“All your secrets?” he asked knowingly, rubbing his knuckles across her cheek. “It doesn’t matter, love. I don’t give a damn about your past, your secrets, whatever it is that happened with your father—the lot of it. If it hurts so much that you struggle to talk about it, it doesn’t matter to me. All I want is to make you happy.”

  “You do,” she whispered. “But I think—”

  He silenced her with a gentle finger over her lips. “When it doesn’t make you cry. When you can talk about it in a way that doesn’t make you shiver with anxiety…then you’ll tell me. For now, I want to kiss away your tears and maybe have another shag.”

  She snorted out a laugh. “I love you, Earl Campbell.”

  He chuckled. “It’s Earl of Winchendon, or ‘my lord,’ to you, lassie.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “My lord. I like how it rolls off the tongue.”

  “Let’s see what else can roll off the tongue.” He flipped her onto her back and climbed on top of her.

  When they got to Huntington, Ian went to change into his kilt and Everly wandered out to the terrace that overlooked Lady Grace’s Garden. This was her favorite spot in the house and she momentarily envisioned having her wedding here. She flushed a little, embarrassed that she was thinking so far ahead but also allowing herself to daydream. Ian loved her. He’d said it and hadn’t been able to rest until she’d said it too. They were in love and the time for secrets was over.

  Tonight, after she took the photos and they had dinner, she would tell him everything. It was just so hard to open up about that part of her life. She’d learned early on that people couldn’t seem to separate the fact that she’d been a child when her father had done what he did, and that she was an adult now.

  “Hello, love.” Constance came out to stand beside her. “You were so very lost in thought. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled at her. “I was just envisioning what it would be like to photograph a wedding here in your beautiful garden.”

  Constance grinned back. “Your own wedding, perhaps?”

  Everly turned bright red. “No, I was thinking of someone like Isla… I wouldn’t photograph my own wedding!”

  “I think you’re probably a bit closer to having a wedding than Isla is at this point.”

  “It feels like everything happened in a whirlwind, but your son… God, he’s special.”

  “Yes, he most certainly is.” Constance squeezed her arm. “And when the time comes, I’d like very much for you to get married in my garden.” She turned and started to walk back inside the house, pausing to say, “We’ll be ready for you in about fifteen minutes. Is that enough time for you to get ready? I’d like to start in the library—I think that’s the perfect place for a formal photo.”

  “Yes. Thank you, I’ll be ready.” Everly watched her go and then got her camera out of her backpack. Her heart was filled with more conflicting emotions than she could handle at one time, her growing love for Ian at war with the secrets she held so close. She couldn’t think about that when she was shooting or her pain and conflict would be reflected in the images; it always happened. So she needed to clear her head and the best way to do that would be to take pictures. Since the garden was one of her favorite places in the house, she started there, snapping off a few from different positions on the terrace, giving her new angles and a few interesting shadows because of where the morning sun was located.

  She completely lost track of time, immersing herself in the one thing that never failed to distract her negative energy, so she started when Ian stepped onto the terrace and called her name.

  “Oh.” She jerked around. “Am I late? I got totally lost in what I was doing.”

  “I know. I saw.” He smiled fondly. “I’ve been watching you the last few minutes. I hated to interrupt, but it’s time. Everyone is waiting.”

  “God damn, you’re hot in a kilt. I know I say that far too often but you really are. You’re bringing one home to the U.S., right?”

  He chuckled. “I wasn’t planning to, but if it means you’ll spend more time with me, I will.”

  “I’d spend time with you no matter what, but this is my equivalent of sexy lingerie for you. Except you can wear it in public.” She paused, looking down. “So, nothing underneath?”

  “Didn’t we already have this discussion?”

  “Yeah, but you’re with your mom…”

  “Doesn’t matter. Nothing underneath. Ever.”

  “And that goes for all of you?” She was trying really hard not to think about the duke’s private parts dangling in the wind.

  Ian, undoubtedly following her train of thought, burst out laughing. “Lass, don’t ask questions you don’t truly want the answers to.”

  “You’re right.” She handed him her camera. “Now make yourself useful. Please.”

  “I set up your tripod in the library as well. Will it take long to adjust the height?”

  “It shouldn’t.” She followed him back into the house, admiring his strong back and how incredibly masculine it was to watch a man in a skirt. It wasn’t a skirt, of course, but to an American that was the closest comparison and she’d never imagined she’d be this turned on by one. Or maybe it was just the man, because he was a whole spectacular package.

  “Hello, Everly, dear.” Constance smiled. “How would you like us?”

  “Can I get everyone to stand side-by-side so I can get a feel for height differences and such?” She eyed them all critically, taking in the men’s almost identical outfits and how Constance and Isla had coordinated their blue dresses as well. Constance looked a bit more classic, with a silk turtleneck and pearls, while Isla went for a contemporary look, her dress the same shade of blue as Constance’s and the blue in the men’s kilts, but with a fitted, sleeveless sheath that showed off her figure.

  Ian wasn’t the tallest, with Lachlan about an inch taller, but the rest of the men were all in the six-foot range and she sized them up while mentally figuring out how she wanted them to pose.

