The Scot is Hers by Eliza Knight

8

For a lass who preferred to spend most of her time with her head in a book, Giselle felt she was doing a reasonably good job of faking sociability right now. It probably helped that she had Jaime here with her and also that every time she glanced over at Alec, he appeared noticeably pained. She wasn’t sure she’d ever met anyone who felt as plainly as she did the physical ache of forced proximity to idiots.

But she didn’t have time to savor that thought longer than a breath, as the ladies in question were squeezing in around her and singing her gown’s praises, unaware that it was, in fact, Jaime’s dress she wore.

“Only ye could get away with a hairstyle so simple,” one of them said in mocking tones that grated on Giselle’s nerves. The wee wretch had not hidden her desire to inflict a wound.

“Oh, ye silly sausage,” Giselle quipped back with a false laugh. “’Tis easy to get away with simple when ye have other attributes far more intriguing.” To this, she referred to her breasts, which she was certain would pop out if she took too deep a breath or laughed too loud.

The lass in question—Lady Mary, she thought she remembered hearing—looked taken aback by both the moniker and the pointed lack of her own swelling chest. It wasn’t nice, and Giselle felt instantly bad for having pointed out what was a source of self-consciousness. She wasn’t that type of person. Hated the drama that meanness pulled out. She meant only to defend herself, and it was stupid that she’d hurt someone else in doing so.

“I’m sorry,” Giselle said, startling all of the ladies in the group. “My ankle is smarting from my fall, and I should no’ have taken it out on ye.”

The lass sniffed the air, appeared ready to say something nasty when Jaime stepped in.

“Ye are a darling, Lady Giselle. We all understand, do we no’, Lady Mary? I’ve certainly been a bit snippy when stubbing a toe. I can no’ imagine how I’d be if I’d sprained my ankle the way ye did.” And just like that, the words of a duchess changed the course of the evening as all the ladies started to fawn over Giselle once more.

It paid to have a friend in high places, she supposed.

“Now, who wants to play a game?” Jaime asked, diverting the attention from Giselle, who mouthed a grateful,“Thank ye.”

Giselle did not want to play a game but given the excitement on the other lasses’ faces and her previous gaffe, it wouldn’t do to voice her concerns. Besides, Jaime was doing her best to take attention away from Giselle, and for that, she’d play a hundred games.

“We will play Bouts-Rimes,” Jaime said.

Giselle cringed on the inside. The other lasses tittered their excitement. At least it was a game Giselle knew how to play but being put on the spot always seemed to make her mind go blank. Alone she could make up a thousand rhyming ditties, but faced with anyone, especially those she didn’t know…

“The words shall be…” Jaime pursed her lips as she thought about them, her warm brown eyes twinkling in Giselle’s direction. “And in this order: bores, party, moors, hearty, cures.”

“Lady Giselle, ye should go first,” Lady Mary said, as sweet as acid, perhaps having picked up on the subtle cue from Giselle that she felt less than adequate. “Against me.”

“All right.” Giselle sat up a little straighter, smiling confidently, even if she didn’t feel it. If there was one thing that she was good at, it was pretending. “Bores, party, moors, hearty, cures?”

“Aye, that’s right,” Jaime said with a little clap.

“All right.” Giselle chewed her lip while the women gaped at her. She tried to see through them, to ignore their breathing and their barely bridled laughter. Even the men seemed to be watching, listening. Alec was pretending not to, but every so often, their eyes locked, and it made her belly flutter, and any rhymes she might have come up with evaporated. Besides, it was hard not to look at him. Out at the ruins, he’d been dressed in riding clothes and as sopping wet as she’d been. But now he was cleaned up, dressed in a fine kilt that showed off the shape and strength of his legs, which she’d remembered from their moonlit encounter years before.

“Och, she has nothing,” Lady Mary said, interrupting Giselle’s more amorous thoughts. “I’ll go.”

“Nay, I’ve got it,” Giselle replied. “I’ve been cooped up in a storm, having a fit of the bores. What heaven it is to escape to a merry party. A ride in the carriage, passing soggy flowers on the moors, arriving with mud, causing all the guests to laugh hearty. A game, some champagne, my new friends are the cures.”

