Taming the Scot by Eliza Knight

9

He was a rogue. A bloody scamp, and he knew it.

All day long, he’d been reliving his moments with Bronwen in the garden. The things he’d shared. The confessions she’d made, and then the kiss. The way she’d felt in his arms. God, he’d wanted to lay her down right then and there on the bloody grass and show her what pleasure was. To declare himself to her and tell her that he could protect her forever.

And none of it would be true. Because as much as he wanted her, as much as he was feeling for her, she was not the woman he was supposed to marry. Not the woman his mother and father would have chosen for him, and certainly not the woman his grandfather had in mind to break this damned curse of a will. He would be expected to marry someone of his own station, not a governess.

Euan had spent the rest of the day in his private gymnasium, tearing his body to shreds with his training dumbbells and the weighted bag that hung from the ceiling he used when he didn’t have a partner. He ached from the exertion; his knuckles were raw. And none of it helped to alleviate the angst.

Now he had to go to dinner. He would see her, and he was afraid he’d drop to his knees in front of her and declare his undying…what? Lust? Adoration?

Euan tugged at his cravat, feeling as though it were overly tight this evening. When he passed by a window in the corridor as he made his way to the dining room and saw his reflection, the crease between his brows was more than noticeable. The frown causing his mouth to downturn made him look sour and unapproachable.

The brooding self he was most comfortable with had returned. And he much preferred the teasing, light-hearted man he’d been of late.

Mostly, he was disappointed in himself. Where the hell had his willpower gone? Kissing Bronwen in the garden had been a mistake. A delicious, mind-altering mistake. He should feel guilty. It was what he kept telling himself. He was a rogue, after all. Except, the only guilt he felt about the kiss was how upset she’d been after. For he’d truly thought when he’d kissed her that it was for the right reasons—because he desired her, wanted her. Because she’d seemed to want it in return. The moment she’d stormed into his castle and taken the position as his governess, he’d been struck. Mesmerized. Enchanted.

Stunned by her spirit, her quiet beauty, and the whimsical way she had about her in quiet moments that made him want to creep into her mind and set up camp in that faraway place. The way he felt the overwhelming urge to protect her. To fight all of her demons. And that the very idea of her leaving, disappearing from his life forever, sent tremors of dread to coil around his spine.

But instead of telling her that, trying to explain and see if she might return any of those sentiments, he’d planted his mouth on her as the lecherous lout he was and demanded something from her she wasn’t willing to or interested in giving. He’d shown her exactly who she thought he was.

Which hadn’t seemed to matter because she had pulled him closer…had sighed against his mouth. Had kissed him back—quite enthusiastically.

There was more at work here than simple denial. It was likely the heavy truth that sat on both their heads. She was on the run from something that scared her—which he’d yet to uncover—and he had a pistol pointed at his head to find a bride, fall in love and procreate.

Neither of their situations lent itself to casual kissing or even passionate kissing. Or even him saying to her that he wanted to pursue her. This was all madness, and he was an idiot.

So, here he was, responding to the summons his sisters had sent of a dinner party invitation in his dining room. He was weak when it came to the possibility of spending time with the termagant who was turning his world more upside down than it already was.

More lessons. More pretending. More of the woman he wanted but couldn’t have.

At the base of the stairs, he heard piano music coming from the parlor as Esme played. Delightful notes that should have soothed his soul. Among his sisters, she was the most talented with the instrument. Normally, her music calmed him, but right now, nothing seemed to take the edge off.

With a deep breath, he pushed into the parlor to find them all standing about the piano. And then to his shock and awe, Bronwen began to sing.

Euan stopped dead in his tracks, his gaze riveted on her, his ears rejoicing. She had the most angelic voice he’d ever heard, and she trilled in perfect harmony to the music as if she’d sung every day of her life. Her dark hair was curled around her face; her cheeks flush with color. Her evening gown was a soft rose shade, which accentuated her body in all the right places—places he shouldn’t be looking.

She sang of a lost love gone off to battle. A story he’d heard a hundred times before but seemed infinitely different coming from her.

