Taming the Scot by Eliza Knight

12

“Captain Euan Irvine, Miss Maggie Irvine, Miss Amabel Irvine, Miss Lillie Irvine, and Miss Bronwen Holmes.” Their names were announced, bringing the conversation in the ballroom to a halt.

A flushed heat filled Bronwen’s chest, creeping up to her neck and her face. Every inch of her skin was prickling as strangers assessed her. If not for Euan and his sisters standing there beside her, she would have turned around, hailed a hackney, and returned to Irvine House. She could still do that. She could make her excuses saying that she wanted to join the other lasses at home, to recreate the party as they’d done in the Highlands, so they didn’t feel as left out.

Because that was how she felt right now. A fish out of water.

Last night at the intimate gathering at Sutherland Gate, she’d gotten to know Jaime, the Duchess of Sutherland, and Giselle, the Countess of Errol, and liked the two of them very much. Their conversations had been easy and exciting, and for a few hours, Bronwen had not felt as if she were a pretender. She’d been at ease and… as if she belonged.

When the men had gone off to box out of hearing distance, Jaime and Giselle had shared their romantic stories of how they’d met their husbands and fell in love. Bronwen longed for the day she’d be able to share a similar story. But her mind kept whirling back to Euan as if being hired as his governess were a future tale she’d get to tell about the two of them.

What a daydreaming fool she was.

A slow murmuring rose, similar to the sound bees make as they fly closer and closer until it's loud and overwhelming to the ears.

Bronwen had never experienced being more out of place than she did at that moment. Dressed in a gown of gold, which shimmered in the candlelight, she felt like an imposter, a charlatan. The silky fabric of her gown was whisper-soft against her skin. The slippers on her feet were practically molded to her foot shape. No pinching.

Conversations had stilled to watch them enter and now ramped up as they all talked about her. Everyone was looking their way—judging her, she was certain, for being the fraud she was. Who amongst them thought she might have stolen the gown that fit her like a glove? A gift from Maggie, who’d sent her measurements to the modiste in Edinburgh before they’d arrived in town.

How could she have agreed to go to the ball with Euan and his sisters?

An intimate gathering with his close friends was one thing, but a ball? This was so far from anything she’d ever done, and those in attendance probably knew it.

Euan offered her his elbow as they entered. Maggie was on his other side and his other two sisters behind them. Bronwen placed her hand on his forearm, fingers barely touching, and willed the trembling to disappear.

She swallowed as the stares from those in attendance stabbed her forehead. She should haven’t listened to Euan, to Maggie. Shouldn’t have agreed to watch Euan put his skills of being a courting gentleman into play. Doing so was going to hurt her more than she was willing to admit. And he really ought to stop paying such special care to her. Any lass who was interested in being his bride would not appreciate that.

It was almost as if he were laying claim to her for anyone to see—which right now appeared to be most of the Scottish high society. Maybe that was his plan, though. To spark interest from the maidens through jealousy. Well, Bronwen didn’t want to be a pawn in that way. It was one thing to teach him manners, quite another to be the dangled carrot those lasses wanted to demolish.

Just thinking of the ladies who’d be clambering over themselves to take a bite of Euan caused a pang of loss in Bronwen’s gut. Perhaps she should make her smiles and melt into the wallpaper, slip out the nearest door or window and disappear into the night. She’d gotten quite good over the years at sneaking away. Of hiding and being invisible to anyone who might come looking for her. Besides, she was already one step ahead of the ruffians she feared. Dressed as she was, the men looking for her wouldn’t recognize her or even see her, most likely. She was a lady tonight, a princess even.

Physically running away would be so easy.

Mentally, however…it was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.

Difficult as it might be, it was also the right thing. Because the longer she spent in Euan’s presence, the harder it would be to leave. To stay meant saddling him with all of the burdens she carried on her like a pack mule.

“Ye promised me the first dance,” Euan said, interrupting her thoughts. His smile was charming, disarming and enticing, the combination of which softened her resolve to flee.

Oh, but she was a silly, demented lass, wasn’t she?

Maintaining a serious and determined visage to keep Euan—and herself—on task, she said, “To show all the other lasses what they're missing. Their mothers will be clambering to get your name on their daughters’ dance cards.”

“Perhaps they will.” He leaned a little closer, his spicy scent assaulting her senses in the most delicious, forbidden way. “But ye know I’ll deny them all if only ye, my faithful governess, would agree to keep me occupied all the night through. For ye outshine them all. I may have to battle off the gentlemen present.”

A shiver of pleasure went through her—and something else. Sadness, regret. She knew he was jesting. He had to be. This was who Euan was—the consummate charmer. Always looking for a way to please whomever’s attention he held.

