Taming the Scot: The Scot of Honor Series

by Eliza Knight

  “Seduce…” He chuckled. “I jest, Miss Holmes. And I vow,” he pressed his hand over his heart, “No’ to attempt such again.”

  “This is no jesting matter.” The lass’s cheeks were aflame. “Ye hired me on to be your governess and teach ye proper manners, and then ye act in such a lascivious way. I should leave if ye’re no’ going to be serious about our lessons.”

  To be precise, he’d not exactly hired her—she’d more barged her way in. Maggie looked ready to burst into a fit of hysterical laughter, and he half expected to find his other sisters melting from the wallpaper to join in.

  “Ye will see yourself shunned at this rate.” Miss Holmes sniffed. “I think that is enough for today.”

  Before he even had a chance to respond, she turned on her heel and marched from the parlor, leaving Euan to stifle his chuckles.

  “Ye’re incorrigible,” Maggie said, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot.

  Euan huffed, wanting to leave the parlor in search of Miss Holmes. “This is ridiculous. I already know how to introduce myself. I’m no’ twelve.”

  “But it was entertaining to play along.” Maggie wiggled her brows.

  “Aye, it was. Though I daresay, she lacks a sense of humor.” And why? Who was Miss Holmes, and what exactly had brought her to his doorstep? Because he was fairly certain it wasn’t simply seeing an advert in Lady Edinburgh.

  “Brother, until this moment, I thought ye lacked one, too.”

  Euan grunted a response at that, unsure of what to think.

  Bronwen only tripped once in her haste to escape, and fortunately, it was at the top of the stairs as she rounded the corner. That lesson had been a complete disaster. If there was ever any evidence that this had been a mistake and she had no idea what she was doing, this morning had been it.

  She burst into her bedroom, sweaty palms fisted at her sides, breaths heaving. The chair she’d come to favor beckoned, but this was not the time to collapse into it. She whirled to stare at the door, waiting for the inevitable footsteps and the loud knock before the captain and his sister demanded that she pack her bags and be on her way. After this morning, there was no way they were going to let her stay.

  But the seconds ticked by with no sound. She clenched and unclenched her hands, her entire body vibrating with tension.

  When she thought she might have been standing there waiting for ten minutes, and still they didn’t approach her, she finally relaxed. Perhaps she was out of the woods. Maybe all of the teasing from her pupil—a grown man, for heaven’s sake—had got the better of her. No wonder he needed a governess. It would seem the man didn’t take things seriously.

  At last, she allowed herself to relinquish her door-watching vigil and slump onto the bench on the window seat, making sure her skirts were smoothed first—a habit she wanted to get used to. This governess business was a lot harder than she’d thought. But not as bad as running through the Edinburgh streets, trying to escape men who wished to harm her. They’d only caught her the one time—she ran her tongue over her chipped tooth—after that, and knowing what they’d done to her parents—she’d vowed for them to never catch her again.

  Still, there had to be a way to go into these lessons better prepared. It was a good thing she’d had Maggie with her today to show her the way, instead of having to do it all on her own—that would have been a complete disaster. And she was pretty certain she’d played off the need for his sister very well.

  She gazed out at the landscape below, thinking about how different it was from the city. Born and raised in Edinburgh, she’d never actually been outside of it before. The voyage on the ship had been incredible, seeing the ocean reaching out forever beyond them. Then the rolling moors and steep craigs on the way to Drum, and now all this. It was worlds away from what she knew. Made her feel even more out of place; at the same time, it also calmed her. She liked the countryside. The Highlands.

  Did Euan and his sisters know how lucky they were to have this view?

  A memory of teasing blue eyes distracted her momentarily from the dove she’d been watching swoop in and out of a tree.

