The Seduction of Elliot McBride

  She knew now what he meant to say. Miss St. John, I’ve fallen in love with my piano teacher and wish to marry her, not you.

  Scandal. Humiliation.

  Juliana balled her fists, wanting to shout at Providence for being so aggravating. But, even in her agitation, blasphemy in a chapel seemed wrong.

  She settled for storming into a pew, her ivory skirts billowing around her. “Blast!” she said and slammed herself into the seat.

  On top of something that moved. A man with long legs under a woolen kilt, a broad body that heaved up onto strong elbows. A man coming awake to find a hundred and twenty pounds of young woman in wedding garb sitting on his thighs.

  “What the devil?” Gray eyes the same color as Ainsley’s flashed in a face that was too tanned to have been in Scotland long.

  Elliot McBride obviously had no compunction about blaspheming in a church. Or sleeping in one.

  Juliana swiftly rose, but she couldn’t move out of the pew. She stared down at Elliot as he levered himself partway up and leaned back into the corner of the pew, his booted feet still on the bench.

  “Elliot?” Juliana asked, breathless. “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to find some quiet,” he said. “Too bloody many people about.”

  “I mean, here in Scotland. I thought you were in India. Ainsley said you were in India.”

  Elliot McBride was one of Ainsley’s many brothers, a man the girl Juliana had fallen madly in love with about a hundred years ago. He’d disappeared to India to make his fortune, and she hadn’t seen him since.

  Elliot rubbed a hand over his stubbled face, though he smelled of soap and water, as though he’d recently bathed. “Decided to come home.”

  Laconic, that was the way to describe Elliot, the untamed McBride. Also large and strong, with a presence that knocked the breath out of her. It had been so when she’d been a child and he’d been the wild brother of Ainsley, and again when she’d been a proud debutante and he’d attended her coming-out ball in his army regimentals.

  Juliana sank to the pew again, at the end of it, beyond his feet. High in the tower of the main church, bells rang, striking the hour.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in there, lass?” Elliot asked. He removed a flask from his coat and sipped from it, but unlike Cameron, he didn’t offer her any. “Getting married to whatever his name is?”

  “Grant Barclay. I was to have been Mrs. Grant Barclay.”

  The flask stopped halfway to his mouth. “Was to have been? Did you jilt the whey-faced bastard, then?”

  “No,” Juliana said. “Apparently, yesterday, he eloped with his piano teacher.”

  It was all too much. Strange laughter welled up inside her and came pealing out of her mouth. Not quite hysterics, but a hearty laugh she couldn’t stop.

  Elliot lay still, like an animal deciding whether to attack or run. Poor Elliot. What must he make of a woman who’d jolted him out of his sleep by plopping down on him and then laughing uncontrollably because her fiancé had abandoned her?

  Juliana’s laughter eased off, and she wiped her eyes with her fingertips. Her dark red hair was tumbling down, one of the yellow roses Ainsley had tied into it falling to her lap. “Stupid flowers.”

  Elliot sat frozen, his hand gripping the back of the pew so hard he was surprised the wood didn’t splinter. He watched as Juliana laughed, as her glorious hair fell to her bared shoulders. She smiled though her blue eyes were wet, and the hands that plucked the flower from her lap were long fingered and trembling.

  Elliot wanted to put his arms around her and cradle her close. There now, he’d say. You’re better off without the idiot. An even stronger instinct made him want to go find Grant Barclay and shoot him for hurting her.

  But Elliot knew that if he made the mistake of touching Juliana, he wouldn’t stop at comfort. He’d tilt her head back and kiss her lips, as he’d done at her debut ball, the night she’d permitted the one kiss.

  They’d both been eighteen. Before Elliot had gone to hell and back, that chaste kiss would have been enough for him. This time, it would not be enough, not by a long way.

  He’d kiss down her pretty throat to her bosom, nuzzle her gown’s neckline with its points of lace, and feather kisses to her shoulders. Then he’d lick his way back up to her ripe lips, seam them with his tongue, coax her to let him inside.

