by Eliza Knight
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 be
havior 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 th
ings, 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?”
