Free In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams by Karen Ranney Page B

Baumann and the war.
    The image was so real that she could almost feel his mouth beneath hers, his arms tightening around her waist. But in the next instant it was gone, the impulsive girl she’d been buried beneath the proper and demure Mrs. Smythe.
    She cleared her throat. “You need to be concerned about Mrs. Whittaker,” she said.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You should caution her not to go around telling everyone her husband is a Confederate. Knowing how well gossip travels in Glasgow, Baumann is probably aware of that, too.”
    “She said that?”
    She nodded.
    “The woman’s a scunner,” he said.
    Lennox pronounced some words with an English inflection. Some sounded French, while others had a Russian flavor. Now he sounded definitely like a Scot.
    “A nuisance?” she asked, biting back her smile. “Why are she and her husband staying with you?” Her question was intrusive and none of her concern so she half expected him not to answer.
    “Three men were murdered in Glasgow recently,” he said. “All Americans.”
    “So you’re protecting them at your own peril? And your family’s?”
    He stared right through her. Did no one ever question Lennox? Had he grown so autocratic since she’d last seen him?
    “They won’t be staying much longer,” he finally said.
    “Is it safe? Are you in any danger?”
    Was she revealing too much by asking that question? He studied her in those moments, the silence stretching between them like a web, binding them to this place and time.
    She could feel the tension rise in her body the longer he regarded her. Her shoulders ached; her stomach clenched and her fingers trembled. What did he see in her? What was he looking for?
    Unable to bear his scrutiny one more second, she turned and looked out the window, willing her mother to hurry or Lennox to leave. When she heard the carriage door open and close a moment later, she blew out a breath.
    From now on she would be better off avoiding Lennox. Being around him was dangerous. She’d never lied to him, even when the truth pained her. Lying to Lennox would be like violating an oath.
    But half-truths? Yes, she was guilty of those.

Chapter 9
     
    “T hank you for a lovely day,” Lucy said to Eleanor in the foyer of Hillshead. Her voice was dull and lacking any sincerity.
    Eleanor pretended the girl’s words were from the heart rather than simple good manners and reciprocated.
    “An enjoyable experience,” she said, lying. “We must do it again.” Dear heavens, she hoped not.
    “My love,” Gavin said, entering the foyer. “Did you enjoy your day?”
    Lucy nodded, giving her husband a thin smile. “Glasgow is nothing like London, however.”
    Eleanor said a quick prayer to be forgiven for wanting to strangle the woman and smiled at Gavin.
    “Mr. Whittaker, I’m afraid we may have exhausted your wife. We’ve explored the whole of the city.”
    His smile was more genuine, but then, she’d found the man to be thoroughly charming. He had a delightful accent, one making it sound like each of his words was resting on a plump pillow. Not only was he courtly in his mannerisms, but he was solicitous of his wife.
    The foolish woman didn’t seem to notice, however. Mr. Whittaker asked if she wanted to retire straightaway. Could he bring dinner on a tray for her? What was her preference as to refreshments? Lucy brushed aside his words as if the man were an annoying insect.
    Their marriage was none of her concern, but it was difficult witnessing Lucy’s stupidity and unconscious cruelty. Mr. Whittaker deserved better from his wife, especially since he was going to war in a matter of days.
    They chatted for a moment, the topics innocuous and acceptable: Scotland’s weather, the ceremony for William, the size of the Cameron and Company shipyard. When enough time had passed and she couldn’t be accused of rudeness, Eleanor said her farewells.
    “If you would like to see the nearby castles,” she said to Lucy before leaving,