Chapter Fifteen

W illamina had held her breath as Finlay's fingers brushed along her skin, working their way down her back as he slowly unfastened the buttons of her dress. He caused goose pimples to rise on her skin and she hoped he didn't notice her reaction.

She looked over her shoulder. True to his word, Finlay stood near the fireplace, staring into the flames, his back to her.

Flashbacks of her first wedding night flitted through her mind. There was no romance. No consideration for her feelings. Gerard had ordered her to strip and then pushed her roughly onto the bed, taking what had then belonged to him, not caring the pain it caused her. When he was done, he left the room and she didn't see him until the next morning.

Finlay would be a caring lover. She believed that with all her heart and being. He was too kind. And the way he looked at her with desire pooling in his eyes set her stomach aflutter. He tried to hide his feelings, but she got glimpses of them before he quickly schooled his looks.

Laying with Finlay would most certainly be a different experience. A divine experience. One that, once she had a taste, she would forever long for.

She could count on one hand the amount of times she and Gerard had lain together—none of them pleasant, so she was glad the number was low. It wasn't like that for every couple? It couldn't be. If it were, she couldn't imagine a woman ever being happy with her husband. But she had seen, and known, lots of couples that were happy with each other.

Couples that were blissfully in love.

She wanted that kind of love.

She slipped her dress off and let the material pool on the floor. In her trunk were the nightdresses she'd purchased from the modiste. Some much too revealing. Others more modest. She chose one of the modest ones that offered the most coverage and slipped it over her head. Then she removed her stockings and crawled on the mattress, drawing the covers up to her chin. Once she was settled, she called out to Finlay.

"Are ye settled?" he asked, still facing the fire.

"Aye," she whispered, watching as he turned and his gaze settled on her, his face softening.

Finishing his wine, he tugged at the buttons of his shirt as he approached the bed. Stopping on her side of the bed, he smiled down at her, before bending and placing the lightest of kisses on her cheek. He didn't say a word as he straightened and walked over to his side of the bed and sat down to tug off his boots.

Next, he pulled his shirt over his head. She tried to drag her eyes away from his back, full of muscles that rippled with every movement.

She should be affording him the same amount of privacy that he had her. But she couldn't. Instead, she found her mouth dry. She swallowed. Hard. Biting her lip as she continued to stare.

When he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down, baring his buttocks, she had to bite back a gasp. Powerful, muscled buttocks and thighs treated her eyes to a divine feast.

Her husband was a verra fine specimen. Before he slipped between the covers, he snuffed the candle, and then the bed shifted under his weight.

The barrier of pillows she'd set up earlier still allowed them plenty of room so that didn't make her feel guilty doing it. Though she did feel a wee bit of guilt for insisting on it in the first place. At the time it had seemed like a good idea.

Now? She wasn't so sure. What would it feel like to fall asleep wrapped in her husband's arms?

"Mina?" Finlay said softly in the dark.

"Aye?" she whispered.

"I bid ye a good night and thank ye for letting me sleep in the bed."

What could she say to such a statement? It sounded absurd when he voiced it. So she answered with the only thing she could say. "Ye're welcome."

As the minutes wore on, she found sleep eluded her. Finlay's breath evened out and soon, he was softly snoring. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could see him with the help of the light from the fire.

He looked so relaxed as he slept. His features softened. She moved to lay on her side, her hands tucked under her cheek and watched him sleep, fighting the urge to reach out and stroke his hair, his jaw. To splay her hands on his broad chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut. If she kept staring she would never fall asleep. But his image was seared into her lids.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, because when she next opened her eyes, light filtered through slits of the drapes covering the large windows. She was laying on her back, the covers still up to her neck. She looked to her left, but the other side of the bed was empty. Finlay must have woken earlier and left.

The door opened and she sat up, dragging the covers with her.

Finlay gave her a warm smile from the doorway as he entered. "Good morn, sleepy-head."