  He’d kiss her with long, careful kisses, tasting the goodness of her mouth while he held her and did not let her go.

  Elliot would want to take everything, because Lord only knew when he’d have the chance again. A broken man learned to savor what he could when he had the opportunity.

  “It will stay with me forever,” Juliana was saying. “Poor Juliana St. John. Don’t you remember? She’d already put on her wedding clothes and gone to the church, poor darling.”

  What did a man say to a woman in this state? Elliot wished for the eloquence of his barrister brother, who stood up in court and made elegant speeches for a living. Elliot could only ever speak the truth.

  “Let them say it, and to the devil with them.”

  Juliana gave him a sad smile. “The world is very much about what they say, my dear Elliot. Perhaps it’s different in India.”

  Dear God, how could anyone think that? “The rules there are damn strict. You can die—or get someone else killed—by not knowing them.”

  Juliana blinked. “Oh. Very well, I concede that such a thing sounds worse than people expecting me to hide in shame and knit socks for the rest of my life.”

  “Why the devil should you knit socks? Do what you like.”

  “Very optimistic of you. Not fair to me, but I’m afraid I will be talked about for a long while now. And I am now on the shelf. Thirty years old, and no longer an ingénue. I know that women do all sorts of things these days besides marry, but I am too old to attend university, and even if I did, my father would die of shame that I was such a bluestocking. I was raised to pour tea, organize fêtes, and say correct things to the vicar’s wife.”

  Her words slid over Elliot without him registering them, her musical voice soothing. He lay back and let her talk, realizing he’d not felt so at ease in a long while.

  If I could listen to her forever, if I could drift into the night hearing her voice, I might get well again.

  No, nothing would be well, never again, not after the things he’d seen and done, and what had been done to him. He’d thought that once he took refuge in Scotland again, it would stop. The dreams, the waking terrors, the utter darkness when time passed and he knew nothing of it. But it hadn’t, and he’d known he had to put the next part in his plan to work.

  Juliana was studying him, her blue eyes clear like a summer lake. The beauty of her, the memory of those eyes, had sustained him for a long time in the dark.

  Sometimes he’d dreamed she was with him, trying to wake him, her dulcet voice filling his ears. Come on, now, Elliot. You must wake up. My kite’s tangled in a tree, and you’re the only one tall enough to get it down.

  He remembered the day when he’d first realized what he felt for her—they must both have been about sixteen. She’d been flying a kite for children of her father’s friends, and Elliot had come to watch. He’d retrieved the kite from a tree for her and earned a red-lipped smile, a soft kiss on his cheek. From that day forward, he’d been lost.

  “Elliot, are you awake?”

  His eyes had drifted closed on memories, and now Juliana’s voice blended with the remembered dream. He pried his eyes open. “I think so.”

  “You did not hear me, did you?” Her face was pink in the dim light.

  “Sorry, lass. I’m a bit drunk.”

  “Good. Not that you’re drunk, but that you didn’t hear me. Never mind. It was a foolish idea.”

  He opened his eyes wider, his brain coming alert. What the hell had he missed?

  The darkness did that to him sometimes. Elliot could slide past large portions of conversation without noticing he had do
ne so. He’d come back to himself realizing people were waiting for his response and wondering what was the matter with him. Elliot had decided that avoiding people and conversation was the best solution.

  With Juliana, he wanted to know. “Tell me again.”

  “I don’t think I ought. If it were a cracking-good idea, you’d have leapt on it at once. As it is…”

  “Juliana, I swear to you…I drift in and out. I want to hear your cracking-good idea.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Females. Even ones he’d been secretly in love with for years could drive him insane.

  Elliot sat up and moved closer to her, his feet on the floor. He stretched his arm along the back of the pew, not touching her but close enough to feel her warmth. “Juliana, tell me, or I’ll tickle you.”

  “I’m not eight years old anymore, Elliot McBride.”

  He wanted to laugh at her haughty tone. “Neither am I. When I say tickle, I no longer mean what I did then.” He touched her bare shoulder with one finger.

