp spot where she’d pressed her hand. Her shoulder was also dark with water from where he’d rested his head.
“I am rather wet, aren’t I?”
Juliana undid the first two buttons of the bodice, and Elliot’s erection returned, harder than ever.
“Stand up,” he said. “Bare yourself for me. I want to watch you.”
Juliana’s face flooded with color, but she rose, fingers still on her buttons. “Only a very wicked woman would do such a thing.”
“Only wicked if the man is not her husband.” Elliot laced his fingers behind his head, the warmth in his blood hotter now than the water. “But you’re wicked, lass. You sat on a man’s lap, in a chapel, and told him to marry you.”
“That was not quite how it happened.”
“’Tis how I remember it, love. Go on. Unbutton.”
Elliot rested his hands on the sides of the tub again, but this time, his fingers were relaxed, warm.
Juliana, after a little hesitation, popped another button of her bodice. The linen corset cover beneath had a bow at the neckline, so fetching. Elliot watched her fingers, which trembled a little, as she unbuttoned the bodice all the way down.
“Take it off,” he said.
Juliana slid the bodice from her body and draped it over a chair. Her arms were bare, the corset hugging her breasts and waist.
“Keep going,” Elliot said.
Juliana flushed, pink spreading from her cheeks all the way down her neck. In addition to the ten freckles on her nose, freckles also ran down her throat to her chest, the pattern forming a point between her breasts. The blush emphasized it.
She unhooked the corset cover and reached behind her to unlace the corset. That came off—she exhaled in relief—to reveal the little top of her combinations.
“The skirt as well?” she asked, setting aside the corset.
“And the petticoats and whatever contraption you’re wearing beneath.”
“I have to wear at least a small bustle with this, or the dress will sag.” Juliana unhooked and untied the skirt from around her waist and pulled it away. She untied and stepped out of the petticoats as well as the bustle.
She stood bare but for her combinations, stockings, and low-heeled shoes. Her hand went to the fastenings of her combinations. “Shall I take this off too?”
Elliot’s memories shot back to a time when he’d been painfully young and shipping back to India after brief leave. He and his mates had ended up at a cabaret in Marseilles, where young ladies pranced about a stage in their underwear and called out, “What shall we take off next, messieurs?”
That glimpse of blatant sin had been nowhere near as erotic as Juliana in her combinations shyly asking, Shall I take this off too?
“Shoes and stockings,” Elliot said. His entire body was at peace, except for his cock, which was rigid as a maypole. But, after all, what did a maypole represent?
“Oh yes.” Juliana slid out of her sturdy workday shoes and slipped off her stockings.
“That’s enough,” Elliot said when she finished. “Come here.”
Juliana walked hesitantly to the tub. One step, two, three…
Elliot reached out, hooked his arm around her waist, and pulled her down to him.
No squealing when she got wet. Juliana laughed.
Her laughter was so dear to him. The fact that she laughed with him, better still.
Elliot pulled her all the way into the tub, onto his lap with its stiff erection, closing his arms around her and holding her close.
Juliana leaned against him and decided that Elliot wet was a grand sight. His eyelashes were beaded with water, his hair darker gold with it. From behind his lashes his light gray eyes were almost silver, his look heating her even in the cooling water.
Water droplets glistened on his shoulders and beaded in the hollow of his throat, sliding over the lines of his tattoo. Water curled the hair on his chest, darkening the golden strands.
Elliot stroked her with big hands through her wet combinations, molding her waist, her back, up under her breasts. His eyes were heavy with his lack of sleep, but his touch was sure and strong.
He cradled her in his hands, thumbs moving along her jaw to tilt her head back. He kissed her lips, his tongue taking the water from them.
Juliana lightly licked his cheekbone, liking the way her touch drew color across his tanned skin. He caught her mouth with his again, his kiss turning deeper, less playful.
She was soaking wet, her combinations forming to her body, the thin lawn hiding nothing.
Elliot slid his hands over her, cupping her breasts, her nipples tight against his palms. He kissed her with slow deliberation, a man seeking comfort.
He was aroused, the blunt hardness of his cock a firm line. Juliana wriggled against it, liking the feel of it.
“Wicked lass,” Elliot whispered.
He skimmed his hands down her waist, tugging open her drawers and peeling them from her body. The drawers landed with a wet splat outside the tub.
There wasn’t room for Elliot to make love to her here. He kissed her again, licking the water from her lips, stroking into her mouth. Juliana rubbed his slippery shoulders to his back, pulling him to her for a harder kiss.
Elliot’s hands went everywhere—her thighs, buttocks, waist, breasts. He kissed her with longing, lips caressing then commanding.
He was lifting her up, up, rising out of the tub with her. Water crashed from their bodies back into the bathtub and all over the floor. Elliot pushed Juliana’s camisole up and off, pulling her naked, wet body against his.
