Taming the Scot by Eliza Knight

7

Bronwen was lucky to avoid Euan that evening at dinner as he was called away to help several of the crofters with some escaped sheep. She couldn’t help but admire how when his people called, he’d leap from wherever he was to help.

That was the true sign of a leader. And a compassionate man.

When she’d first seen the advert in the paper—indeed when he’d first opened the door and invited her into Drum Castle and told her he needed governess to snare a better bride—she’d not expected him to be a man of conscience. A man who cared for anything other than bloodlines. That was so far from the truth. And considering how he wasn’t taking his lessons all that seriously, she doubted whether he wanted a wife to begin with.

But his sisters seemed extremely anxious about it. Asking for progress reports. Even young Raine had stopped by Bronwen’s bedroom the evening before to ask if she thought Euan would be ready by the season’s opening and would the ladies of society find him a worthy husband? Bronwen had, of course, reassured the sweet lass that her brother was doing very well. Though the visit had made her wonder, why was it so important for him to find a bride? At first, she’d thought they needed the coin, but after living with them for a few days, she was fairly certain that wasn’t it. The Irvine clan appeared to be doing quite well—a point of pride between the siblings.

In Euan’s absence from the parlor, his sisters prattled on about this and that over a game of cards. Bronwen tried to keep up, but she couldn’t stop yawning. Despite having a soft bed with plenty of blankets, she was not sleeping as well as she would have imagined. This was after all only a temporary respite from Prince and his henchmen, and the bullies haunted her dreams.

Excusing herself, she went up to her room to study the section on tea in Lady Edinburgh’s Guide for Gentleman. But she didn’t last long, quickly falling asleep with the book still in her hands. The following morning, she awoke to scratching at her door and opened it to find the old hound waiting to come inside. He curled up at her feet as she finished reading the chapter on tea.

That was going to be today’s lesson. And she was terrified. So much so, she’d taken breakfast in her room—while Owen benefitted from her leftovers—and then nearly fretted a hole in the carpet from her pacing. Tea in high society was so divergent to tea amongst her set that the only similarity was that one swallowed.

“Well,” she said to Owen, who cocked his head to the side, his soulful eyes meeting hers. “Shall we descend?”

His response was his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, and she took that as an “aye.”

Outside the closed parlor doors, she made out the sounds of movement and murmurs inside. Maggie, Amabel and Lillie were going to join them for tea. The other three girls were having lessons with a tutor who came by a couple of days a week to teach them their reading, writing and arithmetic lessons. She wished she’d been here before the elder sisters. To settle herself prior to starting.

“What are we waiting for?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Euan’s deep voice behind her.

With her hand over her heart, she whirled about to find him standing so close she could smell the spicy, woodsy scent of his shaving soap. “Captain, I did no’ hear ye approach.”

“Came in handy when I was overseas.” He tapped a large, booted foot. “I’m light on my feet.”

“We are no’ at war here.” She studied him, wondering how many scars were hidden beneath the handsome exterior.

“Are we no’?” He winked at her, and she didn’t know what to make of that or the fluttering in her belly.

Bronwen straightened her shoulders, crossed her arms and did a little foot tap of her own. “If ye must know, I was waiting for ye.” The wee fib came easily enough off her tongue.

“How did ye know I was no’ already in there?” He nodded toward the door.

“I looked,” she said, praying he’d not been behind her the whole time to know that was a bold untruth.

“Did ye now? Can ye see through doors?” He was trying not to laugh; she could tell by the twitch of his lips.

So he had been standing there all along, maybe even following her down the stairs. She glanced at Owen, who’d not even made a move when his owner approached. Blast it! “There is a slight crack.” She pointed to the extremely thin line of air where the two parlor doors met.

Euan chuckled, squinting one eye and trying to peer through, which she guessed would be unsuccessful. “It would seem the teacher is more nervous for this lesson than the student.”

Och, she hated him, she decided, except she didn’t. All teasing, all the time, and she couldn’t seem to pretend a single thing other than the fake lessons she was teaching. “I am no’ nervous.” Except she said it with a little wobble in her words that was so irritating.

All the jesting melted from Euan’s face, and he focused his eyes on hers. “We can do the lesson without my sisters if ye prefer. I know we are…a lot.”