  A mistake. The contact shot heat up his arm and straight into his heart.

  Her lips were close to his, lush and ripe. She had faint freckles across her nose, ten of them. She’d always had them, had always tried to rid herself of them, but to Elliot, every one was kissable.

  Her eyes went still, and her voice was a whisper of breath. “What I asked, Elliot, was whether you would marry me.”

  Chapter 2

  Elliot sat still, his eyes as gray as winter skies and just as cold.

  Juliana realized that, when she’d blurted her question, she’d been thinking of Elliot, the teasing, warm-eyed young man of her youth. This Elliot McBride was a stranger. His light hair had been cropped close, his face hard, and thin scars laced his cheek.

  This Elliot had tracked and killed other men, had been captured and held prisoner for so long that they’d all feared him dead. The ten months he’d been missing had been the worst of Juliana’s life. He’d returned to his brother’s house for a time to recover, but Juliana had not seen him. He’d visited no one, had let no one visit him, and had disappeared back to India again.

  “As I say, a foolish idea,” Juliana said quickly. “You look a bit green, Elliot, so never mind. I didn’t mean to frighten the life out of you. Return to your cozy doze.”

  Elliot’s gaze flicked to the bare altar and back to her, his fingers at her back hot in this chill place. “Not so foolish. I think it a grand idea.”

  “Truly, pretend I said nothing. You didn’t hear me the first time anyway.”

  Elliot moved his hand to cup her shoulder through the satin, his strength rippling heat through her too-cold body. “I cannae pretend I didn’t hear the second time, lass.”

  “Well, I take it back. I shall remove to my father’s house and start returning the gifts. I kept meticulous notes, as I always do. Gemma smiles at me for my lists and notes, but she will thank me for them now.”

  Her smile was wide, her eyes too bright, and Elliot’s heart beat so hard he was surprised it didn’t echo in the quietness.

  He wanted to charge out of the pew shouting for joy, tow Juliana back into the church, and command the minister to get on with the ceremony. His family and Juliana’s were residents of this parish, they were both of marriageable age, and there would be no impediment. He knew people who could issue a new license quickly, and it would be done.

  Elliot had traveled to Edinburgh to find her today, to continue plans he’d put in motion. The interminable wait in the crowded church had started to unnerve him, so he’d slipped away to be alone in the chapel. A few sips of whiskey, and his tired body—he never rested well at night—had taken him to sleep.

  To be awakened by the delicious weight of Juliana in her satin and tulle, the scent of roses, the sound of her voice. Yes. This was right.

  “I won’t be going back to India,” he said. “I’ve purchased a house, th’ old McGregor estate about thirty miles north of Aberdeen. McGregor’s my great-uncle on my mother’s side, and was in need of a bit of cash. You might as well marry me and have the run of th’ place.”

  Juliana still stared at him, her lips parted enough for him to want to taste the moisture between them. If she said no, or that she wanted to wait, he had more plans for that. Elliot might be mad, but he intended to be very, very persuasive.

  “That’s a bit of a journey,” Juliana said, her voice faint.

  “Aye.” Trains made traveling much easier these days, but even so, the north of the country was remote, a peaceful retreat against the noise. Elliot needed so much peace.

  Juliana’s blue eyes held trepidation. Under their scrutiny, Elliot felt his lassitude trying to descend once more, wanting him to lapse into a stupor again, to lean against the satin warmth of her and breathe her scent…

  “Are you certain, Elliot?” Juliana’s voice brought him awake again.

  Of course he was certain. Elliot needed her with him so he could be strong and well.

  He shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “I told you, ’tis a grand idea. Everyone is wanting a wedding. You’re in the bridal clothes, and I’m not likely to stay in finery long.”

  Her eyes widened. “You mean that you want to do this today?”

  “Why not? Your guests are here, the minister is waiting.”

  Juliana pursed her lips, the little gesture heating his blood. “It would be quite a scandal.”