Mustering the same self-discipline he’d used in battle, Euan willed his gaze away from Bronwen to the six younger Irvines. His sisters appeared equally enamored by their guest, and Euan’s resolve failed, his gaze slipping back to watch. So into her music, Bronwen closed her eyes, the passion and pleasure of verse after singsong verse coursing through her veins and out of her gorgeous throat.

Euan’s mouth went dry. His limbs grew heavy, then light, and then he felt a little as if he might explode with something akin to pride, to want. He wanted her for far more than kissing. He wanted her to sing to him, to look at him with the same passion she paid to her music. The tumult of feeling, both metaphorical and physical, which stormed through him was unexpected enough that it took his breath and threatened to flatten him.

When Bronwen finished, his sisters clapped loudly, calling for an encore.

“That was beautiful,” he said, his voice sounding a little more guttural than usual, nearly hoarse. She was beautiful. He sauntered forward, pretending to look over the sheet music, but really it was to be closer to her. To catch her scent, to perhaps feel the heat of her skin, even if from a few feet away.

Bronwen turned to face him, her cheeks pink with the attention and her gray eyes sparkling. Her skin glowed golden in the warm candlelight. A shy smile curled her lips, but behind it was pride. Something she’d shown them all up on, something she owned that no one could take away.

“Ye’re verra talented,” he said, leaning his elbow on the piano lid.

“My mother and I used to sing together.” Bronwen tended to divulge so little information that this was like a glittering gift.

Euan smiled with an appreciative nod. “Whoever had the pleasure of hearing was verra lucky.”

“Thank ye, Captain.” As expected, she didn’t expand on her admission to reveal who might have listened, and he didn’t pry, even though he wanted to.

“Oh, wait,” Maggie pouted, pointing her attention to Euan. “Ye’ve ruined our plans.”

“What?” Euan asked, confused by his sister’s sudden change in demeanor. He straightened off the piano.

Maggie waved him toward the door. “Go back out of the parlor. We’re no’ ready for ye yet.”

Euan frowned, but his other sisters chimed in, shooing him from the room. Owen leapt up, tail wagging as if the hound too were pointing Euan out of the room. With little choice, Euan left the parlor, the door shutting behind him. He stood in the grand foyer, as perplexed as ever, examining the wallpaper in a way he’d not done to date when Martin appeared beside him.

“I’m to announce ye, sir.” His butler very impressively kept a straight face.

Euan nodded with a sigh. “Another game of pretend, I see. By what name shall ye call me?”

“I’m no’ certain there is any new name, sir.”

“Ye’re a good sport, Martin.”

“Thank ye, sir.”

Euan supposed he needed to be a good sport too. He’d enjoyed most of the games up to this point, but he wanted to spend more time with Bronwen, and Maggie had interrupted a moment that could have revealed more about their guest. More information that could help him protect her.

Alas, he had no other choice. He might have been Laird of Drum, the eldest of the Irvine siblings, but he was outnumbered six to one. When it came to arguments, there were often times that acquiescing was easier.

“Are ye ready, Captain?”

With another resigned sigh, Euan nodded. “Aye.”

Martin opened the door and proceeded to announce Euan back into the parlor.

The ladies were all in a row, hands folded before them. A gorgeous band of women with Bronwen at their center, drawing his gaze like a ship to the beacon of light. Owen approached him, nuzzling his hand in welcome, and Euan stroked the back of his dog’s neck, giving his ears a little scratch.

Keeping up the charade, his sisters seemed surprised and delighted to see him. Even Bronwen was playing along. All seven women curtsied in unison, but his eyes were only on his governess, who bobbed with elegance and grace, in stark contrast to a few days ago. Perhaps her nerves had finally started to settle. That was a welcome observation.

“Welcome, welcome, Captain Irvine. Please allow me to introduce ye to our guests,” Maggie said with a flourish of her hands. “This is Miss Amabel and her sisters the Misses Lillie, Skye, Esme and Raine. And this,” she paused, gesturing grandly to Bronwen, “is our distinguished guest of the evening, hailing all way from Edinburgh and in our quaint village of Drum only a short time. I present to ye, Miss Bronwen Holmes.”

Euan was determined to treat Bronwen as he would any other lady of his initial acquaintance if only to prove to her he wasn’t the cad she thought him to be. To show her that he’d been paying attention to every lesson thus far. That he did care—even if that attention seemed more and more to center on her alone.