She rubbed at her eyes. What time was it? She wasn't usually one to sleep in. "Good morn." She watched him as he walked about the room before grabbing the poker and jabbing at the remnants of the logs that had burned through the night. Embers flew and he added another log from the rack nearby.

"I thought ye might be hungry, so Cook is making something to break your fast and will send it up when 'tis ready."

"Have ye eaten yet?"

"Nay. Just a cup of tea. I thought we could break our fast together."

"I would verra much like that."

He smiled and slapped his knee as he straightened. "Perfect." He went to the windows and pulled open the drapes, securing them in the hooks on each side of the pane. There were three large windows in this room. In front of the middle one, a round table with two chairs was set up. "We can eat here if ye like?"

She realized she still sat with the covers pulled up and flushed. Sensing her distress, he turned and took a sudden intense interest in the grounds below. Understanding what he was doing, she slipped out from the covers and pulled on her robe. It was light blue and thick enough that it covered what she was wearing underneath. She tied the cinch and walked over to Finlay, peering down to see what he was looking at.

It was literally naught. A stone pathway that appeared to loop around the exterior, which was empty.

"Thank ye," she said warmly.

He raised a brow at her. "For?"

"My privacy. E'en though we are closed together in this room, ye have allowed me privacy and I verra much appreciate it."

He smiled. "Whate'er I can do to make ye feel comfortable, I shall strive to do so." A soft knock sounded. "Ah, that should be our meal." He left the window to fetch the tray and she took a seat.

She watched his confident strides as he approached the table, setting the tray down and moving the items so he could divest of the tray.

"Let us see what Cook has served up for us." He took the cover off one dish to reveal toast. Under another was eggs. The last one held pork. "What would you like?"

The smells filling the room were like heaven to Willamina's senses and her stomach answered with a loud growl. Embarrassed, she clutched at her stomach.

He lifted a brow. "I ken that means ye are verra hungry and would like at least one of e'erything." Filling a plate with more food than she could possibly eat, he set it down in front of her and then poured her a cup of tea, adding two sugar cubes and a splash of milk, just as she liked.

The small gesture that showed her he had been paying attention when they had dined together previously warmed her heart, and had the veil that she viewed him through lifting.

With his own plate filled, he sat back and studied her.

She felt her skin flush under the scrutiny. Then she remembered she was in her robe and had not brushed her hair and probably looked a mess.

"Ye look beautiful," he said, reading her mind.

Not knowing how to react, she picked up her tea cup and took a long sip.

"I was thinking that since we are practically mandated to our chamber for the next few days at the verra least, that we could spend some time getting to ken each other better."

Of all the things she expected Finlay to say, that was not one of them at all. But also her nerves jumped into her throat. She cleared her throat and tilted her head before meeting his eyes. "What would ye like to ken?"

"Why did your cousin insist ye leave Inverness when ye love it so much?"

Well, if that didn't get right to the point, she did not ken what would. "'Tis complicated." She took a bite of toast, chewing slowly.

"How so? Your old friends at the theater gave me a glimpse, but no' enough to understand the gravity of what happened. And something most certainly happened. Ye ken my secret. 'Tis time to reveal yours."

He took a sip of tea and looked at her expectantly.

When she didn't speak up, he continued to talk. "Ye seem to long to go back e'en though something clearly happened there aside from your marriage. I thought that now that we are married, we could make the trip."

"What?" Her brows rose in shock. She would like naught more than to return to the city she grew up in. Where all her memories were made. Both good and bad. But did she dare? She was unsure what their reception would be once people learned she was back, especially after seeing Clarice and Viola. "I am no' so sure that is the best of ideas."

"Did something happen there? Other than your husband? Your cousin eluded to some controversy but didna expound any further."

"Did he?"

Finlay nodded. "And we canna forget your friends that we met the other night."

