Taming the Scot: The Scot of Honor Series

by Eliza Knight

  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.

  10

  Last night’s game of charades had been fun to observe, even if Bronwen felt as thou
gh she’d been sitting on pins and needles with her on one end of the settee and Euan on the other. The tension between the two of them was so thick she could have climbed it.

  She wished she’d been able to feign a headache and go to her room, but she didn’t want to disappoint his sisters as she’d come to think of each of them as friends, if not secret sisters of her own.

  Every minute she thought about scooting closer to Euan. About looking at him even, but she’d kept her focus straight ahead on those acting out the various charades and even threw in her guesses as to what they were doing. Her favorite was when Raine, Esme and Skye had acted out a mother goose trying to gather her goslings.

  Euan’s laughter had been contagious, and his sisters had been in stitches playing together. When she’d said at dinner she didn’t like charades, it wasn’t because she found it unenjoyable, but rather that she’d never played. Oh, but it seemed like so much fun now that she was watching.

  But no matter how much fun she had or how she tried not to look at Euan, she was all too keenly aware of his presence. Every one of his laughs, claps, slaps on his knee or guesses drew a reaction, both visceral and emotional. Her entire body felt as though it were vibrating, sitting there.

  The two hours of charades were the most intense moments for her since her arrival, even more so than the kisses because wanting Euan and not being able to have him was so strong. She’d had to curl her fingers into her skirt, into the wooden arm of the settee, to keep herself in place.

  How was she ever going to move on from this—from him? With every second that passed, Bronwen was certain she never would. Every day for the rest of her life, and lonely night after lonely night, she would be thinking of Euan. Of what he asked of her. Would wonder if being his lover was such a bad idea, and maybe even kick herself for denying them both the pleasure—even of a single night.

  For now, she had to try to make it through the days until he decided he no longer needed lessons—or rather, his sisters decided since it was Amabel who’d begged her to stay. She couldn’t deny them the happier brother they’d longed to see from whomever he’d been before her arrival. And who exactly was that? Every once in a while, she caught flashes of a man wounded, a man who was tormented by something. But knowing his past, how he’d spent the remainder of his childhood summoning the courage to care for his sisters and take over his father’s duties, he was admirable. She’d also learned he’d been through hell and back when on the battlefield during the Peninsular War.

  Knowing these things about him gave Euan more depth in her mind. He was not simply another spoiled man of noble blood.

  As much as she admired him for all of those things, that didn’t change her situation. She hoped this altered state he was in now would stick enough on its own that she could be set free and away from the torment of knowing he could never be hers.

  The agony of knowing she’d lied to them all, and exposed them to danger. How could they ever forgive her if they knew she was associated with The Trojan gambling hell and its nefarious owner? The criminal thought himself so untouchable that he called himself Prince and made people grovel at his feet.

  That was what had caused her to keep her distance this morning. To take her breakfast in her room. What little of her eggs and toast she’d been able to consume. Because she wanted to tell them all so badly the truth. The guilt of keeping secrets from people she’d grown to greatly care for was eating away at her. But she was scared of what their reactions would be when they found out she’d duped them. She wasn’t sure how she’d feel if she found out someone had lied to her about who and what they were.

  As she’d whiled away the morning in her chamber, going over the etiquette guidebook for the hundredth time, Maggie had stopped by to ask her about today’s ballroom etiquette lesson and dancing, and Bronwen was obliged to come out of her room.

  She stood outside of the ballroom now, where Euan had caught her dancing days earlier. Her gown was simple, the gray one she’d worn already, and her hair was in a neat knot at the base of her neck with a matching gray ribbon tying it in place.

  Owen sat beside her, waiting and staring at the door as she did. She patted his head, hoping his presence would calm her, but as sweet and even-tempered as he was, the hound was not going to solve this issue for her.

  With a deep inhale, Bronwen pushed open the ballroom doors to find Esme at the piano playing a tune while Maggie instructed the other sisters on several dance moves. Euan was by the window, leaning against the wall. He had a booted ankle crossed over the other, and his arms folded nonchalantly at his chest, watching with a half-smile. Even dressed in a kilt and frockcoat, he made his impeccable attire look casual and comfortable. As soon as he saw her, though, his gaze darkened with emotion that she tried to ignore because it pulled at her heart.

  Feeling flustered, she remained rooted in place, uncertain what to do with her hands, her feet.