Bronwen shook her head without hesitation. “That’s no’ it. I enjoy your sisters. I did no’ grow up with any siblings. And it’s been a pleasant experience.”

“Then what is it?”

The genuine concern in his gaze set off a wave of emotion within her. She was so unused to being cared about that she had no idea what to do with it or the feelings that arose from such warmth of regard. She had the strongest urge to walk into him, to rest her head against his chest, to hear the pound of his heart beneath her ear. To stay there, sinking into his courage and strength, hoping a little bit of it would rub off on her.

Bronwen cleared her throat, attempting to free some of the disquiet in her veins. It didn’t work. So she fell back on what she was good at—evasion.

“I’m just a little tired.” Once more, she skirted the truth, hating how much she’d been doing that lately. She wasn’t a liar by nature, and knowing she was here under false pretenses with everyone being so nice to her was starting to get to her. Since she now possessed a certain book, someone had already figured her out and not given her up—who could be so kind and cruel at the same time?

“We can postpone the lesson,” Euan offered, making her feel worse.

“Nay, that will no’ be necessary. I’m sure I can proceed.” She drew in a deep, steadying breath.

“All right, but if ye wish, know that it is an option.”

Bronwen nodded, reaching for the door handle to open the parlor before she changed her mind, but Euan must have had the same idea. His hand enclosed over hers, engulfing her in the warmth of his skin and the roughness of his callouses. She paused a beat too long and then yanked away.

“I’m sorry,” she grumbled at the same time he said, “Pardon me, lass.”

Bronwen indicated with her hand he should continue opening the door because she couldn’t find her voice. Euan obliged her and then gestured for her to precede him into the room, just like a gentleman. Whoever had told him he didn’t have the manners it took to get a wife was mad because he’d been charming her since the day she’d gotten there. And not in the way he teased about gaining his women. Nay, he’d been sweet and kind and thoughtful. Everything a woman could want.

“Miss Holmes,” Maggie said, standing. Amabel and Lillie did the same, the latter dropping a folded issue of Lady Edinburgh on the table beside her chair.

Owen waited for them to move, and when they didn’t, he trotted in to slump on the floor beside Maggie’s chair.

Bronwen nodded to each of the sisters, studying their faces to see if there was even a tiny bit of a hint about who might have left her the guidebook.

Was it Lillie? Seemed like something the lass would procure, given her propensity for the rag. She probably owned many books she wasn’t supposed to have. Bronwen rather liked that about her.

“Good afternoon,” Bronwen said as she curtsied, the way she’d practiced in her bedroom. She didn’t even wobble this time, and she was quite proud of that.

Then she turned to Euan, who bowed to his sisters as if he were a guest before they both proceeded to take their places around the tea table. Now, the lessons she’d learned from observing the sisters, and what she’d read in the guidebook, were about to be exposed, and she prayed she’d memorized them all perfectly well. Or that at least, the gossip amongst the siblings would cover up the inevitable gaffes she was about to make.

Miss Holmes chattered with his sisters as she poured them each tea, making the occasional glance at him. If he wasn’t mistaken, each time her gaze landed on his, a little pink tinged the bones of her cheeks, which had become less sharp since the day of her arrival.

The haunted, hungry mien had lessened as well, though she still looked conflicted in every interaction. He’d written a letter to his friend Lorne Gordon, the Duke of Sutherland—husband to Jaime, who owned Andrewson Shipping Company—asking for the address of Emilia so he might thank her for sending her cousin to him. Shortly after, he had received a reply from Lorne, along with a gift for Bronwen from her cousin, which he’d slipped under her door. Emilia had allegedly begged that her gift remain secret, and he still wondered what it was, though he guessed it was a book.

Lorne had also divulged a secret Emilia shared with him, which had not surprised Euan all that much, considering his observations. Bronwen was in trouble and had needed to escape Edinburgh, which was why Emilia had pointed her in his direction.

That was why she’d jumped at the knock at the door, why she couldn’t seem to pull herself away from the window. The poor lass expected whoever it was she’d been running from to find her. To harm her in some way. Why anyone would want to do that was beyond him. She’d only been sweet and kind since the moment she arrived. Helpful to him and embracing his sisters for all their quirks.

A fierce need to protect her filled him. Made his chest swell and burn, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to tuck her into a shielding embrace and soothe whatever terrors plagued her.