He strolled forward, extending his hand for the one Bronwen had yet to put out. When she didn’t move, he waited, hoping to disarm her with his smile.

Amabel nudged Bronwen with the slightest touch to her elbow, but it seemed to startle their guest, who swallowed so hard he could see the column of her throat undulate. She seemed more nervous than he was.

“Oh, right,” Bronwen quietly said as she thrust her hand out for him.

Euan touched his fingers to her slim, gloved ones and tugged her gently closer until his lips brushed a centimeter away, then he let her go, a feat much harder than he’d anticipated it being. He longed to tug her against him, to kiss her the way he had in the garden. To dismiss his sisters for the night and have this lass all to himself.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Holmes.” He somehow managed not to sound as if he was being strangled with unsaid things when he said it.

She inclined her head, folding her hands before her, but if he wasn’t mistaken, she was holding onto them a little tighter than before. “And yours, sir.”

“Pardon the interruption, Captain and ladies,” said Martin, “but dinner is served.”

Euan offered his elbow to Bronwen, hoping she didn’t shove him away or box his ears as she’d threatened before. But she smiled shyly at him and threaded her arm around his, fingers resting on his forearm, as if little hot irons were singeing him. He yearned for more of that. To feel the sizzle as she stroked him, clutched to him.

Nay, he couldn’t think in terms of desire, passion, pleasure. That was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place. What he needed was a few moments alone to apologize for his behavior in the garden. To beg for her forgiveness. To promise never to kiss her again unless she wanted him to. God, did he want her to want another.

Their dinner was pleasant, small talk mostly. His sisters dominated the conversations about ribbons and frocks and what fashionable people would be coming into Edinburgh soon from London for the season. But Euan had eyes only for Bronwen, who nodded and smiled but seemed out of her element. He supposed being a governess—or whatever she’d been by trade before she’d come to Drum Castle—that was true. And most governesses, if that was what she was, wouldn’t dine with the family. The governesses hired prior to Maggie taking over the duties had all dined with the staff or in their chambers.

However, with Miss Holmes, he and his sisters had insisted from the moment she arrived that she dine with them. Perhaps because she was helping him gain a wife and not dealing with the rearing and tutoring of children.

To be quite frank, he had no interest in the conversation and wanted very much to take Bronwen by the hand and disappear into the garden. He shifted in his chair, trying to think of the various ways in which he could call this dinner at an end. Finally, the moment arrived, and their dessert was cleared.

But before he could suggest a stroll with Bronwen, Maggie clapped her hands.

“Now for the fun part,” Maggie said. “We’re going to play games in the parlor.”

“Games?” Bronwen looked startled, flicking her gaze nervously toward his and back.

Lillie stood from the table exuberantly. “Aye. Charades, it’s one of our favorites.”

“No’ one of mine,” Euan said with a teasing grin. Owen, who’d been lying quietly by his side, popped his head up at finally hearing his master speak.

He really did loathe the game, and he’d been pulled into it more times than he could count. And always as the most ridiculous of characters or tasks.

“Nor mine,” Bronwen chimed in, looking at him gratefully if only for the tiniest flash.

“Well then, ye can be the audience,” Raine suggested. “We love an audience.” She nodded at her sisters for confirmation.

Bronwen gave a soft, knowing laugh, and Euan grinned, loving the sound of her happiness. How quickly she’d come to understand his family. He’d not realized until now how much that pleased him. She fit right in.

“It would be my honor,” Bronwen said.

The rest of his sisters leapt from the table and rushed from the room. Maggie was a little slower than the others. He suspected she was taking her time after nearly having caught Euan with Bronwen in his lap the day before. But she did, in the end, leave them both behind.

“Ye’re no’ verra eager to get to the parlor,” Euan pointed out as Bronwen slowly placed her napkin on the table.

“Neither are ye.” She raised a quizzical brow.

He flashed her what he hoped was a dazzling smile. “I’m waiting for ye to stand, as a gentleman should. Unless ye wish for me to pull out your chair.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she rushed, pushing away from the table in such haste she nearly knocked her chair over. “That is no’ necessary.”