Jaime clapped. “I do love playing Bouts-Rimes with ye.”

Giselle grinned, her confidence growing. “What about ye, Lady Mary? Have ye a rhyme?”

“Aye.” She locked eyes on Giselle as she spoke, a little sneer on her mouth. “Wallflowers and snooty gentleman—bores, we need something livelier to make this a party. I’d rather be in the city than cooped up on the moors, trying to find a husband who is hale and hearty. A hefty dowry and polite society are the cures.”

The other ladies clapped, and Giselle did too, trying to pretend she hadn’t noticed that the rhyme was meant to insult not only her, but everyone in the house. Goodness, but this was one of the women Alec’s mother had chosen as a potential bride? No wonder he’d ridden out to the abbey. The other ladies took their turns with the rhyming, but Giselle didn’t pay attention. She laughed and smiled when required, but truly she wished for a dram of whisky to take the edge off her throbbing ankle and a warm bed to forget about the day’s torturous events.

A footman came by then to save her from having to give another round of rhymes that Lady Mary would counter with an insult, as he offered them refreshment.

Was it truly possible that Lady Mary wanted Alec for herself? If that were the case, why wasn’t Lady Mary trying to talk to him? If Giselle could walk, she’d saunter up to him right now, if only to escape their presence. The truth was, not one of the eligible women present seemed the least bit interested in their host—the reason they’d been invited.

How awful it must be for Alec to have to endure their company, knowing they didn’t want to be in it.

* * *

Alec had yetto take his eyes off Giselle. He caught her looking at him too. Most of the time, he saw that swivel of her head or that peek through her lashes, and he pretended to be otherwise occupied. But then he’d look back, wishing her could scoop her up and leave this room. She was achingly beautiful, but beneath the pleasant surface lurked an acerbic bookworm he wanted to get to know.

His cravat felt too tight. The only reason he’d not run screaming from the parlor yet was that he liked his friends, and they were keeping him grounded. Well, and besides the fact that he wouldn’t be able to see Giselle if he left the room. Otherwise, he’d have dragged his friends back to his gymnasium for some real, rousing fun.

Alec heard the rhyming game from across the room. appreciating Giselle’s wit and wanting to send the chit who insulted her packing. Alas, that chit’s mother was present, and unfortunately, he didn’t want to deal with the fallout with his own mother. Besides, Giselle was handling her own fine, which made him respect her all the more.

Speaking of mothers, he’d yet to see his. And she’d yet to make a proper introduction to his new...friend. Was Giselle his friend? Why did the idea of being friends make his gut sour?

“What’s got into ye?” Euan asked, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Is that your sister?” Alec nodded toward one of the prettier lasses surrounding Jaime and Giselle. He hoped the change of topic would avert the attention away from himself.

“Aye. Maggie. She’s the only one who could come, a requirement when your mother sent her invitation.”

Alec frowned. “She required Maggie?” What kind of a requirement was that?

Euan shook his head. “Nay, she required any of my sisters, to be frank. I think she needed eligible females.”

“She required me to bring my duchess,” Lorne said. “And I assure ye, she’s no’ eligible.”

The men laughed while Alec still tried to piece together the puzzle his mother had laid out.

“And ye, Malcolm, what did she require of ye?”

Malcolm grinned arrogantly. “Only my presence.”

“I hope ye are no’ implying what I think ye intended to imply with that smirk,” Alec warned. The very idea of his mother in bed with his friend made him want to wretch.

Malcolm shrugged.

“Ye’re an animal,” Alec said. “And no’ a good one.”

His friends laughed, jostling each other, and Alec elbowed them each in the ribs. “I’ve got a mind to take ye outside and challenge ye.”

“Save your strength,” Malcolm said. “From what I understand, ye’ll have a fight soon enough.”

“What does that mean?” Alec examined the room, expecting to see Keith lurking in a corner.

Malcolm nodded toward the women and the way Giselle looked ready to eat one of them alive. She was clearly struggling with her temper. Much had changed in the few moments of ribbing among his comrades.

