by Eliza Knight
“So I have to ask,” Lorne drawled out, flicking his gaze toward the women. “Why is she here? Are ye afraid of losing your manners among friends?”
Alec raised his brows too. “Aye. Ye’ve never struck me as a man who did no’ know how to hold his fork.”
“Or how to treat a lass,” Malcolm added.
“Aye, ye’ve got six sisters for all that,” Lorne said.
Was he so obvious?
Euan let out a short laugh, looking across the parlor where the ladies had assembled in chairs, leaning close as if they were telling secrets. Were they talking about him the way he was talking about Bronwen? Did the women also wonder why she was here with them? He could have easily explained that she was acting as a companion and chaperone for his sisters, but that would be a lie, and he didn’t like the idea of lying to his friends. But how did he tell them that he loved her, and not bringing her seemed odder to him than the actual bringing?
“Hiring a governess seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said by way of explaining his desire to hire a governess to begin with, and bypassing why she was here with him at Sutherland gate. “I was desperate to win.”
“And now?”
Euan took a wee nip of his whisky. “I still need to win. I’ve got six sisters to care for and my cousin, my uncle…The bloody bastards would no’ do well by them.” His friends were aware that Uncle Will had been sent to prison, and Euan was pretty sure Malcolm knew more about the criminal activities Hector was up to than he was willing to reveal.
“There’s no doubt ye must come through for them,” Lorne said, and the others agreed. And he was grateful they’d not continued their exploration about Bronwen. He wasn’t sure how to figure out his feelings to himself, let alone anyone else.
“Want me to do some digging into Will and Hector?” Malcolm offered. “There has to be something I can dig up to help with those bastards. I’ve always had a bad feeling about them.” Due to his work with the War Department—mostly clandestine—everyone tended to trust Malcolm when it came to his judgment of others, and Euan was no exception.
Euan nodded, relieved that Malcolm had offered. “That would be great if ye could.”
Euan’s gaze trailed back toward the ladies and Bronwen. She was perched on the edge of her chair, hands folded in her lap. He could tell that she was nervous, but she wore an enchanting smile on her face all the same and appeared to be deeply engrossed in whatever it was the other lasses were talking about.
“Whoa…” Alec said, letting out a low whistle.
Euan shot his gaze back to his friend. “What did I miss?”
The three men were gaping at Euan as though he’d grown a hoof out of his forehead. He frowned, now confused about whatever it was they’d picked up on that he was ignorant to.
“Ye’ve got it bad,” Lorne said with a soft chuckle and a slow shake of his head.
“Aye, bad,” Alec said with a snort. “So bad.”
“I do no’ even know what that feels like, and even I can say, my man, ye have it bad,” Malcolm added, brows raised nearly to his hairline.
“What have I got?” Euan took a mental check of every part of his body, which felt fine. He wasn’t feverish. Had he come down with spots? He checked his hands, touched his face. All felt and looked well.
“Love,” Lorne said, nodding toward the lasses again. “Ye love her.”
Euan let out a low sigh and nodded. “Aye. Do no’ scare me like that. I thought I’d come down with a deadly disease.”
“Some men think it is the same,” Alec added with a chuckle.
“I’ve been aware of the diagnosis for some days,” Euan jested, trying hard not to look over at the woman he was talking about. If his friends had seen it so quickly, was it obvious to everyone else? Even the woman in question? “But I do no’ think she reciprocates or that she wants what I have to offer.”
“Why’s that?” Lorne asked.
Euan’s memories flicked back to the ballroom when he’d begged her to tell him what had happened, and how in the end… “Because she made me promise when I find a bride this season that I’ll set her free.”
“Oh,” Malcolm said with a grimace.
“That does no’ seem to bode well for ye,” Lorne added. “So ye took her as a lover then?”
Euan shook his head. “Nay, no’ a lover.” Though he’d been close. She’d been able to hold him back, and he’d realized he wanted her for more than a few rolls in the sheets.
“Have ye kissed her yet?” Alec asked tentatively.
Euan stared hard at his friend, holding in his thoughts when they demanded to be set free. “Why?”
Alec grinned, and Lorne nodded as they glanced at each other, apparently privy to something Euan didn’t know about. “The ultimate test, my friend. How many times?”
“Two, almost three times.” But he wished it had been more. Wished he were over there kissing her right now.
“Then it’s settled,” Alec said with a perfunctory nod. “She does no’ find ye disgusting.”
The men let out guffaws of laughter, which drew the women’s attention, and Euan wished he could slug all of them into silence. The best he could do was avoid eye contact with Bronwen, only doing so made him feel as though he were more obvious.
“Tell us the joke,” Skye insisted, followed by a string of agreement from his other sisters.
“Nay,” Euan said.
“Why no’?” She pouted, but Maggie, expert elder sister that she was, drew her attention back to their feminine conversation.