  “Okay, both of the Ians, Lachlan, Liam and Mac, please stand behind the settee. Constance, Isla, and Finn should sit—Constance in the middle of her two children.”

  Everyone got into position as Everly adjusted the height of the tripod and the settings on her camera. Other than Gracie, she didn’t love taking pictures of people. They moved, blinked, and fidgeted, unlike buildings and objects, where all she had to worry about was lighting and exposure.

  “Constance asked for a variety of poses,” she told them. “So we’ll start with some formal ones and move into casual. Ladies, hands in your laps; Finn, one hand on each thigh. Those of you standing, if you could cross your hands in front of you, it’s a fairly classic look.”

  Everyone seemed amenable, following directions. Everly looked through her camera lens and snapped a quick photo, noting that Isla’s eyes were closed and Mac’s head was turned to the side. The predictability of it made her smile and she moved to the couch, adjusting Constance’s pearls, which had moved off-center, and smoothing a stray lock of Isla’s hair. The men were all wearing sport coats with their kilts, so it was formal but not tuxedo formal, which was yet another look she was enjoying.

  “Okay, I don’t know how you all feel about smiling, but I’d think for family photos you want to?”

  Constance glanced back at her sons and father-in-law. “There bloody well better be genuine smiles on your faces or we’ll be here all day until there are.”

  “Yes, Mum.” Ian stuck his tongue out at her and she laughed.

  Everly snapped half a dozen photos before they were even finished talking.

  31

  It took nearly an hour to get all the photos Constance wanted. Not just of the whole group, but of her with each child, just the men, just the six children, just the twins, just the male children. Everly enjoyed it more than she’d thought she would, but as they neared the one-hour mark, the men were getting restless and even Isla escaped to the ladies’ room.

  “I think we’re done,” she told Constance. “Unless there’s something else you want.”

  “I’d like a few shots with Primmy. Can I have Merrie bring her down?”

  “Of course.”

  “And I’d like a few with Everly,” Ian said quietly.

  “Oh, no.” Everly shook her head vehemently. “I’m in jeans and you’re all dressed up. No way.”

  “Go change. I can wait.”

  “I need to take the photos of Primrose first.”

  “And I’ll take the pictures of the two of you,” Isla said. “Is there an automatic setting?”

  Everly laughed. “Yes. I’ll put the auto function on for you.”

  It was another hour to get Primrose to cooperate, then for Everly to change and come back down, and finally to get a handful of pictures of her and Ian. She didn’t think they would be anything special, especially with her in a sundress and Ian all dressed up, but that’s what he wanted, so she’d done it anyway.

  “Next time you want formal photos of me, I need warning,” she chastised him as they made their way back to her room to put her equipment away.

  “You’re the only one who doesn’t see how beautiful you are,” he said gently.

  “It’s not about that. Constance and Isla had time to do their hair and makeup, pick the right outfit… I just threw this old thing on and now I’m going to look so out of place.”

  “Lass, you’re never out of place when you’re with me.” He cupped her face tenderly, leaning in to kiss her. “I love you and want you at my side no matter what you’re wearing.”

  “I love you too and I know that, but this was a specific setting for formal photos. If you’re in a suit jacket, I need to be in something other than a summer dress.”

  “Fine. Next time, you can get all dressed up.”

  “Fine.” She nudged him as he leaned in to kiss her.

  Ian had just come out of his room, heading out to go find Everly and take her to dinner, when Lachlan stopped him in the hallway. “Did you hear about Morgan Taylor-Reese?”

  “The Ponzi scheme guy?” Ian frowned. “No, what about him?”

  “Up for parole this week.”

  “Wanker. Hope they don’t give it to him.”

  Lachlan hesitated. “There’s something I think you need to see.”

  “I’m meeting Everly. Can it wait?”

  “Er…no. I don’t think it can.”

  Ian frowned but followed Lachlan back to his room. “What’s going on?”

  “I was reading about the upcoming parole board meeting, and there was an article that recapped the history. With pictures. You might want to take a look.”

  Ian had a weird feeling in his gut, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but leaned over Lachlan’s laptop anyway.

  “There.” Lachlan pointed to a photograph. The caption read:

  Taylor-Reese was arrested outside his Stamford, Connecticut, home on December 14, as his wife, Felicia, and thirteen-year-old daughter, Morgan Everly, watched.

  And there in the picture was a very young, very scared-looking Everly.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” The words came out in a harsh whisper, both hands balling into fists at his side. “She’s his daughter?”

  “Apparently.” Lachlan actually looked guilty, as if he were somehow responsible for Everly’s lies. “I didn’t know if you knew.”

  “Of course I didn’t know!” he snapped. “You think I would do that to our family? Fuck!” He shook his head, a hundred moments shuttering through his mind. Her refusal to talk about her father. Her discomfiture around people of wealth. Hating having her picture taken. The way she closed off emotionally every time he’d talked about the future and being part of her life back in the U.S. So many things made sense now.

  “What’re ye goin’ to do?” Lachlan asked quietly.