“’Haps, I should intervene,” Alec mused.

“I’m staying well away from that,” Euan shook his head. “I’ve enough troubles with all the females in my house. Besides, Maggie’s much better at regulating than I am.”

Poor Euan was the only son and had six sisters. When his parents passed away, he was barely more than fourteen years old and suddenly in charge of raising six females. How he’d survived to tell the tale, and still have a personality, was impressive.

“As is Jaime, having to deal with sailors and dockhands daily,” Lorne said. “I’d rather hang back than get in her way.”

Alec knew his friends were only trying to rescue him, but they failed to understand that he wanted to go over there and save her. Again. To free them both.

Well, perhaps they didn’t all think that. Malcolm was staring at him with astute eyes that never missed a beat. That was why he was so good at his position with the War Office. They’d all long suspected that there was more to Malcolm than met the eye.

“I’m certain she’d welcome the distraction,” Malcolm said. And if he said it, then it had to be true because the man made a living off of knowing what other people thought, sometimes before they even contemplated it.

Just as Euan promised, his sister invited several of the women over to a table to play cards, leaving Giselle to decline and Jaime to beg off to sit beside her friend.

Now was Alec’s chance. So what was holding him back? He wasn’t certain what it was, only that he felt unmoored. For so long, he’d clung to his desire to be alone. Vowed to swear off females after the pain of rejection grew to be too much. Or at least resigned himself never to have a life partner.

Watching Lorne fall in love the year prior had given him the first twitches of desire for his own partner. But that had quickly squashed when he recalled how society lasses like the ones here tonight made clear he was not the one they were looking for. From what he’d observed, those who were willing to look past a man’s less than desirable visage married the widowers who were bound to keel over soon, leaving them rich. Or they struck deals about furnishing an heir and a spare and moving into separate quarters. That was not what Alec wanted.

And just because Giselle hadn’t shied away from him didn’t mean she was willing to take him as a husband either.

* * *

Giselle watchedAlec from across the room where he stood with several other large males. Funny how beasts seemed to congregate together.

“What are ye smiling about?” Jaime asked, sitting down on the chair beside where Giselle lounged on a settee. Her astute regard followed Giselle’s line of vision.

“I’m no’ smiling.” Giselle was quick to frown as she focused on the table in front of her, which only made her friend laugh.

“Ye’re a terrible liar,” Jaime said with a playful roll of her eyes and then poured them both a cup of tea from the service the footmen had laid on the table.

“I know. ’Tis one of the reasons I am so witty. It throws people off.” Giselle wiggled her brows and picked up her cup of tea, savoring the warmth.

“Good thing I know ye well.” Jaime stirred in a lump of sugar.

“Aye.” Giselle’s gaze slid back to Alec. He said something to his friends that made them all laugh, and he looked a little put out. She found his grumpiness endearing, and it made her smile, thinking of ways she could tease a grin from him.

“Ye like him,” Jaime drawled, adding another lump of sugar to her tea.

“I do no’ know what ye’re implying.” Giselle tasted her tea, if only to avoid saying another word that might give away the dreadful thought her friend had given her, which was that she did like him quite a bit.

Jaime leaned closer, a teasing smile curling her lip. “Ye find him dashing.”

Giselle pursed her lips to keep from laughing. “I’m no’ certain dashing is the word I’d use.”

“Then what would ye say?”

With a naughty smile, Giselle said, “Beastly.”

“But in a way that makes your heart race.” Jaime pressed her hand to her heart with a romantic sigh.

Giselle’s heart did thump up a notch in her chest when Alec winked at her from across the room at that precise moment. Dear God in heaven, how was it possible that so slight a movement of the eyelid could affect her? He wasn’t even near her. And yet, her heart was thudding practically as frantically as it had when she’d nearly fallen off the cliff. This man, who’d irritated a few years ago and irritated her again this afternoon, was somehow affecting her in all sorts of mad ways.

“I think ye make his heart race, too,” Jaime mused. “I’ve no’ seen him so...animated since I met him.”

