Free A Borrowed Scot by Karen Ranney Page B

marry.”
    Evidently, the Countess of Conley had forgotten the scandal precipitating their union.
    He exchanged a quick look with Veronica, wondering at the glint of humor in her eyes. It was gone so quickly, he might have imagined it.
    “We’re leaving London tomorrow,” he announced. “My business necessitates it.”
    “Where are we going?” Veronica asked.
    “I’m sure your husband will tell you all you need to know,” the countess said firmly. “Do not be presumptuous, Veronica.”
    He frowned at the countess, then turned to his bride.
    “To Scotland,” he said. “But now we must be on our way.”
    The countess looked startled when he passed her. He escorted Veronica to the door, stood impassively as she said her farewells, then walked her to the carriage.
    Montgomery nodded to the young man holding the door, waited until Veronica entered the carriage, and followed her, sitting with his back to the horses. She didn’t look at him, intent on staring at the house, her family clustered on the steps. Her fingers pressed against the glass; her mouth curved in a small, almost sad, smile as if she couldn’t bear to part with them.
    If he’d been in her place, he’d have been singing hosannas right about then.
    As the carriage slowly pulled away from the curb, her family called out their farewells. She waved, then turned away, facing him.
    “Where in Scotland?” she asked softly.
    “Doncaster Hall, the house I’ve inherited along with the title.”
    Her look of surprise warned him. Evidently, he wasn’t supposed to speak of such things, merely pretend he’d always been the 11 th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster. He wasn’t to mention money. He wasn’t to talk about an entire list of things forbidden by British rules.
    “I’m from Lollybroch,” she said, in the same tone she might have admitted to being royalty.
    Was he supposed to know the place?
    She tilted back her chin and looked at him. No pale miss, now. She looked almost proud of her heritage. Once, he would’ve felt the same. Instead, all he felt was confusion, and a share of grief, not only for his country but for Virginia and Gleneagle.
    “Are we going to live in Scotland?”
    “It will do as well as any other place,” he said. He couldn’t imagine being as ill at ease in Scotland as he was in London.
    She smiled.
    If he didn’t know better, he would have thought her happy with the marriage instead of feeling like a pawn being moved about on a chessboard by her uncle. Or perhaps it was the prospect of returning to her homeland that pleased her.
    What would Caroline have thought of Veronica? Would she have counseled patience with his new wife? Would Caroline have placed her palm on his cheek, as she often did, staring into his eyes with that intent gaze of hers, giving him comfort with her words, kindness, and the generosity of her love?
    Caroline wasn’t there to give him advice. He’d have to muddle through this marriage himself.
    “I don’t love you, Veronica,” he said abruptly. “This is not a love match. Or even a political marriage. You were in trouble, and I was forced to intervene. That’s all.”
    Wide-eyed, she stared at him. Her fingers clenched, released, clenched again. She looked down at her gloved hands, then resolutely back at him.
    “It’s the truth, isn’t it?” He settled back against the seat. “The truth should never offend.”
    She turned her attention back to the window.
    “The truth should not be used as a whip, either, Montgomery,” she said without looking at him. She took another deep breath. “How can you love me? You don’t know me. Yet you needn’t say it in such a tone. As if feeling anything for me in the future would be impossible.”
    “I didn’t want a wife. I expect to deal amicably with you if I can ignore you.” At her swift look, he added, “If I’ve hurt you, forgive me. It was not my intent.”
    “What did you intend, Montgomery?”
    She rolled the R in his name, making the name