And Lord help her, he often held hers. But as she’d told herself a hundred times, if not more, she couldn’t saddle him with the burdens left to her by her parents, even if he said he wanted to help. It wouldn’t be fair to him nor to his sisters. They deserved better than that. From the stories they’d told her, they’d already climbed out of the ashes. Why be dragged back down?

Euan had plenty of his own things to worry about. Six sisters to see settled. His legacy to secure. Adding Bronwen’s problems to the mix would only muddy the waters, and eventually, he might come to regret his choice in her. He’d be miserable. And she couldn’t handle that.

“I would suggest a plan to combat the opponents pressing in, Captain, but we both know a society wife is what ye desire. So I say, bring them on.”

“Is it?” he asked, with a pained expression and a roll of his eyes toward the crowd. “I think ye must know by now it is no’.”

Aye, but she didn’t want to know that. As she struggled to find a way to answer him, to decipher his meaning, or at the very least bat away his words, they were approached by the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland, as well as the Earl and Countess of Errol.

Bronwen saw them as titles out of habit, but the bright smiles from Jaime and Giselle, the friendly nods from their husbands, reminded her that she’d been invited and wholeheartedly accepted into their world.

“Your Grace. My lady.” Bronwen curtsied to them both anyway, as was expected, especially in front of all the guests.

“Oh, please do no’ do that,” Jaime laughed. “We are friends, now are we no’?”

Bronwen liked the sound of that. And the genuine warmth in the two women’s eyes.

“Maggie, ye look ravishing,” Jaime said to Euan’s sister, who did indeed dazzle in a white silk gown.

Forget the ladies clambering for Euan’s attention. They might have to ward the men off of Maggie.

“Thank ye, Your Grace.” Maggie’s cheeks turned pink from the praise.

Amabel and Lillie disappeared in a rush to get punch and chat with the friends they spotted across the ballroom, and Maggie excused herself to go after them.

The first tinkling of music began a breath later, and Bronwen recognized the tune as the one Esme had played when she’d practiced with Euan at Drum Castle.

A waltz.

She tried not to look at him. Didn’t want to make eye contact and have him ask her to dance when he should be seeking out the other lasses present. Jaime and Giselle were both swept into their husbands’ arms and whirled away. Bronwen retreated a step, trying to get out of the line of Euan’s peripheral vision, but he turned with her.

“Ah, it is our song,” Euan drawled beside her.

When she peeped up at him, there was that grin that made his eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Our song?” Her voice sounded so far away.

“Aye. The song we first danced to. Let’s do it again.” He held out his hand to her, palm up, fingers beckoning with the slightest curl. A lock of his golden hair fell over his forehead, adding to his charm. “Miss Bronwen Holmes, might ye do me the honor of granting me this dance?”

And then he winked, tearing down all the walls she’d temporarily put up as protection from his enchanting assault. Oh, for heaven’s sake.

Why did he have to be so…so…appealing? How could she refuse a request like that? Her body, her heart, wouldn’t let her. “Aye,” she whispered, placing her gloved fingers in his outstretched hand.

Euan whirled her out onto the dance floor, his right hand gently and tantalizingly placed at the small of her back, where the heat of his touch seemed to seep through the fabric of her golden gown. He held up his left hand, she pressed her palm against his. And though she couldn’t feel his skin through the gloves, she knew it would be warm and calloused against her own—remembered the feel of him most vividly. She had to close her eyes for a second, steadying her breath, or else risk fainting.

“Ye are a vision tonight,” he murmured as he twirled her about. “The most stunning lass here.”

Bronwen’s eyes popped open. “Ye’re a consummate flatterer, Captain.”

“I tell the truth.” He nodded, and though his eyes held an amusing spark, she could see he meant what he said.

She swallowed around the lump that seemed to form in her throat whenever he was near. “Well, if we are being honest then, I’d rather be dancing with ye than anyone else.” Ever. For the rest of my life.

With the slightest pressure of his hand on her spine, she was drawn closer to him. Her breasts brushed the strong expanse of his chest, and she gasped at the scandalous touch. Their eyes locked as he whirled her about. The entire ballroom, and all of the people with it, seemed to disappear as it had when they’d danced before. There was something in the music, the alignment of their bodies, and the way his intense gaze never wavered from hers.

It felt like a dream that she never wanted to wake from because, for her, the fantasy was so much better than reality.

Except…this was her reality, if only for the moment.

The music slowly came to an end, and their whirling bodies stilled, but Euan didn’t pull away. His hand still pressed to her spine. Their fingers relaxed midair until several digits were entwined. They stood in the center of the ballroom, holding their dancing position, gazes unwavering on each other. Bronwen could hear the buzz of voices that certainly were making comments about the two of them. But she didn’t care what they had to say. She found herself falling deeper and deeper into the fathomless and captivating well of Euan’s gaze.

At last, a livelier tune, and dancers forming lines for a more jovial country dance, forced them to move.