They walked side by side out of the dining room into the grand foyer. It was now or never if he was going to tell her what he needed to. Because in a second, they were going to be inundated with charades and the company of his six sisters. If he was going to explain, to offer his apology, and hope she understood, then he needed to take her aside before they entered the parlor.

“Miss Holmes, if ye would oblige me.” Euan touched her elbow and gently guided her into the alcove beneath the stairs, out of sight.

“What are ye doing?” she whispered, peering out. “If someone sees…”

“They will no’ say a word, and no one will see,” Euan soothed. It was darker in the alcove, but he could still make out the features of her face and the tiny wrinkle marring her brow as she frowned at him.

“All right, but be quick with it.” Bronwen crossed her arms over her chest, making it clear without words she wasn’t going to be falling into his embrace.

That made him smile. He truly enjoyed her spirit. “I need to apologize for what happened in the garden. I am a cad, and I’ve been beating myself up ever since. Will ye forgive me, Bronwen—I mean, Miss Holmes?”

She was shaking her head at him, but he couldn’t stop. He needed to tell her everything. The words poured from his throat without thought or conscience or the ability to stop them.

“It’s just that since ye arrived, I’ve felt this pull. A connection. And I—”

But before he could say another word, her gloveless finger came out to press to his lips, silencing him. The feel of her bare skin on his lip was enough to make anything else he was going to say stall in his throat.

Where had she put her gloves? He thought back to the dining room and realized that she must have forgotten them in her haste to leave without him pulling out her chair.

“Where could they have got to?” Lillie was saying, and suddenly Euan knew why Bronwen had silenced him. “Ye do no’ think it’s an assignation, do ye?” He could practically hear the excitement of knowing such a secret in his sister’s voice.

“Oh, Lillie, ye are entirely too embroiled in Lady Edinburgh. Do give it a rest. I’m certain they will be in the parlor shortly.” The latter of this was said by Amabel and done so quite loudly, perhaps so Euan and Bronwen might hear her and stay hidden.

Euan grinned beneath Bronwen’s fingers, their gazes locking as they listened.

She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling or laughing, obviously having figured out Amabel’s assistance as well. Thank goodness Martin had taken Owen for his dinner and evening walk, else the hound would have given away their hiding place. In his mind’s eye he could see the large animal now, sitting outside the alcove, barking and wagging his tail.

“Perhaps Miss Holmes needed some air,” Amabel said in an elevated octave.

“Why are ye talking so loudly? I’m right beside ye,” Lillie complained.

“Apologies,” Amabel continued in the same tone. “My ears are a bit clogged today, I think.” A quick and clever recovery.

Bronwen bit her lip, and Euan was very close to losing his battle not to laugh.

“Well, let’s no’ wait. They’ll turn up shortly, and it gives us more time to practice,” Lillie said at last.

“Aye, indeed,” Amabel said, keeping her voice several ranges above normal. “Let’s go back to the parlor.”

Their footsteps drifted away, and the doors to the parlor closed.

“That was close,” Euan said, beneath her finger, wanting to flick his tongue out and tease the skin.

Bronwen’s hand fell slowly. He’d thought she’d jerk away. “Aye. Now, about what ye were saying.” She stopped for a moment, and in the silence, he could hear her inhale and exhale. “I kissed ye back. Ye did no’ force me.”

“Aye, but propriety and decorum and all that. A gentleman should no’ take liberties from a lass.” He could have added, especially if a courtship between them was impossible, but he didn’t. Because more and more, he wanted that possibility to be true, no matter how ridiculous it seemed.

“Perhaps ye needed the practice,” she said, shocking him again.

“Practice with kissing?” he asked. “Was I so bad?”

Bronwen’s hand flew to her mouth, and she stifled a giggle. “No’ that. Ye were…quite good. Rather, I meant with your manners.”

“Ye thought I was a good kisser?” He waggled his brows. “Well, ye were too, Miss Holmes.”

“I’ll ignore the fact that ye keep talking about it and say this—look at ye now, acting the gentleman and apologizing for it. Well done. I think the lessons are paying off.” She sounded almost sarcastic in her tone.