  What kept repeating itself in her brain more so than her ill-executed curtsy, or her gaffe at suggesting a lady would visit the captain on her own, was the way he’d held her hand, the way his breath had fanned over her skin. First, when she’d forgotten her gloves, the zing that had shot up her arm was alarming. And then, even when she had her gloves on, the heat of his breath sank through the fabric. Even with his lips only hovering, she’d felt them on her skin. The perpetual cold that haunted her seemed to ebb with his touch.

  Indeed, that was what bothered her the most about the situation. How intimate it had felt. The undeniable attraction she felt for him—which was completely inappropriate for so many reasons. First of all, she was his governess. Secondly, she wasn’t staying long. Thirdly, his station was levels above her own.

  There could never be anything lasting between them. A few moments of panting breath and pleasure, nothing more.

  Besides, he’d made it clear that was the type of man he was, hadn’t he?

  She could tell by the winks and smiles and teases that Euan Irvine was used to getting what he wanted through pure charisma. And that even a brood of six sisters had not tamed him. Perhaps having them around had only exacerbated his desire to charm his way out of any situation, including lessons on becoming a gentleman—which she was completely unsuitable to be teaching.

  Bronwen breathed hotly on the window, writing her name in the steam and watching the letters fade away slowly, a lot like how she felt about herself. She needed to fade into the background. To disappear from the view of the men who were after her and from the scrutiny of anyone who might call her out for being someone other than she’d said while she was here seeking refuge.

  It had probably not been very smart of her to give the captain her real name. God forbid the maniacs in Edinburgh had somehow followed her to the docks and found out where she was. She prayed that her cousins would be safe. She had to believe that they were. Emilia knew what had happened and didn’t seem concerned for her safety, so that was a good sign. Her cousins were strong and resourceful lasses and had a whole host of bodyguards in the dockhands.

  But Bronwen didn’t have that same luxury. A flash of unwanted memory assailed her. She’d never forget leaving her flat after midnight, having worried for hours about where her parents were. Sneaking down to the shop to find the door partially open, the lights extinguished. When she’d lit a candle, the scene had been bloody, and haunted her even to this day.

  Bronwen shuddered, closed her eyes and drew in her breaths slowly, evenly, until the images went away.

  In this life, she could only rely on herself.

  And as for the captain? She couldn’t count on him—as much as the primal side of her wanted to.

  If she didn’t shore herself up, she’d fall for his charms, and then what? She’d end up right back where she started, only this time likely with a bairn in her womb.

  That was what had happened to her friend Alice. Duped by a charmer and left with a bairn on the way. She’d had to give the wee thing up and ended up in a workhouse herself. Bronwen wasn’t sure what had happened to the bairn after that. She hoped it was alive and healthy, but Alice… She’d not fared so well. The workhouse was a death sentence for most. Or at least those of Bronwen’s acquaintance.

  Nay, she needed to remind herself that she was her only ally in this situation. The only one who would look out for her, put her best interest at heart.

  She shivered, rubbing her arms, feeling colder than she already was. She couldn’t seem to get warm in this castle. Didn’t matter that it was the middle of summer. There was a constant draft; she was sure of it. Else it was her nerves and the worry for her undecided future. The outdoors looked so inviting. She pressed her palm to the cool glass. The sun indicated the warmth on the other side of it.

  “One day at a time,” she told herself. �
�One day at a time.”

  A sound outside of her bedroom door startled Bronwen away from where she’d been making calculations at random on the window. There was a shuffling sound, and then a whoosh as a thin package was slid beneath her door a few inches.

  She stood and marched over, prepared to tug open the door and reveal her visitor when her eyes caught her name scrawled on the brown wrapping.

  Bronwen knelt and picked it up. She carefully unwound the twine, unfolding the paper and gaping at the book in her hands, her heart thudding against her ribcage.

  Lady Edinburgh’s Guide for Gentleman

  With shaking hands, she opened the book to find a long-winded letter to the reader about the book’s purpose in guiding gentleman in society. What in the world?

  This was exactly the resource she needed to be successful. But who had given it to her? Who knew that she was clueless when it came to the position she’d agreed to?