“What is he normally like?”

“Much more reserved. And he hates these sorts of events.” Jaime observed Alec from across the room.

“They are rather boring, most of the time. And stop looking at him. I think he knows we’re talking about him.”

Jaime smiled into her teacup, then settled it on the saucer. “Aye, quite boring, unless there is someone ye fancy.” She stood up suddenly, her face a little pale. “I’ll be right back.”

Giselle pursed her lips, watching Jaime disappear from the parlor, and then glanced down into the lukewarm tea, wishing it were a glass of champagne, which the ladies at the card table had recently been served. She set it down on the table, thinking perhaps it was time she retired to her room. Dinner could be sent up. And after her earlier ordeal, a rest sounded mighty fine.

Alec’s strong hand came into her view then, holding a delicate flute of bubbly.

Giselle jerked her gaze upward, trying to keep the surprise from her face. “Why, thank ye. How did ye know?”

“Ye were wringing your hands so hard from across the room I thought ye’d break a finger. Ye needed something to distract ye.”

Giselle reached for the glass, her fingers brushing his and a spark of something quite delightful shooting up her arm.

“By distraction, did ye mean to get me drunk?”

Alec shrugged. “Do ye oft get drunk, lass?”

“What if I said I did?” She sipped at the effervescent drink and sighed.

“I would no’ believe ye.” There he went, winking at her again, causing her insides to melt. “But since ye seem the type to enjoy challenging me, I’d stick around for the entertainment.”

Giselle made use of her brows and frowned at him as fiercely as she could if only to remind herself that flirtation was not the reason she’d come to Slains. This castle was a refuge from an unwanted marriage. She hadn’t been invited to the house party, wasn’t an actual guest. She took a long sip of her champagne, the bubbles tickling mercilessly down her throat.

Alec chuckled. Meanwhile, Jaime returned with her mouth practically falling to the floor in shock at seeing the two of them flirting.

“I’ll get ye another glass,” Alec mused, waving his hand at a footman.

Oh, no.Giselle had not set out to get drunk, merely to do as he’d said, which was challenge him. This was not going to end well for her. She caught Jaime’s wide-eyed expression and mouthed, “Sandwich.”

Jaime once more scurried away.

Giselle sipped casually at her first glass of champagne, realizing that all that was left was the dregs.

“How is your ankle?” Alec’s gaze tempered to one more of concern than when he’d been all about challenging her. He raked his regard over her form, down to her feet, leaving her feeling exposed mildly, even though she was fully clothed.

“The champagne is helping.”

He grinned. “Are ye certain ye’d no’ like to prop it up?”

“If I thought it would no’ make the society papers, then aye. But alas, facts are facts.” She cocked her head to the side, giving him a coy look. “Ye’d make a good governess.”

Alec chuckled. “I do believe that ye’re the only one who thinks so.”

Jaime returned with a small plate of sandwiches. Giselle passed her finished champagne flute to Alec, already feeling slightly light-headed, and held onto the plate, taking as delicate a bite of the sandwich as she could.

“I see ye aim to fill your belly to dilute the alcohol.” He gave her a deferential nod. “Well played.”

Giselle amazed herself by winking at him this time. Alec seemed stunned, but she rather liked surprising him.

He mumbled something under his breath and started to turn away, but not before his mother cut in.

“Do no’ leave on my account.” The countess glanced down at Giselle with a raised brow and clear disapproval on her face as she scanned with deliberate distaste the plate of sandwiches in Giselle’s lap. “I see your guest is quite comfortable.”

The way she said “your guest” sounded awfully as if Giselle had been invited to the house party for reasons that were rather indelicate. However, she was too shocked to be insulted and found for once today that she was speechless. Jaime stuffed a sandwich in her mouth and made an elaborate “mmm” noise. Giselle’s eyes bugged at the horror on the countess’s face.

“Verra delicious. Do have your cook send mine the recipe,” Jaime said after swallowing.

“I am quite, thank ye, my lady.” Giselle used her most sweet voice—the one she’d practiced to placate the vipers at Edinburgh’s Assembly Rooms whenever she’d had the unfortunate privilege of attending a dance there—in hope of averting the older woman’s ire from Jaime, who had attempted to distract her.

