Forgetting the Scot

by Jennifer Trethewey

  Virginia paused before a footbridge that spanned the stream feeding the pond. She was out of breath and with each heave of her chest, her breasts pressed and plumped against her stays. Sweet loving Jesus, he would free her of those confines and take her nipples into his mouth and lick and suck and nip—

  “This way,” she said and darted across the bridge, the wee vixen.

  And then he spotted where it was she was headed. In the shadows of a stand of pines, a folly in the Greek style like a miniature temple built upon a raised platform of polished granite. They reached the steps and gazed up at the four Ionic columns across the front. It was too dark to see them clearly, but friezes were carved into the pediment and entablature all around the roof line. The folly reminded him of an engraving he’d seen long ago. It was in a book about the Peloponnesian Wars.

  “The Temple of Athena Nike,” he said out loud.

  “That’s exactly right,” Virginia said, still a little breathless from their escape. “Only half the size but a replica. His Grace has a fascination for ancient Greece.”

  The sanctuary was walled on three sides and open entirely behind the columned entrance. They held hands and climbed the steps slowly, like two supplicants. The interior was inky black, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out that the room had been appointed with carpet, couches, and cushions.

  “We often take our lunches here when the weather is nice.” Virginia released his hand and stepped deeper into the folly.

  He remembered the bottle he was holding and sniffed. Wine? He sipped and the crisp bubbles sparkled in his mouth. Champagne. Good. Virginia liked champagne. He fumbled forward.

  “I’m here.” Her luminescent figure appeared in the corner. “Come to me.”

  Over the last two weeks, he’d dreamed of her every night. In those dreams, she remained standing just out of his reach, close but not close enough to touch or kiss or hold. Here, now, in this temple, waited his last chance to make love to her, to change her mind, to make her his. This was his last chance to convince Virginia that he could make her happy if she would just trust in him, believe in him.

  The couch she sat on was low. Already he felt the confines of his uniform and unbuttoned the front of his jacket before sitting next to her.

  “Champagne,” he said, offering her the bottle.

  She sipped and laughed. “It tickles my nose.”

  He took the bottle back and set it aside. “We should talk about—”

  “Don’t let’s talk. Not now,” she said, her voice soft and husky. Her slender fingers slipped around his neck, and she pulled him down to her. “Kiss me. Make love to me. Please. I want you.”

  What could he say? What could he do but obey her? She was his commander, and he was her soldier. She was his viscountess and he, her subject. She was his goddess, and he worshipped her.

  Much, much later, they lay naked and tangled together, their belabored breaths fanning heated skin slick with sweat. If he were to judge by her cries, he had pleased her many times over. He had served his sovereign, followed his commander’s orders, paid homage to his goddess.

  Magnus slid his hand between her thighs and cupped her mound. The dim pulse under his fingers echoed her ebbing passion. Should he try to call it forth again? Bring her to that frothing climax? Stroke and lick her until she cried for mercy? He already felt his weary cock stirring. Perhaps he might perform a third time for her. Would that be enough to bind her to him?

  “No. You mustn’t.” She stilled his hand with hers. “We have to go back. It’s been hours. We’ll have been missed by now.”

  “Your hair has come undone, love, and I dinnae ken how to put it to rights. Are you certain it would be prudent for you to return to the ball?”

  She twisted on the narrow couch and snugged her back against his front and her bottom against his ever-growing cock. “We can’t stay here all night. Someone is bound to come looking for us.”

  As if on cue, Magnus heard the distant call of, “Virginia. Virginiaaaaa.”

  “Damn and Bollocks. That’s Jemima.” Virginia scrambled to her feet. “Quick. Where are my stockings?”

  For a disorienting moment, he wanted to protest. There was nothing shameful, nothing to hide about a husband stealing his wife away to make love to her. But they weren’t husband and wife, and Virginia was still desperate to hide her affection for him from the world. He hadn’t yet convinced her.