  Still trembling, she yanked open the door and peered out into the corridor, expecting to see one of the sisters, or perhaps even her maid hiding a few feet away and waiting. But there was no one. Only the sound of her breath and the pounding of her heart.

  Bronwen closed the door quietly, leaning against it, staring down at the book in her hands. Then without delay, she rushed back to the window seat and cracked it open. She had only the remainder of the day to become an expert in manners and gentlemanly behavior. Perhaps even less so if she was invited down to dinner again. Declining one night was fine but feigning a headache again would only bring suspicion.

  Curled into the window seat, she opened the book once more and began to read.

  My good gentleman, if you are in possession of this book, I hereby commend you for taking further actions on comportment and gentlemanly manners. No doubt before now you thought you’d been taught everything there is to know. But, dear reader, I am obliged to inform you, if you’re holding this book, that is simply not the case…

  5

  As Bronwen had suspected, a dinner invitation arrived, along with a maid who would help her dress for the occasion. It was the first time someone else had done her hair since she’d been a wee lass and suffered the brush at the other end of her mother’s arm.

  She watched as the maid laid her white evening gown out on the bed. Not that she’d even realized there was such a thing as an evening gown, and what was the difference?

  Then the maid took tongs to her hair, twisting it up in a way that made Bronwen feel like even more of an imposter than she already was.

  “Have ye any pearls or other baubles, miss?” the maid asked.

  Bronwen shook her head.

  “Ah, then we’ll do this.” The maid plucked a ribbon from the dressing table and tied it around Bronwen’s throat with a tiny, neat bow. “How’s that?”

  Bronwen stared at the looking glass, hardly recognizing herself with the way her black hair shone in ringlets piled on the crown of her head, and falling to frame her face. She touched the blue ribbon at her neck, amazed that the smallest thing made her feel so…elegant.

  “’Tis perfect,” she said softly.

  The maid bobbed a curtsey and tucked away the mess of getting her ready, leaving Bronwen feeling as though she should help.

  “Ye’ll be late for dinner, miss,” the maid reminded her.

  Bronwen scooted out of the bedroom, glad she’d thought about popping the Lady Edinburgh’s Guide for Gentleman underneath the cushion of the window seat. She made her way toward the stairs, her feet still feeling strange and uncertain in slippers versus sturdier working shoes.

  She stood outside the dining room, listening to the laughter and murmurs from within. A tiny, foreign twinge inside her belly startled her. A yearning almost for whatever camaraderie was happening on the other side of the door. She’d never had a big family. It had always been only her and her parents when they were around. Before she was born, there’d been a brother, she’d been told, but he died from a fever of some sort. Such was the plight of many babies where she came from. The very idea of seven healthy bairns growing into the Irvine family was astounding to her. But she supposed they’d suffered their own kind of loss, given there was no mother or father here.

  The Irvine family seemed close-knit, and that too was an unfamiliar thing for her, as strange as the slippers on her feet. She and her parents had looked out for one another because it always felt as if they were fighting against something or someone. Not because they enjoyed each other’s company. The idea of friendships within a household was peculiar and something she’d never known she wanted until right now, with that tiny feeling poking at her ribs.

  Standing there on the outside, she realized she didn’t belong. Not here, not anywhere.

  Bronwen started to turn away, overcome with emotion, when the butler appeared from out of nowhere.

  “Miss Holmes,” he said, gazing down at her with something akin to concern.

  “I’m afraid I never learned your name,” she said, trying to smile and wipe away the terror she was certain shone on her face.

  “I’m Martin. Can I help ye with something, miss?”

  Bronwen smoothed her skirt, folding her hands in front of her. How long had the butler been watching her, and just what did he think of her standing there forever?

  “Nay, thank ye, Martin. Just working up the nerve to go inside.” She wasn’t sure what possessed her to confess that fact, but the soft chuckle from the butler eased her worry.