More kisses, Elliot lifting her against him, cradling her buttocks with one arm, while he hungrily took her mouth. He locked her legs around him, the ridge of his arousal nestled against her thigh, and stepped out of the tub.
Chapter 18
The bed was two strides away. Juliana landed on her back, ever so gently, then Elliot covered her, warm and wet.
He never stopped kissing her. He parted her legs, his callused hands rasping her skin, and entered her.
The bedsheets quickly became soaked as he moved inside her, his eyes darkening as he loved her as hungrily as he’d kissed her.
Elliot came apart in tight little jerks, Juliana’s cries heartfelt. Elliot kept loving her, his eyes growing heavy, until he finished, gathered Juliana against him, and fell into an unmoving sleep.
When Juliana woke and ventured downstairs, the house was again full of men from the village, returning for another day of putting McGregor Castle to rights. Juliana had heard them arrive while she lay against Elliot, so she’d taken special care in front of the mirror to make sure her hai
r was perfectly to rights, the clean dress she put on nowhere near the water that coated the floor.
Elliot lay back in the bed and watched her, the sheets sagging down his hips. He regarded her with a half smile that was positively sinful.
“Go on,” he said when she lingered. “Back to your lists.”
Juliana smiled at him, her body happy, and made herself leave.
Mahindar passed her on her way downstairs, he heading up to Elliot. The man seemed to know exactly when Elliot would need him.
Juliana stopped him on the landing. “Mahindar,” she said. “Thank you. For all you’ve done.”
Mahindar blinked. “I’ve barely started, memsahib. There is much yet to do today.”
“I meant about Elliot. For looking after him. For taking care of him. You didn’t have to.”
Mahindar shook his head. “He needed looking after. Still needs looking after. When we found the sahib, he was wandering miles from his house, half dead from thirst and exposure. We brought him home. We could not let him die.”
“Not everyone would be that kind.”
“I was raised to always give aid to the unfortunate. And the sahib, at one time, did me a good service. He took me away from a man who treated me shamefully.” Mahindar smiled. “He even punched that other man in the face. My wife, she liked that. But we would have helped the sahib regardless. He is, in the truest sense, a good man.”
“I’ve always thought so.” Juliana paused. “You don’t know how he escaped from whatever awful place he was in, do you?”
“No, memsahib. He has never told me the whole story. Only bits and pieces.”
Juliana stood aside for two men who were waiting to pass with a rolled-up carpet, and signaled them to proceed. Now was not the time to ask for Elliot’s history, and besides, Juliana wanted Elliot to tell her himself.
“Thank you, Mahindar” she said again, sincerely, and went back downstairs to her lists and letters.
Juliana was pleased to find that while she’d been upstairs with Elliot, Hamish had brought in the post, including all kinds of news and notes from her family. Juliana took the post with her to the dining room, and settled in to indulge herself with it.
Ainsley wrote a nice long, chatty letter that only Ainsley could write. In it she said that she understood why Juliana had wanted them to stay away for a time, but that they’d be back for her midsummer fête, along with the entire Mackenzie family. She also reassured Juliana that the wedding gifts had gone back, except for those from people who were perfectly happy for Juliana and Elliot to keep what they’d sent. Those gifts would be arriving at Castle McGregor by courier later in the week.
Ainsley ended by professing gratefulness for Juliana marrying her troubled brother, and her certainty that Juliana would have a good effect on him.
Elliot’s brother Sinclair wrote to both her and Elliot, declaring that he was happy with the turn of events. Sinclair, who was two years older than Elliot, said he would attempt to attend their midsummer fête, but he was always kept busy in London, not only in court, but in taking care of his two children. They went through a new governess every week. Sinclair would be kind and resist the temptation to foist the children off for the summer on Elliot and Juliana—Elliot and his new bride needed time to get to know each other before the holy terrors of the McBride family descended upon them. Sinclair concluded that he’d foist them off on Ainsley instead.
Juliana smiled as she finished the letter. Sinclair had always been good-natured, and he’d deeply loved his wife, who’d been taken from him so young, leaving him two children to raise on his own.
Juliana’s father wrote in his understated way that he was glad that Juliana seemed to be happy. Implicit in the letter was the promise that, if Juliana should prove to become unhappy, she could return home with no questions asked. Mr. St. John would even enlist the best legal help on her behalf in such a case.
Any other person might find this letter cool, but Juliana knew her father. He was a man of deep feeling, but he had decided long ago never to bother anyone else with those deep feelings. He was the epitome of the calm and stern Scot, expecting the worst, but quietly accepting the best if it should happen to come.
Gemma’s letter was the longest. Juliana loved in Gemma the fact that she did not believe in keeping anything secret for anyone’s good. She was forthright and honest, and if others found her opinions too abrupt, at least they always knew where they stood with her. The polite lie was not for Gemma St. John. She believed in unvarnished truth, for good or ill.