Lady Errol sniffed. “Well, perhaps ye ought to retire soon so that ye may rest. I’ll have a plate sent up with your dinner.”

Alec opened his mouth to respond, but Giselle felt rather tired anyway and did not want to give the countess any cause to contact her parents, so she nodded.

“Ye are quite right, my lady. I do find myself rather exhausted. Might a footman help me to my room so I may retire? I’m afraid I still can no’ stand on my own.”

The countess grumbled something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like “ye should not have come to the fete at all,” but before Giselle could think more on it, Alec said, “Nonsense. I’ll take ye myself.”

“My lord,” his mother said, with a laugh that suggested anything but humor. “That would be highly inappropriate.”

“’Tis my house, and I say what is appropriate and what is no’.” Alec’s tone was calm, not loud, but its command brooked no argument. “I’ll take the lady to her room and return with haste. Never mind about that.”

Alec scooped Giselle into his arms as easily as he’d done the whole of the day, not tired in the least from carrying her around, and departed the drawing room.

“I see ye held onto your sandwiches,” he remarked.

“They are delicious. One should no’ waste a good sandwich.”

He chuckled. “I agree.”

Murmurs rose from the crowd gathered in the large parlor, but Giselle ignored them, her attention fully on the man who held her. Up the stairs they went, and down the hall toward the room she’d been assigned. With every step he took, the harder her heart pounded.

Once inside her chamber, he closed the door. And unlike when she’d been terrified with Sir Joshua, she felt safe and calm. Alec placed her on a chair and then went to the hearth, stoking the fire until it blazed.

“Will ye be warm enough?” he asked.

She was already very warm. Hot, even. “Aye. Thank ye.”

“Should I put ye in bed?”

Giselle’s mouth fell open, but she somehow managed to get control of herself. She smiled and shook her head. “If your mother saw that, I’m quite certain she’d have an attack of the heart.”

“True. So, shall I?” A mischievous smile crossed his face.

“I think a maid will suffice.”

“I’ll have one sent in.”

“Thank ye.”

Alec stood there, somewhat awkwardly, as if he wasn’t quite certain how to leave. And she didn’t want him to. But really, they needed to put some distance between them.

“Do ye need me to call someone?” she asked sweetly.

“What?”

“Ye seem stuck.”

“Och,” he grimaced, stepping toward the door with a scowl on his face.

“That’s more like it. The beast has returned,” she teased. “I feared for a moment a changeling had replaced ye.”

“I should be insulted,” he said, but a smile played on his lips.

“Then why are ye no’?”

“I have no idea.” He reached for the handle of her door, faltering once more.

She wanted him to stay. Wanted to tell him those people downstairs wouldn’t miss him, but she knew they would. All those lasses brought up from Edinburgh to woo him to the altar—

they could go rot.

“Ye’d best get going before the ninnies come banging on my door, demanding ye return.”

He looked at her; his features pinched as though he were in pain. She wanted to soothe that obvious distress, but there was nothing she could do. She wasn’t his, and he wasn’t hers.

“What if I did no’ have to worry about them?” He let go of the handle and turned to face her fully.

Giselle squinted, trying to read his mind, but nothing was forthcoming from him. “What do ye mean?”

“What if I was already spoken for?”

Giselle laughed and clapped. “Ye would make up a pretend bride-to-be? Oh, how devious.”

“Nay, ye misunderstand. I would no’ make her up. She would be verra real.”

Giselle frowned, pursing her lips. “Oh, then where would ye find her on such short notice? I daresay the ladies below stairs are in it for the money but won’t agree until the amount has been negotiated and the ink dried on the contract.” She shook her head. “Anyone else would take a day or more to arrive, but I suppose it could be worth the wait.”

“Ye are quite right about the ladies downstairs, and the timing no’ being ideal. But I was no’ suggesting any of them.”