Euan admired her tenacity. She’d needed help and, instead of merely finding it, had decided to work for it. And he couldn’t help but applaud that. From all outward appearances, Bronwen Holmes was a generous lass with a good heart.

Given her background—much of which was still a mystery—it made sense that she made so many etiquette mistakes thus far. She was not a governess, even if she seemed knowledgeable. But he’d give her high marks for trying. He grinned, watching her splash a little cream over the edge of the cup.

“Here ye go, Captain.” She handed him the teacup. “Now, hold it just so, and lift to your lips. No slurping.”

Bronwen held her pinky aloft, quite a bit higher than he’d ever seen anyone do. But as he looked at his sisters, they were doing the same thing.

“Like this?” He tried to keep a straight and serious face as he lifted his pinky while he sipped.

Bronwen nodded approvingly. “Aye, like that.”

Maggie, Amabel and Lillie glanced between him and Bronwen, their faces void of what they were thinking, thank God. He’d told them over breakfast, since Bronwen wasn’t present, that she was not a governess but a lass in need of help. They were to go along with her lessons if only to keep her ruse up, so she felt safe until they could uncover what kind of misfortune had befallen her and how they could help her.

“Now for the sandwich.” She picked up a cucumber sandwich and passed him one with her fingers instead of on a plate, but Euan simply took the sandwich rather than utter a word.

“What if I do no’ like cucumbers?” he asked, pinching the sandwich between his fingers as she had.

“Who does no’ like cucumbers?” She frowned at him.

“The Duke of Sutherland loathes them.” Euan grinned.

“Really?” She stared at him with true interest, then down at her sandwich, inspecting it as if it were something strange. “That is not something I’ve ever heard before.”

Euan shrugged and chuckled. “Do no’ fash. I like them quite well.”

“I’m no’ certain that I do,” she said softly. Then she took a little nibble, biting around the sandwich in a ring.

When she caught him staring, she indicated that he too should eat his sandwich. He popped the whole thing in his mouth.

Bronwen swallowed her bite and gaped at him. “Och, nay, Captain. That is something ye might do on your own, but in the presence of ladies, ye must eat with delicate intention.”

“Delicate intention?” He grinned with amusement. “Just as ye have?”

“Aye.” She nodded and nibbled again.

Euan picked up another sandwich triangle and nibbled off the edges. “Am I doing it right?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, tilted her head. Her hands fell to her lap, where Owen quickly started to lick her fingers. “Are ye mocking me, sir?”

“I would never.” But he couldn’t help the teasing glint that surely showed in his eyes.

Bronwen glanced at his sisters who were eating their sandwiches the same way. However, their expressions were completely devoid of humor. Amabel even went so far as to look down her nose at Euan and say, “Brother, it is rude to tease your governess. She is here to help ye find a bride, and ye should be grateful for her lessons.”

Thoroughly chastised, he continued to eat his sandwich in a ring around the edge until there was only a tiny circle left, which he then popped into his mouth.

“Am I passing this lesson?” he asked.

“Much better than any others,” Bronwen said with a shrug.

“Good.” He lifted his tea, sure to keep his pinky up, and sipped. “And how do ye find the cucumbers?”

“To be quite honest, they seem to be devoid of most flavor, but I do enjoy the crispness of them.”

“A good assessment,” Maggie agreed.

“Now a rather indelicate question, Miss Holmes.” Euan set down his teacup, sitting back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee.

Her eyes widened as she stared at him.

“What if I need to…” He cleared his throat and held down his laughter by some miracle. “Belch.”

His sisters gasped in horror. Lillie’s teacup clattered on her saucer.

“Euan,” Maggie hissed.

Bronwen, however, seemed to take his question in stride. She carefully placed her teacup and saucer on the table, pursing her lips as she thought over his question. “Belching is the body’s natural response to eating and drinking. And we all do it, aye? So, I suppose if ye need to, a wee one would be all right. But no’ too loud. Ye would no’ want to offend the ladies.”

“Good to know.” He nodded seriously.

“Do ye need to belch now?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

“No’ yet.”

She nodded as if that were important information he’d just clarified. “Well, I think we can all be comfortable, knowing ye will no’ blow us out of the room with it.”