This was the time where she would find out if Finlay would think her daft. But with naught else to lose, what could it hurt to ask his opinions? "Do ye believe that we can speak to the dead, Finlay?"

He choked on the bite of eggs he had just taken. Coughing and catching his breath, he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with the napkin. "Excuse me?"

She pressed her lips together and met his eyes. "When people pass, do ye believe that some people, no' all, can speak to them?" she asked seriously.

He lifted his hand a couple of times before rubbing his nose and wetting his lips. "I havena e'er really thought of such things."

"But if ye did, do ye think 'tis possible?"

He waved his hands in the air. "I suppose. I have heard of people in the past that claimed to do as such, but I ne'er paid them much attention."

She took another bite of toast, chewing slowly as she bid her time to continue. "I, when I was in Inverness, after my husband died, I would hold parties at my home."

"I see no issue with doing such a thing."

"They werena your usual party. They were seances."

She let the word hang in the air and watched Finlay's forehead crease in confusion. "I dinna understand."

"My friends and I would gather at my house. I had made the acquaintance of a reputable medium—one that can speak with the dead."

"This was something that ye and your friends all participated in?"

She nodded. "Until the last party. I went with another medium, who in the end was a fraud. She said awful things to my friends that supposedly had come from their loved ones. Made an awful show of trying to make it seem like she was being overcome by spirits. Speaking in tongues. It was horrifying. My friends cried foul and blamed me for the fraudulent woman's actions."

"But hadna ye already provided them with someone reputable?"

"I had, but it didna matter. Word spread like wildfire in Inverness, and my friends abandoned me. The city shunned me. I was alone. And with my parents gone I had no one left."

He sat back in his chair, staring out the window at the clouds hanging low in the autumn sky.

Would he put her out? Send her away? Ask for annulment? She wrung her hands together in her lap as she worried her lower lip with her teeth. They certainly had not consummated their marriage. He was well within his rights to demand such a thing.

"Mina, I can honestly say that I have no experience in such a thing. Was it something ye found helpful? Who did ye speak with?"

She shook her head. "'Twas ne'er for myself. I had no one I wanted to connect with. E'en after Gerard died, I didna want to see if the medium could contact him, though she did tell me once that e'en if I wanted to, I couldna. She wasna able to see his spirit at all. I had closed that chapter in my life and moved forward. But my friends? They wanted to speak with old friends, parents, siblings, children they'd lost. I just found the whole thing fascinating and since I had the means, I hosted."

She clasped her hands together so tightly her knuckles were white. "I understand if ye would like to release yourself from me."

"What? Why would ye say such a thing?"

She shrugged. "I just, since I," she stammered, not able to come up with a coherent sentence.

"The fact that ye made a mistake and your friends decided to turn their backs on ye, doesna change my mind. I ken naught of how seances work, but I also think if ye mentioned it to my friends' wives, they would have their interest piqued."

Her eyes rounded. Finlay's reaction was the opposite of what she had expected. Her cousin told her she needed her head examined for finding interest in such a morbid topic. But not Finlay.

"I think your friends were no' your friends for abandoning ye in such a way." He stood up and paced the length of the room until he stopped suddenly and pointed a finger in the air. "I believe we should honeymoon in Inverness," he stated.

Willamina's eyes snapped to his, her head shaking from side to side. "Surely, ye canna mean that."

He leaned on the table in front of her, their eyes at the same level and smiled. "I do. One should ne'er be run out of the home they loved for such a trivial thing. Let us show Inverness that Willamina Primrose is back."

*

Finlay was taken aback at Willamina's reaction to returning to Inverness. Her main reason for their marriage was so that she could regain control of her assets.

The busy bitties that she called friends obviously lived more for gossip and scandal than actual friendship. How dare they practically run Willamina out of town.

"We shall leave in the morning."

Her eyes fell to her trunk. "I suppose 'tis good that I didna unpack my things then." She took a sip of tea and sighed. "This isna necessary, Finlay. I am sure out of all of your travels, ye can think of other places of which ye would like to spend a holiday."