  “I don’t know.” Ian had his hands on his hips, fury racing through his veins.

  How could she lie to him like this? Did she truly think she wouldn’t get caught? How could they have a future together if he didn’t even know her real name? And even if she hadn’t told him initially, why hadn’t she told him later? At the very least after he’d told her he loved her? She still didn’t trust him, and the worst thing was, she’d been right. There was no way in hell he could be in a relationship with the daughter of a man like Morgan Taylor-Reese. He wasn’t just a thief and a criminal, but the scourge of the financial world. Even though Ian had no interest in the family business, he wouldn’t bring shame to them either.

  Jesus Christ. She was staying at their family home. Right now. Granted, she was leaving tomorrow, but they had plans to go to a hotel tonight for a fancy dinner and a lot of sex. Now, it seemed there was a totally different evening on the horizon.

  “Ian?” Lachlan was watching him worriedly.

  “I don’t know,” he said before Lachlan could ask him anything else. “I don’t fucking know.” He stalked out of the room and down the stairs toward the guest room. He truly had no idea what to say to her, but he wanted her out of his house right now. The rational part of his brain warned him to slow down and think, but he was too hurt by her betrayal. Any chance of working through this was gone because of her deception, and he needed her as far away from him as possible, before he lost it completely.

  He didn’t knock, merely throwing open the door and staring at her. She was bent over her suitcase on the bed, and glanced over her shoulder at him with a smile.

  “Hi. I’m almost ready. I—” She stopped abruptly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Were you ever going to tell me?” he demanded.

  “Tell you?” She seemed to have no idea what he was talking about.

  “Well, for starters, your real name. Morgan.” He scowled, watching as her face paled and she swallowed.

  “Ian, let me explain.”

  “Explain? It’s a little bloody late for that, don’t you think?” He was having a hard time keeping his voice down. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? How the hell were we supposed to build a future together if you couldn’t even tell me your name?”

  “I was going to. I tried this morning and you said you didn’t care.” She motioned with her hand. “But I should have expected this since it’s not my first rodeo.”

  “I’ll bet it isn’t,” he shot back. “How many other poor saps have you lied to and stolen from?”

  She sucked in a shocked breath, anger mingling with the embarrassment on her face. “You can be upset that I didn’t tell you who my father was, but I was a kid. I had nothing to do with anything he did, so calling me a thief is not only untrue, but completely inappropriate.”

  “You lied to me,” he repeated angrily.

  “Not intentionally. I use the name Everly Adamson both professionally and personally. The only time I don’t use it is on my passport and driver’s license, because I haven’t gone through the process of legally changing my name yet.”

  “How could you think I wouldn’t find out?” he asked again, frustration overwhelming him. “I loved you! I wanted to spend my life with you.”

  “I want that too. Ian, nothing has changed. I’m in the process of legally changing my name. No one ever has to know who my father is. I don’t speak to him or have any contact with him. We—”

  “We built our entire relationship on a lie! Do you not understand that? Nothing between us was real.”

  Her eyes puddled with tears as she stared at him. “Nothing? The name I was born with makes that much of a difference?”

  “In this instance? Yeah, it does. You should have come clean with me the moment you found out what my family did for a living.” He was yelling again and though a tiny part of him was telling him to stop, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

  “I was afraid!” Her voice rose to match his. “I knew you would react like this. Everyone reacts like this. I was just a kid. I didn’t know anything about what he was doing until they arrested him, and even then, I was sixteen or seventeen before I truly understood it.”

  “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, eh?” The words were coming out before he could stop them.

  “What the hell does that mean? I have nothing to do with finance.”

  “No, but your father was a practiced con man and you’re obviously a practiced liar.”

  Though a stray tear had leaked out of one eye and was rolling down her cheek, she stiffened her spine at his words. “I’ve had to learn to be because of people like you. I was barely thirteen when my father was arrested. I had no idea about any of it and I’ve spent my entire life since then trying to put it behind me. Thanks to people like you, I can’t. And frankly, if this is what our love boils down to for you, well, I guess I know where I stand.” She turned and closed the zipper on her suitcase, picked up her backpack and brushed past him as she walked toward the door. She turned the knob but hesitated, as if waiting for him to do something.

  “You could have been honest,” was all he said.

  “I tried and you said you didn’t care.” She set her jaw. “When you gave me the brooch.”

  “You had to know this was different. You should have tried harder to make me listen.”

  “I suppose I should have,” she admitted quietly, glancing back at him. “But I thought love was unconditional. I thought what we had was different, that it wouldn’t matter.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets, avoiding her eyes. When he didn’t say or do anything, she pulled her suitcase into the hallway and let the door shut behind her.

  32

  Ian pouted the rest of the day after Everly left, locking himself in his room and skipping dinner. Lachlan had probably told the rest of the family what he’d discovered, and whether they were giving him space and privacy because they understood how angry he was, or something else, he wasn’t sure. He tossed and turned all night and finally got up around six. He was tired and hungry, but also frustrated and hurt. How could she do this to him?

  He wandered down to the kitchen and found Merrie puttering around. “Good morning, my lord. Are ye hungry?”

 

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