“A maid then? Good idea. They will be more than willing to agree and probably will no’ even ask for a signed agreement. Though your mother might throw a fit.” She nodded at that thought, imagining the countess’s fury when her son came to her with a servant on his arm. His mother was every cliché listed for an aristocratic woman.

“No’ a maid.” Alec’s voice had taken on a strange tone.

Giselle tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Ye have me at a disadvantage, sir. Give me a clue. Is she here at Slains?”

“Aye,” he drawled out. He seemed to think she’d guess the answer right away.

“Ah, so we are to play a game of clue. I verra much enjoy that one. Is she a lady?”

“Aye.” He made a gesture with his hand for her to keep guessing.

“Have I met her?” She picked up a sandwich and took a tiny bite.

“Aye.”

“Hmm…” Giselle tapped her chin, thinking about every female in the house. This was a conundrum. Were any of the lasses in attendance not downstairs? Perhaps this was a trick question.

Alec let out a long-exaggerated sigh. “For the love of God, woman. I am proposing that ye and I make a match.”

“What?” Giselle dropped her plate of sandwiches.

Alec grimaced. “I see that was a mistake.” He started to turn, but she stopped him.

“Alec, ye have to stop running away.”

“This, coming from ye?” he said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Giselle waved away the obvious. “Please do explain, sir. Ye merely surprised me is all.”

“Ye need out of your engagement, and I need into one. I am proposing a business deal.”

A business deal. A transaction. A marriage of convenience.

Giselle had hated so very much that her first engagement was an exchange of her person for a coffer of coins, and yet, for some reason, with Alec’s proposal, it felt as if she had control in the matter. Could a marriage of convenience free them both from their unwanted troubles, or would the arrangement become incredibly inconvenient?

Then again, if she didn’t agree, her parents would eventually find her, and there was still the chance they would force her to wed Sir Joshua. That would be a fate far worse than being tied to Alec. Still, she couldn’t help the rib that came to mind when she imagined walking into the parlor, and the announcement was made that she had won the earl’s hand. For that was what it would be, a game that she’d won.

“Are ye telling me that no’ even Lady Mary could convince ye to become her husband?” She smiled teasingly.

Alec scoffed. “Ye’re jesting. That woman is a menace.”

“Really? She seems so pleasant.”

“Now I know ye’re jesting.”

Giselle laughed. “Well, it appears, my Beast of Errol, that ye’ve saved me twice today.” She held out her hand, wiggling her fingers.

“What’s this?” he asked, coming forward and wrapping his fingers around hers. He brought his warm mouth to her knuckles.

A shiver raced from the spot, and for a moment, she forgot her thoughts. “We were to shake upon our agreement. Is that no’ what gentleman do?”

“Ah.” His fingers shifted from hers to grip her palm, and then glided over her wrist where he gripped her foreman. “This is how Highlanders shake.”

Giselle followed suit, gripping his forearm as well, a mischievous smile creeping onto her lips.

“When do we make this scandalous announcement?”

“There is the matter of telling your family,” he hedged.

Giselle frowned. “I am one and twenty. I do no’ need their permission to accept a marriage proposal. Besides, we were alone in that abbey for a very long time. And ye’ve been in my room now long enough for an assignation to occur. I shall simply tell them that ye’ve ruined me.”

Alec slid his hand up to her bicep, and she felt the heat of that tempting touch to her toes. He drew his face close to hers, his luscious green gaze locked to her own.

“Och, my lady, but my assignations always last longer than five minutes.”

Giselle flushed, instinctively understanding the wicked promise in those words.

“And if I’m to be blamed for your ruination,” his gaze shifted to her mouth, “then perhaps ye’d gift me with a kiss?”

Giselle was stunned by the differences between Alec and Sir Joshua. One had taken a kiss without asking, without caring. And this one, the earl she’d agreed to marry, asked for it.

“And if I said nay?”

He held up his hands and backed away. “Then I shall wait until ye’ve given me permission.”

The other difference between Alec and Sir Joshua was she wanted to kiss this man, and he was giving her the opportunity to do that.

Oh, she was hot and tingly at the prospect. Giselle nodded, licking her lower lip. “Aye. A kiss.”