Lillie giggled behind her teacup, and Amabel elbowed her in the ribs to make her stop. That only caused Lillie to start to choke, and Amabel pounded on her back until Lillie’s eyes watered and laughter spilled out of her lungs.

Bronwen gave them both a quizzical look, but he didn’t want her to draw anything from his giggling gossip of a sister who’d nearly choked on her laughter. He didn’t want to tease her anymore, either, afraid she’d pick up on it and flee before he could find out exactly what was going on with her. So Euan decided to distract his governess.

“The older Irvine sisters have been invited to a country dance this evening a few miles away. Would ye care to join them?” he asked, adding, “I’ll be their escort.”

“Oh.” Bronwen jerked her gaze back to his, one that looked more as if he’d just invited her to a duel in which she’d be sans weapon than a dance. She vehemently shook her head. “I could no’. But ye must go and attempt to use some of our lessons on the lasses in attendance. Maggie, if ye would report back to me, I’d be delighted to hear how the captain does.”

Maggie nodded, her gaze flicking between Euan and Bronwen. “Of course.”

Euan couldn’t help the disappointment he felt at Bronwen’s declining the invitation, even if it confused him. He had a job to do after all—get a bride to fall in love with him and bear his children—and his sisters were counting on him. Thinking about what would happen if he failed was almost too much to bear.

Nay, he needed to stop being distracted by Bronwen. He had to stay on course.

A bride must be procured and one he could love and be loved by in return. As much fun as he was having with Miss Holmes, he truly needed to get on with his planning as he was certain that his cousin Hector must be. The man was likely coming up with some illegitimate scheme to force a marriage. The bastard. His cousin never did anything the lawful way, as if his brain had been outfitted since birth with only nefarious ideals.

So why did the idea of pursuing someone other than Bronwen sit so heavily in his gut?

Euan was quiet for the rest of the tea, politely entering conversation when asked but mostly introspective. His sisters soon begged to be excused to prepare for the dance, leaving him and Bronwen alone together. In the quiet, their gazes met, and neither of them spoke. He wanted to ask her what had happened before she’d arrived at Drum, but the question continued to stall on his tongue.

Then she stood abruptly, and he sat forward, anticipating her next move, only for her to say, “More tea?” as she lifted the pot.

He didn’t want any more tea, but seeing she was nervous and had not yet left, he nodded. She leaned forward to pour, the faintest scent of her soap wafting toward him. The lass started to pour at the same time that a loud knock rattled the main door of the castle. Owen leapt to his feet and unfortunately, just happened to be right under Bronwen, which meant she stumbled. Hot tea flew everywhere—hitting Euan in the face, on his chest, his lap. While the tea went in all different directions, the lass at least maintained a grip on the pot.

“Oh, my! I—I’m so so—sorry,” she stammered, setting the pot down. Gripping a napkin, she began to wipe at his face frantically.

To get closer to him, she skirted the table, but Owen chose that moment to dart for the door. Bronwen tripped right over the animal, tumbling into Euan’s lap. The roundness of her bottom—quite a bit fuller than he would have expected, given her waifish appearance—landed squarely on his groin. He caught her, arms encircling her waist and back, her left breast crushed to his chest. God, it felt good to have her in his arms, even if it had been by accident. Their eyes locked, and the look of horror that filled her face was too much for him to bear.

Euan started to laugh, holding onto her to prevent further calamity as Owen hurried to the parlor door. “My God, that’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” he teased.

Bronwen sat up and shoved the linen napkin into his laughing mouth, glowering at him. “A gentleman does no’ laugh at a lady. Especially one who is trying to help him.”

That only made him laugh harder, and she glowered deeper. And then, without thinking, he yanked the napkin from his mouth and leaned closer to her, needing more than anything to feel his lips pressed on hers. The lass’s eyes widened but she didn’t pull away.

But just as his lips were about to brush hers, the door to the parlor burst open. They yanked apart, both their heads swiveling to see Maggie standing on the threshold, her eyes wide, mouth agape.

“Pardon me, brother, but is that any way to treat Miss Holmes? Quite indecent.”

Bronwen leapt from his lap, taking the warmth and happiness he’d felt a moment ago with her. “I agree. Ye should apologize, Captain.”

He grinned like a fool. “Why did ye interrupt, Mags?”

“A letter came for your governess.”