As honest as he’d been up to this point, Euan couldn’t seem to make himself stop. “I’m no’ certain they are.”

She cocked her head at him. “What do ye mean?”

“Because I’m saying all these things, and I genuinely mean them, but at the same time, all I can think about is how much I want to kiss ye again.” He searched her face, which remained unchanged for several seconds. “And knowing that ye liked it…” He let out a low groan to emphasize his torment.

The stoic facade she’d kept up since the moment she’d crossed his threshold fell in an instant.

She looked away hastily, shifting on her feet. “But ye can no’, Euan. We must no’.”

“I know, but that does no’ change the fact that I love the way ye say my name.”

Her gaze jerked momentarily back to his, wariness in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I should no’ have.”

“Aye, ye should. More often, and every day.” He wanted to reach for her. To feel her in his arms, a contented sigh on her lips. Why couldn’t they?

“It is no’ proper. This is no’ proper.” But she didn’t back away. Nay, she stayed right where she was. She should leave if she were going to. Duck out of the alcove and play her charade in the parlor, play-acting that none of this had occurred. Because if she didn’t, he’d take her back in his arms and kiss until neither of them could stand.

“But what if it feels right?” he asked.

“Feelings and truths are two different things,” she countered. Her hands were wringing in front of her.

“I disagree, lass. I think they are one and the same, especially right now.” He focused on her, ignoring the tightness in his chest when her gaze met his, and she stopped fidgeting.

“Because ye want to kiss me.” Her words were said in a tone barely above a whisper.

“Aye,” he drawled just as quietly.

Her hands went back to wringing, and he wanted to reach forward and take them in his grasp. To ease her worry.

“But why?” she asked.

The question was so simple, with an overly complicated answer. “For all the reasons that make sense and even those that do no’.”

“How will ye be able to focus on a future bride if all ye keep doing is thinking about kissing me?”

Maybe those two should also be the same—she could be his wife. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Didn’t want to scare her away. Because she seemed right now very much like a spooked filly, ready to take off.

“Do ye want to kiss me back?” he asked instead.

Bronwen bit her lip, the little chip in her tooth scraping seductively over her plush, pink mouth. “Aye.”

“Then why are we still talking?” he murmured, half jesting, a smile curling his lip. He was going to hell.

“I can no’ believe I’m doing this…” she said. “Nothing good will come of it.”

But he disagreed, wholeheartedly, for her hands came to rest on his chest, making his heart beat a little faster, and she was leaning up on tiptoe, her eyelids falling shut. He was certain something very good was about to happen.

Bronwen was a lunatic. An addle-brained madwoman.

Which was completely fine with her because her lips were brushing over Euan’s, and his scent surrounded her in a cocoon of warmth and desire. Why had she fought this for so long? They could have been kissing the last quarter of an hour.

His hands slid around her waist and over the small of her back, gently urging her to him until their bodies were flush. Every inch he touched sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through her.

Aye, she did want to kiss him. Had thought of little else since she’d escaped him in the garden, since she’d tried to pack and run away, and since she’d agreed to stay a little longer. When she’d sung in the parlor, she’d put every bit of the passion thrumming through her veins into the song, just as she was doing now—funneling it into this one kiss.

A kiss that was going to need to last her a lifetime because she promised herself it would be the very last one that they ever shared. One to erase the desire pounding through them. One to remember each other by.

She tasted him, exploring his lips and teeth and tongue. Her hands roved over his muscled chest to his broad shoulders, then his neck and then her fingers were threading into the softness of his hair. He was so strong, and in his arms, she felt safe, protected. The man could charm the fleece off of a sheep in one instant and take down an enemy in the next.

What she wouldn’t give to be able to do this every day for the rest of her life. Hide in corners and steal kisses. But alas, she had nothing of value to offer this family other than herself. When it came to nobles, there was much more required. And the few baubles she had left in the world were in her cousin’s hands for safekeeping, but even they, though priceless to her, would mean nothing to anyone else. Not to mention if the they married the debt she carried from her parents would be transferred to him. Then there was the danger Prince and his brutes presented. It was just too great, and she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if they came after Euan or any of his sisters.