  “Let it be. While they talk, we’ll be at our estate, far away.”

  Juliana hesitated, then her smile took on a hint of wildness. “All right. As you say, why not?”

  Elliot’s heart thundered, elation rising to choke him. He needed to finish this, take her home, be with her.

  Elliot pulled her to her feet and propelled her out of the pew. Juliana half tripped in her high-heeled slippers, but he steadied her with a strong hand. The nearness of her, the feel of her soft arm beneath his scarred fingers, urged him on. He needed to seal this bargain before the darkness returned, and he didn’t mean the darkness of the nighttime.

  They were at the door. Elliot stopped her, his grip on her too tight, but he couldn’t make himself ease it. “Stay with my sister while I go explain to the minister that the groom will be a different man. Will ye be ready?”

  “Yes.” Juliana wet her lips. “Indeed.”

  “Good.”

  She reached for the door handle, but Elliot drew her back. “Wait.”

  He slid his arm behind her, as solid as a tree branch, and drew her closer. So close she saw the pattern of white scars on his cheek, the thin lines that ran across his cheekbones and ended under the line of his hair. A thin, jagged blade had made those cuts.

  He was going to kiss her. Juliana’s breath caught as she waited for the cool touch of his lips, the press of his mouth. She’d dreamed of his kiss so many times, after the one he’d stolen from her so long ago.

  It never came. Elliot drew her hand to his lips, turned it over, and pressed a long, burning kiss to her palm. Any disappointment dissolved in the heat that swept down her arm and the wicked fire that streaked through her body.

  Elliot opened the chapel door, propelled Juliana out into the cool mist of the courtyard, and closed the door behind her. Juliana found herself facing the concerned Ainsley, the bulk of Lord Cameron, and her stepmother, Gemma, hurrying out to see what had become of them all.

  That was how Juliana St. John came to be married an hour later to Elliot McBride, in the church in which she was to have married Mr. Barclay that same day.

  The guests watched in either shock or great enjoyment as Elliot, in formal black coat and McBride kilt, stood ramrod straight at Juliana’s side and said his vows. When Juliana’s father put her hand into Elliot’s, Elliot closed his fingers over hers in a hard grip. It wasn’t letting go, that grip.

  The service was brief and simple. Ainsley had retied the roses in Juliana’s hair, and Juliana’s wedding finery cascaded across the plain floor of the church. Her bouquet was still fresh, than
ks to Ainsley and Gemma, with a sprig of heather tucked into it for luck.

  Elliot continued to clamp down on Juliana’s hand as the vicar moved through the service, not releasing her even after he slid the wedding ring onto her finger. They’d had to borrow the rings from Elliot’s brother Patrick and his wife, Rona. Rona’s ring was a bit too big for Juliana, and she had to squeeze her fingers together to hold it in place.

  Now the vicar was pronouncing them man and wife. Elliot turned Juliana to face him, tilted her head up, and kissed her.

  It was possessive, that kiss. A Scottish laird of old might have kissed his won bride like this, and Elliot was not so many generations removed from those lairds of old.

  He raised his head after the kiss and looked down at her, his hands firm on her arms, gray eyes filled with triumph. And Juliana was married.

  Several hours later, during the wedding feast at the St. John town house—Gemma seeing no reason to let all the preparation go to waste—Juliana escaped the laughter-filled public rooms and the scrutiny of her friends with the excuse of having to use the necessary.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she stepped into an empty back hall. She was glad people were enjoying the banquet she and Gemma had meticulously organized, but the congratulations and the questions had begun to weigh on her. What she’d done would be a nine days’ wonder, and the first day of it was already wearying.

  A strong hand landed on her shoulder, and Juliana bit back a startled cry. Elliot put his finger to his lips, leaned down, and kissed her cheek.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  She wanted to—restlessness gripped her like a fever—but Juliana mouthed the correct words. “That would be a bit rude, would it not? My stepmother has gone to all this trouble.”

  Elliot ran his hand down her arm to lace his fingers with hers. “Do you want to go home, Juliana?”