He shrugged. "It makes no matter. Ye dinna want your estate to stay unmanaged for too long." He placed his hand on hers and smiled when she didn't pull away from his touch. "Besides, I want to see how ye lived up there in the highlands."

"'Tis getting late in the year. The weather will be cold."

"Then we shall pack accordingly."

She still looked uncertain.

"Willamina. Trust me. We will have a most enjoyable honeymoon there. And ye will be away from the prying eyes of e'eryone here making certain we are honeymooning properly." He winked at her and she laughed. A true laugh. One he hadn't heard in a while.

"'Tis settled then. How do ye like your food? If there is something no' to your liking, I will speak with Cook."

Shaking her head, she took another bite of eggs, chewing before she answered him. "That willna be necessary. In fact, I'm afraid ye will be sorely disappointed with my Cook. Yours puts her to shame. But dinna tell her I said such so," she giggled and dabbed at her mouth.

"I do have some business to attend. E'en though we are honeymooning." He finished his tea. "'Tis with my father's solicitor if ye would like to join me?"

"I think I shall stay here and get ready for our journey."

He nodded, not the least surprised that she didn't want to come with him for the meeting. He had to sign paperwork showing that he had indeed married before his birthday and would be retaining the title. Much to his brother's chagrin, but, truly, Fingal should have known better.

An hour later, he and Fingal were sitting in the study of their father's longtime solicitor Bernard Bigsby. Fingal hadn't stopped glaring at him since he'd arrived and slouched in the chair beside his.

"Well," Bigsby said, as he pored over the papers spread across his desk. "It appears all is in order. Your father's demands have been met and no further actions are needed. Congratulations on your marriage, Lord Primrose."

"Pfft," Fingal grunted. "He doesna e'en love the chit."

"I suggest ye watch your tongue, brother, and show some respect to my wife ," Finlay warned.

"Most marriages doona start with love," Bigsby stated matter-of-factly. "Your father had no such requirement. Only that the marriage must take place before your twenty-eighth birthday. That has been followed. There is naught further to do."

Fingal just shook his head and seethed quietly. "This is such a farce. Who puts such a thing in their damned will?"

Finlay pinched the bridge of his nose. He was tired of the same old argument, over and over again. "Might I remind ye, that e'en if father had no' written such a clause, ye still wouldna get the title on our birthday."

"Nay, ye dinna. But barring your death, this was my one chance."

Finlay couldn't believe his ears. His brother really was that selfish. The bastard. "Well, I believe we are done here and I must get back to my wife. We are readying to travel to Inverness in the morn." He stood and stuck out his hand for a shake. "Thank ye, Bigsby. 'Twas nice seeing ye again." He stuck his hat on his head, and pinched the brim as he said his goodbyes to his brother.

As he left the room, he could hear Fingal continue to complain. He felt for the lawyer. The poor man was going to have to listen to Fingal for Lord knew how much longer until he finally tired and gave up.

His brother would get over the reality eventually. He wouldn't be surprised if he set Yvette aside and went back to whoring his way through Edinburgh. Whatever his brother decided to do, Finlay needn't worry about it. Nor did he plan on thinking about him while he was spending time in Inverness.

On his honeymoon.

The trip would take him and Willamina two days if they pushed it. They'd stop at an inn for the night on the morrow and to switch out the horses.

Happy to return to his wife, he left Bigsby's house. Knowing that their union was only on paper didn't dissuade him from hoping for something more. He'd be lying if he hoped that their Inverness trip would allow Willamina to finally realize that she deserved love. Her late husband was a shite. He wanted her to see that marriage didn't need to be miserable. She deserved respect.

Hell, she deserved to be put on a pedestal and worshipped.

He shook his head. For someone who didn't want to get married, he sure did find himself pining after his fake wife.