  He did his best to help her find the errant items he had cast around the room in his earlier frenzy to get her naked. At the same time, he hastily fought his way back into his shirt, stockings, kilt, boots, and gaiters. He froze when he heard a familiar voice.

  “Is that you in there, Sinclair?”

  Bloody Frigging Bull.

  “If you value your testicles, you’ll stay the hell out, Bulford.”

  “It’s just that His Grace is searching for Lady Langley—”

  “I’ll be right out,” Virginia said.

  “Do you need help?” Jemima stepped into the folly.

  “Thank God,” Virginia breathed. “I can’t manage the buttons in back, and I’ve lost my combs.”

  Magnus left the ladies and lumbered out of the building into the moonlight to find the silhouette of Bulford standing at the bottom of the steps.

  “Awfully reckless of you,” Bull accused.

  “Oh, aye? And what were you and Lady L doing in the library? Alone? In the dark?”

  “Talking.” Bull tugged the front of his waistcoat down and crossed his arms defensively.

  Jemima hurried out of the folly toward them. “We have a problem.” When Virginia followed her out, the problem became apparent. Every inch of her betrayed what she’d been doing for the last two hours. Her hair was mussed, her gown rumpled, her cheeks flushed, and her lips were bitten into rose buds. She looked gloriously and thoroughly ravished, and it made him hard all over again.

  Virginia put her spectacles on and inspected their faces. “Why? What’s the matter?”

  “The party has spilled out onto the lawn,” Jemima said. “There’s no way to sneak you past the guests and, well, one look at you…”

  “Yes. I see your point,” Bull said.

  Magnus was about to punch Bull in the neck for looking at Virginia but held back when the man continued.

  “I have an idea. Everyone, follow me.”

  The ladies scurried after Bull. Damn the man, always interfering in Magnus’s business. Nevertheless, he checked to make sure he was put back together and strode off after the trio. Bull paused on the other side of the bridge and stared into the pond. Had the bampot lost something?

  “That’s a very lovely gown, Lady Langley. I do beg your pardon, but I can see no other way.” And then he shoved Virginia into the pond.

  “What the bloody hell!”

  Virginia bobbed up, floundered in the water for a moment before stumbling and disappearing under the surface again. Magnus jumped in thigh deep, grabbed hold of a wad of floating cloth, and yanked her to her feet sputtering and gasping. Her spectacles had gone askew, and he righted them on her face. “Are you all right, love?”

  She picked a stream of green slime off her bodice and flung it away. “I think so.”

  He held in his rage long enough to help her to the edge where Bulford and Jemima pulled Virginia up and out of the water. Bulford reached a hand toward him. “Sorry, Sinclair. I really am. I could—”

  Magnus grabbed hold and yanked the bastard headfirst into the pond, then climbed out on his own, water sluicing down his legs and pooling in his boots. His jacket had remained dry and so he removed it and wrapped it around Virginia’s shoulders.

  Jemima, Virginia, and Magnus headed toward the house leaving Bull standing in the pond to fend for himself. After a minute, he came squelching up behind them.

  “I had to think of a solution, a plausible excuse. You see, this way, it’ll appear that the four of us took a walk to the folly but Lady Langley lost her footing and fell in the pond. Then you
saved her from drowning.”

  Magnus spun around and met him nose to nose. “You think shoving Lady Langley in the pond was a solution?”

  “A brilliant one.”

  Magnus ground his teeth together. “English. Daft. Every single one of you.”

  They wove through the guests who’d gathered on the lawn to enjoy the night air. They became more animated when they surveyed Virginia’s condition. Their murmurs and chuckles tickled at Magnus’s anger. He didn’t belong here. Neither did she. Damn these smug people, damn the idiot Bulford, and damn himself for selfishly putting Virginia in this compromising position.

  Bulford made half-hearted attempts to explain away her condition with things like, “Dashed dark out there,” and, “One wrong step and Lady Langley landed in the drink,” and, “Good thing we were there to fish her out.” The bloody fool.