Bronwen couldn’t forget that Prince had killed her parents so he could get to her. Her history would only add an infamy to her name and Euan’s and he would not want to mar his spotless reputation. Of that, she was certain, after all, he had hired a governess to learn how to act properly.

She was a nobody. A nothing. What did she have to offer a man like Euan?

This had to be the last kiss for these reasons. He needed a wife who could be all of those things she wasn’t.

Euan groaned softly in the back of his throat. He leaned against the wall in the alcove, tucking her impossibly closer. Frissons of desire skated over her limbs, and she wanted to sink into his skin. His legs spread enough that her feet fit between his. And goodness…it felt so good to be this wickedly close. How could she pull away?

She didn’t want to. Despite everything that her brain told her—shouted for her—to disengage, move away, leave Drum. At that moment, it felt as if by following those orders, she’d be tearing off a limb.

“Bronwen,” he murmured against her mouth, sending a thrilling shiver through her. A hand slipped from her back over her ribs and then to her shoulder and neck to cup the side of her face. That calloused little scratch of his palm against her cheek was everything she wanted.

He slanted his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers threading lightly into her hair, threatening to upset the balance of her coiled knot. And she didn’t care—she wanted to rip out her pins and ribbons and let him do whatever he wanted with her hair. Tresses could always be fixed, but this…this was a one-time thing.

“Ye intoxicate me,” he said.

Bronwen opened her eyes briefly to see his gaze, so close, so heady, staring intently into hers, and a little whirl of something delicious spiked in her belly.

Oh, this was mutual intoxication. But she could barely find her voice to say that, and so she murmured, “Mmm,” and then sucked gently at his lower lip. Euan groaned, his hips thrusting forward, and she felt something hard there, pressing to the softness of her core, and another thrill threatened to make her knees buckle. Their mouths connected once more, and Bronwen thought she might ascend to heaven.

“I want ye,” Euan’s heady words were whispered against her ear as he kissed his way down her neck to her collarbone.

As good as it felt, as much as she wanted to splay herself wide and allow him to take her to the heights of which his kiss and touch promised, there was a tiny thread of prudence left inside her that made her hold back.

“Nay, Euan,” she managed to say, her fingers curling into her chest, belying what she’d said. She wouldn’t be his lover, and yet she didn’t want to let him go.

But that was one thing she must remain vigilant about. This was one kiss. That was it. No more.

“Why no’?” he asked, skimming his mouth back up the column of her neck to find her lips.

“Because…ye must find a wife.” Those words were so hard to say. Even uttering them felt like she was rubbing salt on an open wound.

“What if I do no’ want to find anyone else?” His hands splayed on the small of her back, his thumbs circling her waist, holding her in place.

That startled her enough that her hands fell from him, and she backed away, feeling the instant chill of air between them and wanting desperately to sink back into the warmth of his embrace. The pleasure of his kiss.

“Do no’ say that. Ye must.”

“Why?”

“Because it is your duty.”

Euan ran his hands through his hair, glancing away from her. There was a flicker of frustration in the knit of his brows, but he said nothing.

Forget I said anything, kiss me some more. But instead, what came out was, “I thank ye for this kiss. It was delightful, but it must be the last one we share.”

Euan’s gaze slanted back to her, disappointment in the creases of his lips. “Ye sound as if we’ve just split a slice of cake.”

Bronwen couldn’t help the light burst of laughter at his description, but then she grew more serious. Reaching for his hand, she squeezed gently. “I assure ye, it was much sweeter. But like cake, we can no’ have it in abundance, and sometimes no’ at all.”

Before she launched herself into his arms, Bronwen retreated from the alcove. Every step felt as if she were walking barefoot over shattered glass. Painful and unpleasant, when it would be so much easier to leap into the safety of that cocoon they’d just created.

Then she was on the other side, several feet between them, the light of the foyer chandelier seeming all too bright. Euan remained where he was, and she could feel his gaze on her, watching, the intensity of it as strong as a magnet pulling her back.

“I can no’,” she said again, more for herself than for him.

Walking away from him was probably the hardest thing she’d done to date. Because he’d practically said he would stop searching for a wife. Because he’d said he wanted her.

And those were heady words for a lass who’d always wanted to belong. For a lass who longed for a family like this. A lass who longed for love.