“A reel,” Euan murmured, referring to the line dance about to begin. “Would ye like to dance?”

A reel she knew how to do, as they often did them at the local public house in her close and the very few cèilidhs she’d been invited to. She nodded, grinning, and joined the line with Euan opposite her. While the aristocracy’s steps were a little primmer than her own, she was able to modify them fine, joining the rest of the guests in their joy of the dance. Throughout it all, she and Euan couldn’t seem to take their eyes off of one another.

When it was finished, sweat trickled down her back, and her ceaseless smile refused to go away.

“That was fun, aye?” Euan said, wiping his brow with his handkerchief.

She nodded, and they jumped into the next dance. When they’d finished, her throat was parched, and her hair was in danger of coming out of its pins. An exhilarating feeling was thrumming through her veins, and now she knew why Euan’s sisters had been so excited for the ball. What she’d thought was going to be a nightmare was a lot of fun. Of course, they were not doing at all what they’d come to accomplish—finding Euan a worthy bride. In fact, by dancing so much together, they were implying she was that lucky lass if the rules in Lady Edinburgh’s guide were to be believed.

And for some reason, as the minutes continued to tick by, the less she cared about that.

“Some punch?” he asked, and she nodded, following him to the long table with punch and refreshments.

Euan handed her a glass, and they both sipped heartily until Euan was jostled from behind, nearly spilling his punch. If he’d not been more agile, it might have splashed all over Bronwen. But he saved it at the last second.

“Oh my. I’m terribly sorry. Pardon my clumsiness,” a lass said with the faintest hint of a smirk on her face as she scooted between them, giving Bronwen her back as she presented herself to Euan. “Captain Irvine? Is that ye?”

Bronwen narrowed her gaze over the woman’s shoulder, and for a moment, Euan looked confused. Their eyes met, and she could read in the depths of his gaze that he had not the foggiest idea of who the rude lass was.

“I do apologize, my lady. Have we met?” He took a step back as the lass seemed to be standing overly close.

She laughed and touched his arm, and Bronwen had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at how unsubtle the woman was being. There were a few paragraphs in Lady Edinburgh’s Guide for Gentleman about lasses like this. A true gentleman should steer clear as it was a good sign that they were husband hunters and not the kind that a gentleman might want to be acquainted with. If Euan didn’t realize that soon, then Bronwen would be obliged to step in.

“Oh, Captain, ye are too funny,” the lass said, her fingers dancing over his jacket sleeve. “We spent an entire week together.”

By some miracle, Bronwen managed to keep her eyeballs from popping out of her head. Euan, however, choked on his punch. So, he was very well acquainted, it would seem. What a cad for not remembering his lover. Bronwen frowned.

The lady’s grin only widened as she stepped a little to the side, so she could look back at Bronwen with a saucy and somehow snotty expression that set Bronwen’s nerves on edge. She looked to be Bronwen’s age, and she was bonnie; there was no doubt about that. But there was also a pinched, sour look to her that showed her personality.

“Lady Mary,” Maggie said acidly, with Giselle and Jaime at her side. “What a pleasure to see ye again.”

The way Maggie said it made it sound very much as if it was the opposite of anything pleasant. Bronwen couldn’t have been happier to see her friends.

Mary did not smile as she slid her gaze toward the three women. “Indeed.”

Maggie caught Bronwen’s eye, sending a silent message. “We met Lady Mary at that house party I was telling ye about.”

“Ah,” Bronwen said, keeping her face straight but recalling how Maggie had said the house party had been horrendous. Considering the way Maggie was looking at Bronwen now as if trying to impart a communication, she got the impression that this Lady Mary might have been the reason the house party was so…vexing.

“And ye are?” Lady Mary said, not trying to hide her animosity as she finally paid Bronwen more attention, now that she seemed worthy, Bronwen supposed.

“This is Miss Bronwen Holmes,” Euan said, pride dripping from his words.

“She’s verra dear to our family,” Maggie added, looking down her nose at Lady Mary.

Lady Mary’s gaze flicked between Euan and Bronwen as if trying to formulate in her mind what their connection might be, but she said nothing more. She offered a flash of an acrid smile with a toss of her head and left, as if they had all become suddenly uninteresting to her.

Which suited not only Bronwen just fine, but it appeared the rest of the group too. She would be very happy if she never had to deal with her again. My goodness, but Lady Mary was the epitome of what Bronwen thought of society lasses. For a little while, having been on close terms with Euan’s sisters and now with Jaime and Giselle, she thought she’d gotten it all wrong. But Lady Mary proved there were still vipers nestling within the den of the aristocracy, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Well, that could have been worse,” Giselle said, then with a sarcastic tone added, “She’s so…pleasant.”

Bronwen couldn’t help it. She started to laugh, and apparently, it was contagious because, within minutes, all of them were in stitches.