  Lucy and another older woman met them at a rear entrance to the house, fretting and babbling French words. He objected when they swept Virginia away from him.

  “Nae. I want—”

  “I’ll see to her, Magnus,” Lucy said and darted a meaningful look at the audience milling about the lawn.

  But he hadn’t finished—he hadn’t convinced her. “Viscountess,” he called.

  Lucy flashed him another look of warning.

  He ground his teeth and called, “My lady.”

  Virginia turned to look at him, but the French woman continued to pull at her arm.

  “Lady Langley, please,” he choked out. It killed him to call her that.

  She broke away then and came back to the door. Without a word, she removed his jacket, kissed the lapel, and handed it back to him.

  “Please,” he whispered. “You are mine, now.”

  But she wouldn’t look at him. She just shook her head and disappeared into the dark house.

  Bull brushed past him and made some sort of apology, but he didn’t take any notice. He just stormed through the mob into the darkness where he could be alone. He glanced back at the house and saw a light flicker to life in one of the upper windows. Virginia’s bedchamber?

  God, he wanted her. Like he’d never wanted anything before. Like he’d never dared want anything before. The last time he’d felt this desolate he’d been a lad of ten. He’d wept because he wanted his da, but Mam had said Da was never coming home. Still he wanted his da, and he kept on wanting him, crying for him, until, at last, he’d understood that it was useless to want something he could never have.

  Magnus stood in the shadows of the garden staring up at the soft glow of the window. He’d always known he could never have Virginia, and still he kept on wanting her. Just like the last wolf in Scotland, the last one of his kind, who kept calling for his mate, he wanted to howl into the night, call to Virginia like a dumb animal. Too dumb not to know he could never have her. She was lost to him. Forever.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Virginia heard his call. “Viscountess…my lady.”

  She turned back and saw his puzzled face, but Nounou Phillipa tugged at her arm.

  “Lady Langley, please,” Magnus called. Oh God, the pain that it must have caused him to call her Lady Langley. She could hear it in his voice.

  She freed herself from Phillipa’s grip and ran back to Magnus who stood helplessly in the doorway. She wanted to be alone with him, kiss him, beg him to come back to London with her, beg him to stay with her. But that was his decision to make. Not hers. All she could do was remove his uniform jacket from her shoulders, hug it, and give the lapel a surreptitious kiss before handing it back to him.

  Her gown was ruined, of course. Nounou Philippa said she would do her best to restore it. No matter. She would never wear it again. The gown had been made for Magnus, and if he decided not to be with her, if he decided to return to Scotland, she would keep the gown hanging in her closet forever, in remembrance of this evening, the night Magnus had loved her so completely and murmured his love for her as he’d come undone.

  She rinsed away the pond water, dressed for bed, and crawled between the sheets with damp hair. No dreaming tonight. Just sleep. Deep, champagne-and-love-induced sleep. He’d asked her to return to Scotland with him. He loved her enough to ask her to go with him, but did he love her enough to stay with her?

  Had she been a fool to think that if she could show him her love, if she could love him perfectly, he would change his mind and stay with her? Had she only prolonged the pain or made it worse? By the tortured look on Magnus’s face, it was clear he was in as much pain as she.

  He loved her and she loved him. That was all that mattered. But if he left her, if this thing between them was never to be, was it enough for her to simply know she was loved?

  …

  Two days later, she had her answer. As she and Jemima prepared to leave Maidstone Hall, Bulford met her in the entry.

  “Sinclair asked me to deliver this.” He handed her a folded parchment.

  Not trusting herself in front of others when she read his parting words, Virginia excused herself and went out to the back gardens.

  Gail Forss sails on the afternoon tide tomorrow. Will you come? M.

  Virginia held his words to her chest and imagined how they would sound vibrating in his body and rumbling in her ear. After thinking long and hard about what she would write, she went back to the house to pen her reply.