  “They are harmless, miss. A verra good family.” His tone was sincere, his features softening from the stoicism he wore like a mask.

  The latter was what she worried about most. Not only had she come into their castle lying about who she was, but the idea of a family was…she didn’t know what to do with one. Not to mention she’d never had dinner like this. She was certain to make a mistake. And being new, they were all going to be watching her.

  “If ye would no’ mind going in, miss, I can no’ instruct dinner to be served until ye’re seated.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Heat flushed up her neck to her cheeks, and she was quick to open the door and make her entrance.

  The long dining table was filled with the six Irvine sisters and Captain Irvine at the helm. As soon as she entered, he stood, impeccably dressed in a crisp shirt, cravat, and a formal kilt. My, but what a handsome specimen he was. Tall and broad, the shape of his calves muscular. Again, she wondered how it was that he’d not yet found a wife. If Bronwen were one of the society lasses, she wouldn’t care if he had the worst manners because he was mighty fine to look at, and his winks were not unwelcome in the least.

  “Miss Holmes, we welcome ye,” he said, and there were six echoes of his sentiments. He beckoned her to the spot opposite him. “A place for our honored guests.”

  Honored guest… She was nothing of the sort. And if he had any idea who she was, he’d send her to eat with the cows in the pasture. Actually, she wasn’t certain that was true. He seemed to have gained a lot of respect from his people, and she’d heard whispers he was often seen working the earth with them from the servants.

  Bronwen smiled and hurried to the open spot that had been left for her.

  Martin followed and pulled her chair out, indicating she should sit, which she did, nearly putting her face into the table when he scooted her in unexpectedly. Bronwen’s hands flattened to the table, upsetting her cutlery as she steadied herself. Alas, another society rule she wasn’t aware of. Apparently, females didn’t tuck themselves into a table. That hadn’t been in the book she’d read.

  “My apologies,” she murmured, heat flushing her face. She avoided eye contact as she and Martin fixed her silverware.

  “Miss,” he murmured, nodding for her to move her hand so he could replace a fork.

  A glance up showed his apologetic face, and she hoped that her smile wasn’t as pained as she felt.

  And the truth was, even though she’d devoured the gentleman’s handbook, she would need to read it five more ti
mes before any of the information would stick. There were so many parts in it that made no sense. So many requirements for gentlemen seemed to defeat the purpose. Such as standing every time a lady rose to leave the table. The man might as well remain on his feet if it were a large party.

  “Thank ye, Martin.” She turned to face the table. “Good evening, everyone.”

  Six beautiful faces smiled back at her, and at the head of the table, the captain stared at her before he finally nodded and sat down. “Good evening, Miss Holmes.”

  Oh God, what had he been thinking? She was a mess. An utter mess who shouldn’t be teaching him manners when she could barely comport herself.

  Bronwen glanced around, noticing the others had tucked their napkins into their laps, but before she could grab hers, Martin slipped it out from beneath her hand, flapped it in the air and slid it over her lap.

  “Would ye care for wine, miss?” he asked.

  Bronwen was too embarrassed to say that she’d never had wine. When her parents were alive, watered ale, tea and milk—if she was lucky—were the only beverages on tap. When it was just her, she was lucky to get any of those. More often than not, she found herself boiling water to ease her thirst.

  She slowly nodded because she couldn’t seem to make her tongue work, and it wasn’t as if she were going to tell them the truth.

  Martin poured the burgundy-colored wine into a crystal goblet, the same as everyone else’s. And when Martin had finished, Euan raised his glass and nodded at her.

  “To my new governess,” he said.

  Bronwen copied how Maggie held the cup, her pinky out, and brought it to her lips, taking a tiny sip. The wine had a sharp, not altogether unpleasant, tang. She took another small sip and then put it back on the table, watching as two women from the kitchen served what Martin called their first course. One ladled a creamy soup into bowls, and another placed an oyster in the center.