Taming the Scot: The Scot of Honor Series

by Eliza Knight

  “It is a tricky thing, Captain, to be sure.” One in which Bronwen again had no idea how to answer and would have to bluff her way out of it—which she was quite good at doing.

  “Then let me pretend, at least for this lesson, and we can work on how to get around a woman denying permission later?”

  She let out a huff of a sigh. “Fine.”

  “‘Dear Miss Holmes.’” Why did his voice have to be so cheery when he said it?

  The sound of the quill scratching on the paper filled the room, even as she inched her way back to the window, a feeling of unease in her limbs. Looking out, she had the feeling of being watched. Owen nudged her thigh, and she rested her hand on his head, gaining some measure of comfort from the animal. Still, it felt as if the hell’s henchmen were waiting to leap out from their hiding places to point at her and shout, “There she is, we’ve found her!”

  “What’s next?” Euan asked, pulling her from the anxiety-ridden thoughts.

  Bronwen turned to the window, finding his expectant gaze on her. Owen gave her fingers a little lick, and she scratched him behind his ears.

  “Since the lesson was originally for ye to write to a lady in town ye had an interest in seeing, I suppose we should continue along those lines because at some point, hopefully, ye will need to know. And we shall pretend that there is another Miss Holmes there waiting for ye.”

  Euan feigned a pout. “I think I should be offended at your disinterest, Miss Holmes.”

  “Ye should be nothing where I am concerned.”

  “Impossible.” But before she could give him a tart reply, he said, “All right, and so, I should say, ‘Dear Miss Holmes, might I have permission to call on ye Saturday next?’”

  “That would do.”

  “No flattery?” He cocked his head to the side.

  “A little flattery could no’ hurt.” She’d been admired once, at barely thirteen. The son of the man who delivered their milk liked to knock on the door and hand her the bottle. One time, their fingers touched, and Bronwen thought it the most romantic thing that had ever happened—until Euan had given her his cravat in the garden.

  She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be courted by a man like Euan.

  She flicked her gaze toward the captain. Was that why she’d reacted so hotly to his touch? Because to her, that slight graze meant so much more than words?

  “How’s this? ‘Dear Miss Holmes, I could no’ help but admire your gumption upon our first meeting, and I am driven to distraction wanting to know what ye think when ye look out the window. There’s such a whimsical note about ye that I can’t help but to find fascinating. Might I have permission to call on ye Saturday next?’”

  Bronwen was stunned into silence. They were pretending, only pretending. This wasn’t real. Except he’d used real things in his letter, and the whole time he’d read the words, he’d locked his eyes on hers. This was incredibly unfair, and she should be put out that he wasn’t taking the lesson seriously. Why was her heart beating so fast? Her throat so dry? She took up a frantic patting of Owen’s head, and the dog slinked away, irritated with her.

  “I should think no’.” She lifted her chin and stared down at him. It wouldn’t do for anything to develop between the two of them. It was impossible. And went against the reason he’d put an advert in the paper. He wanted someone refined, not a pauper. “I do no’ know a single lass that would read your letter and invite ye over. Ye sound overeager and…obsessive.”

  “Obsessive?”

  “Watching her like a hunter stalking his prey. Driven to distraction by your thoughts. These are no’ flattering.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Ah, perhaps I am a bit too fanatical in waxing about my passions.” He leaned back in his chair, forearms casually resting on the armrests of his chair.

  “Passion?” she practically spat the word. “We hardly know one another.”

  A twinkle was in his eye, the corner of his lip twitching as if he’d caught her at something, but other than those tells, he looked perfectly serious. “This is pretend, is it no’? I was merely pretending about a different Miss Holmes.”

  Aye, pretend. She had to remember that and remind her heart, which pounded so hard against her ribs she was certain they would crack.

  This wasn’t going well at all, and at this rate, she’d be tossed out by noon. She had to pull it together. To somehow untangle the mess she’d made here. “Well, before ye try to figure out the right way to write a lady ye’ve known for months, ye’d best do well with writing a lady ye’ve just met. Tell her of your day, and then give her one compliment.”

  “What sort of compliment should I give? That her gown did wonders for her figure?”

  Bronwen couldn’t help but look down at the simple ivory frock she had on today. She had no figure to speak of. Months without proper nutrition had left her thin and waifish. Not that she’d had any sort of hips or bosom before. She took after her mother in that respect.

  She plucked at nothing on her skirt to pretend she wasn’t affected by his words or that she hadn’t been looking at her own body, but merely whatever it was marring the white muslin.

  “How about ye admired the ribbons of her bonnet and that they brought out the color of her eyes, Captain? Let’s keep it decent.”

  “All right. ‘Dear Miss Holmes, I had the pleasure of riding in Charlotte’s Square today, but I must say the hour was quite dull without your presence. None of the other lasses had a bonnet as bonnie as yours. And I admired the way the ribbons brought out the blue in your gray eyes. Might I have the pleasure of calling on ye, Saturday next?’”

  Bronwen swallowed around the lump in her throat. That letter was perfect, except for he’d noticed her eyes were gray. She had to remember he was writing about a different Miss Holmes—one that sounded so very much like her. It was making her feel and think things that would never be?

  She cleared her throat. “That will do quite nicely. I think any lass to receive it would be well pleased.”

  “And how do I close?” He dipped the quill in the inkwell with precision, then paused to await her instruction.

  “With your name.” Simple and evasive. “Now, if ye’ll excuse me, I need some air.” Bronwen rushed from the study out to the garden, which was quickly becoming a place of refuge for her.

  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 hench
men, 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 o
nly 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.