  …

  A day had passed and still no word from Virginia. He had eaten his pride for breakfast yesterday and sent her a message. A wasted effort, as he already knew her answer. Still, he waited at the ship’s railing, searching the dock for her like a patient dog waits for his mistress. They were due to sail on the evening tide, only hours away, and Chatham’s carriage had not yet arrived.

  Alex joined him. “Bulford swore to me he’d have Lucy and Jemma here in time.”

  Magnus grunted an acknowledgment.

  “Do you ken Lady Langley will be with her?”

  “I doubt it.”

  Alex’s arm shot out. “Look. There’s the carriage.” He directed two members of the crew to go ashore and gather the luggage. “Come on,” Alex said, and Magnus followed him down the gangway.

  By the time they reached the carriage, the coachman had removed the bags and trunks from the back. Lucy stood aside holding Hercules and telling the crew which bags were to be stowed and which were to be brought to her cabin. Magnus peered inside the carriage. No Virginia. He glanced at Bulford jostling a giggling Jemma in his arms. Bull’s smile faded. He did not come with good news.

  In fact, he came with no news at all. Bull transferred Jemma into Alex’s arms.

  “Sorry, Sinclair. She and Lady L had already left Maidstone by the time I arrived.”

  There was something odd about Bull’s posture. The man seemed…uncomfortable. Magnus imagined the man hadn’t spent a single moment in a state of discomfort in all his life, yet Bull would not meet his eyes. He was probably embarrassed for Magnus. Sending that note had been a desperate move. Emasculating.

  “Well then,” Magnus said. “I’ll say goodbye and thank you.”

  “Actually…” Bulford hesitated, also an uncommon practice for the man. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “What I mean to say is, I want to know more about these Percheron beasts.”

  What the devil was the doaty Englishman prattling on about now? “Oh, aye?”

  “It’s just that your talk about breeding draft horses, it got me thinking. Sounds like an excellent business, really. A good opportunity for investment. Much more interesting than shipping and far less risky, I dare say.”

  “You want to invest in my horse farm instead of Gael Forss?”

  Bulford’s face exploded into a smile. “Exactly!” He hooked an arm around Magnus’s shoulders. “I knew you’d like the idea. Grab your bags. We’ll take the next post coach back to London.”

  …

  Two weeks later

  Virginia had eaten something the night be
fore that had disagreed with her. She made her excuses at breakfast and took a triangle of dry toast and a cup of black tea into her father’s office. She had to stop calling it her father’s office. It was her office now. At least for the time being. Today she would set in motion plans to sell her father’s home. With the proceeds from that sale, she would make good on her promise to Mrs. Pennyweather, and together they would begin construction on the home for foundling children.

  With the assistance of Bulford and Mr. Snowdon, Virginia had settled quickly and quietly with Langley’s father, the earl. Not all, but some of her trust had been returned, and she would retain full ownership of the house in St. James as well as her title.

  In time, Jemima’s marriage to Langley would be dissolved by a Parliamentary vote. She would retain her former title as Lady Ellington, and all the property and assets she had originally brought to the marriage would be restored. In other words, she would be made whole again. A beautiful, wealthy widow at age two and twenty, Lady Ellington had instantly become London’s most desirable marriage prospect. Apparently, no amount of scandal could cool a gentleman’s desire for her piles of money.

  The other happy outcome of Jemima’s recent travails was that she had become her own woman. When her father had threatened to swoop in and take over her life, and consequently her finances, she had stonewalled him with the proviso that, if he steered clear of her affairs, he would receive an adequate allowance.

  Virginia and Jemima had an appointment with Mr. Snowdon this afternoon, an engagement that had been difficult to obtain, as he had become uncharacteristically busy of late. Odd. Since when did law clerks have busy schedules? In any case, she was determined not to miss the appointment. Surely her stomach would settle by noon.