  Euan pushed off the wall, strolled forward and bowed low. He had such command of his body…and she liked to watch him move. Despite what had happened between them, he was still acting the gentleman, and it broke her heart a little more. Bronwen dipped into a curtsy, feeling more unsteady on her feet now than she had when she’d first attempted a curtsy days before. She kept her head down, unable to look him in the eye for fear she’d burst.

  “A pleasure to see ye,” he said, and the way the word “pleasure” rolled off his tongue had her insides melting and her mind tunneling back to the darkened alcove where the hard planes of his figure had aligned with the softer curves of her own.

  Nay, nay, nay. She had to stop thinking about that.

  “Likewise, Captain.” Bronwen was impressed by how even she was able to keep her voice.

  “Would ye care to dance?” he asked, nodded at Esme, who positioned her hands on the piano, ready to play.

  “Me? Perhaps one of your sisters would be a better choice.” Bronwen searched out Maggie, who nodded encouragingly.

  “Nay, ye’re the governess,” Maggie said. “It should be ye.”

  This was going to be a disaster. Bronwen didn’t know the steps to any of the dances Maggie might choose. Only those from the taverns and the types of dancing done there was not likely anything at all that she should be instructing a man seeking a wife in ballrooms.

  “I…” She swallowed, trying to think of a good excuse and finding none.

  Euan took her hand and leaned in close, whispering, “Follow my lead, lass. For I am confident in this of all lessons.”

  Oh, he smelled so good, freshly clean and spicy. Why did he have to tempt her in the most mundane ways?

  She licked her lips, drawing in a breath to protest, but then the music started, and Euan pulled her into his arms, and she could do nothing to stop him as her limbs seemed to have a mind of their own. He placed a warm hand on her lower back. The other hand held his pinky finger aloft, ever so slightly falling between her pinky and ring fingers. On the next note, he twirled her about, the skirt of her gown swaying around her legs with every step.

  Euan’s blue gaze locked on hers, and the smile that reached from his lips to those soulful eyes contained a sensuous flame she’d never be able to douse. It only seemed to light the fire within her, making it hard to catch her breath.

  Every line of his hard body pressed to hers. One thigh and then the other. A calf, brushing hers before stepping away. Her breasts pushed to his chest, her abdomen to his. Their hips… It was delicious and wicked, and yet there they were, pressed together in such an intimate embrace—as they had been in the alcove—only this time, they were whirling about the ballroom floor for everyone to see.

  For Bronwen, dancing had never been so sensual. Every inch of her skin was alight with prickles, and she wanted the music to go on forever. Being in Euan’s arms again had her forgetting all the promises she’d made to herself the night before about that embrace being the last.

  “What is this dance called?” she managed to ask, her throat tight, her gaze on his c
hin.

  “The waltz,” he murmured low in his throat.

  Even the name of it sounded exotic and carnal. The waltz…

  “Do ye like it?” he asked.

  Bronwen nodded, looking up into his gaze this time and wishing she hadn’t. Saints, but his eyes were so incredibly blue and mesmerizing. “I do.” Too much.

  “What do ye like best?” His voice was low, seductive. A slight curl of his lips told her how much he enjoyed this—whether it was the obvious reaction she had to him or just being with her, she couldn’t know.

  Bronwen swallowed, unable to form the words, her mind a jumble. If she opened her mouth, she was liable to blurt out just about anything, and she didn’t want his sisters to hear her true thoughts, even a garbled version of them.

  “Tell me.” Euan whirled them to the far end of the ballroom, perhaps sensing her hesitation in being near his sisters.

  “The touching.” Oh heavens, had she said that aloud?

  At her honesty, his full mouth widened into a grin that could melt butter, and indeed her insides were threatening to do just that. Parts of her were tingling that had no business doing so. The parts that had pulsed with want when he kissed her.

  “I like that part too,” he said with a slow wink that made her heart skip a beat. “Especially with ye. Dancing lets us do what we wanted to in the alcove, but out in the open.”

  “No’ everything,” she countered, attempting a little seductive teasing of her own.

  Euan’s lips twitched, as he appraised her. “Ah, does that mean ye wish to kiss me again?”

  “Ye’re incorrigible.” But he was right, and hadn’t she tempted him into saying it anyway?

  “Maybe.” His smile was wicked and tantalizing. The expression should have made her run, but she held on instead because she apparently enjoyed self-torture.

  As the music came to a close, and so too did their dance, unfortunately. As they returned to the other side of the ballroom where his sisters waited in a circle, Bronwen was surprised to see the stunned looks on their faces. They were quick to recover themselves, clapping instead by the time they reached them.