I must tell you what people are saying so you will be prepared upon your return to Edinburgh. Not everyone in the world believes this, but I have heard put about that your swift choice to marry Elliot shows that you are no different from your mother. All the work you have done throughout your life to prove you are not like her counts as nothing for vicious gossips such as Lady Gascogne and Mrs. Bassington-Smith and ladies of like mind.
I, being me, could not let that pass. I told Mrs. Bassington-Smith that your mother indeed was a scatterbrain, and we all knew it, but that you were as unlike her as a flower is to cheese. I said that you had been wise to accept Mr. McBride’s timely proposal, and now have a husband and home of your own, and all’s well that ends well.
Well, I shut her up, as you can imagine, but I know they rehearse this idea out of my hearing. One cannot have society without disparagers such as these, I know, but I thought I’d warn you. However, you do have your champions, including me, who believe you had a lucky escape from Mr. Barclay. As for opinion about Mr. McBride, everyone can only declare what a fine man he is, and no one can deny that he comes from an utterly respectable family.
Of course, they add, it’s a pity that he’s mad…
Juliana finished the letter, half uneasy, half reassured. She pictured the rather pretty Mrs. Bassington-Smith, wife of a high court judge, her black hair in its perfect ringlets, declaring over her waving fan that Juliana was no better than her mother.
Juliana’s temper stirred. Really, it was no one’s business why she’d married Elliot, or how they were getting on. Mrs. Bassington-Smith hadn’t been on Juliana’s guest list for the midsummer ball, and Juliana determined that the woman would not be added to any other list from here on out.
And Elliot wasn’t mad. Not really. He’d been disturbed by the terrible things he’d endured, and he was trying to recover.
Juliana tamped down her irritation in order to answer the letters, soothing her temper by writing first to the people of whom she was most fond. She wrote also to merchants in Aberdeen and Edinburgh, ordering materials for the house, the fête, and the ball.
Elliot had told her, through Mahindar, that she could buy whatever she wanted or needed, with an open-ended account. Juliana, with the frugality and efficiency she’d strived to learn since girlhood, looked for the best things she could for the very best price.
By the time she’d finished her correspondence and emerged to have Hamish carry it to the village, it was time for luncheon, which she ate informally with Priti. Priti had been taught table manners, Juliana saw, holding her fork and spoon properly, eating only her bread with her fingers.
Juliana’s heart warmed as she watched her. Who couldn’t love this child, with her wild black hair and winsome smile, her prattling talk, in a mix of English and Punjabi? Her eyes were deep brown, but she had the look of Elliot. She would be lovely when she was grown, and Juliana vowed to watch over her every step of the way.
After their luncheon, Channan arrived to lead Priti back to the kitchen. Priti was glad to go, to play again not only with the goat, but with her other new friend—the setter who seemed to have no inclination to return home to Mr. McPherson.
Priti climbed onto Juliana’s lap and kissed her cheek, and Juliana held her close. She was glad Elliot had brought her here from India, to a place where she could be safe.
Priti gave Juliana another sticky kiss, climbed down, took Channan’s hand, and pulled the older wom
an away.
They had not been gone thirty seconds when Mahindar walked into the dining room, looking distressed.
“Memsahib, you have callers.”
“Callers?” Juliana rose, dabbing with her handkerchief where Priti had left her honeyed kiss. “Good heavens, who would call while we’re at such sixes and sevens?”
Mahindar presented the silver salver he held in his big hands. The two cards bore the names of Mrs. Terrell and Mrs. Dalrymple.
Chapter 19
“Oh Lord.” Juliana sent up the fervent prayer. “I remember distinctly telling them the house wasn’t fit for visitors, and wouldn’t be until the fête. Where am I to put them?”
“Do not distress yourself, memsahib. The room you said you wanted for the morning room is clean and neat. I can bring you tea there, with little cakes. Miss Rossmoran has been teaching Channan how to make little cakes.”
“Excellent, Mahindar. You’re a wonder. Yes, put them there, and tell them I’ll be right in.”
Mahindar departed swiftly and quietly.
Juliana neatened her hair in the mirror. She was hardly dressed for accepting callers, in a workaday gown of brown poplin without much trim, though her Edinburgh dressmaker had always managed to make her dresses pretty even if they were inappropriate for the occasion.
They’ll have to take as they find, Juliana thought irritably as she walked across the chaos of the house to the morning room.
Mrs. Terrell and Mrs. Dalrymple rose as Juliana entered. They took in her gown, glanced at each other, and kept their expressions fixed.
“I apologize for the dust and noise,” Juliana said, her face heating. “We have the builders in, as you can see.”
The ladies sat down, exclaiming that of course they expected nothing, that her morning room was lovely, had the best of views, would be splendid when it was finished. Mahindar glided in while they were chattering and set down the tea things, the ones Ainsley had given Juliana, plus a three-tiered tray filled with tiny cakes and petit fours.
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