Despite that, however, when Euan raked his gaze over the group, he caught Bronwen’s gaze. She was peering at him through her lashes, a touch of pink on her cheeks. Had she guessed what they’d been discussing? If so, he hoped she didn’t think he was laughing at her. Because, for the love of God, the last thing he wanted to do was laugh at her. Nay, he wanted to laugh with her. To share in the joys of literally everything. When she wasn’t so serious, Bronwen had a sense of humor that rivaled most. Hell, he’d laughed more in the last few weeks than the last few years.
All at once, the thing he’d been avoiding thinking about, the thing he’d been avoiding putting words to, was there front and center in his brain. There was no other choice. He was a fool for having not made up his mind before. Or rather, admitting to himself that he’d made up his mind. Making a move on that decision…
“I need another,” Euan said, holding out his cup for a refill. “I think I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
The men stilled, their heads swiveling toward the woman in question, and the rose tinge of her cheeks deepened. Bronwen knew they were talking about her now. Euan wanted to go over there this instant, bend down on one knee, declare his love and ask her to marry him. The whisky was probably helping with that.
“Right now,” he said.
But Lorne put a bracing hand on her shoulder. “Nay, man. Give her a minute to acclimate. And do no’ do it so suddenly.”
“Why no’?” Euan asked.
“Because it should be special,” Lorne explained. “This will be the most important decision she’s had to make.”
Euan wasn’t so certain about that. Bronwen wasn’t the type of woman who’d sat at home waiting for a husband. She’d worked. She’d had to deal with more things than he could imagine. She’d run. It was certainly not the most important decision she’d have to make but probably ranked in the top five to ten.
“Aye,” Alec agreed. “Lasses like things to be special.”
That Euan did agree with. “How did ye ask?” he inquired of his friends.
Lorne started to chuckle and shake his head.
Euan pierced him with a stare. “Tell me.”
“Well…I sort of asked her until she finally gave in.” Lorne ran a hand through his hair. “She denied me. A lot.”
Alec started to laugh then too, slapping Lorne on the back. “Thank God ye did no’ give up.”
“Wore her down,” Malcolm said with mock dis
appointment and a shake of his head.
“And ye?” Euan asked Alec.
Alec grimaced and sucked in a breath through his teeth. “No’ much better. I suggested a pretend marriage, and things sort of fell into place.”
Euan refrained from smacking his forehead. “The lot of ye are lost causes, and I can no’ hound her day after day about a pretend marriage. Ye know the stakes. She needs to love me.”
“I do no’ see ye having any problems with that, my friend.”
Euan glanced back toward the women, where Bronwen was making a valiant attempt not to look at him. He felt the same way. He was struggling not to look, but all he wanted to do was stare. He wanted to go over there, talk to her or stand near her.
“No’ on my end, at least,” Euan said, his chest swelling at the idea of the woman sitting there being his forever. Of many more moments of their friends gathered like this. He turned back to them. “I could use a boxing session before dinner, I think. A lot is going on in my head, and I need a good sweat. Or a beating. Probably both.”
“Me too,” Malcolm said.
“As long as my wife says it is all right,” Lorne said. “But I think she will shoo us out faster than we can blink. This is the first real hosting she’s done since birthing our son.”
“How is the bairn?” Euan asked.
“Hale and hearty. Lungs like a lion and eats like a sailor. But we love him. He’s adorable and definitely a mama’s lad.”
The men chuckled and offered their congratulations before returning to the topic at hand—who should ask if they could go box before dinner.
“Ye ask,” Alec said to Lorne, looking worried. “Giselle just gifted me with this frockcoat, and she’ll think I do no’ appreciate it if I toss it off. She’s been quite…emotional lately.”
Lorne shook his head with an exaggerated grimace. “I think it should be Euan. Jaime has always had a softer spot for him, as all the lasses do.”
“I can no’ ask,” Euan said. “I do no’ want Bronwen to think I’m escaping her.”
Malcolm gave a great sigh and shook his head at each of them. “I’ll do it.”
Without waiting for the men to agree, he sauntered toward the ladies, and Euan couldn’t help but notice that several of his sisters’ heads swiveled in Malcolm’s direction. He’d have to talk with them later about that. His friends were off-limits as far as husband-hunting went.
As Malcolm flattered Jaime until she turned a knowing look toward Lorne, Euan watched Bronwen, at ease with Maggie and giggling about something.
When Jaime, at last, scooted them out of the parlor, the pull he had to stay with Bronwen was enough to propel him out of the room to escape himself. A good bout of fisticuffs was what he needed to mull over the idea of how exactly he’d ask her to marry him and how to heal if she flatly denied him.
12
“Captain Euan Irvine, Miss Maggie Irvine, Miss Amabel Irvine, Miss Lillie Irvine, and Miss Bronwen Holmes.” Their names were announced, bringing the conversation in the ballroom to a halt.
A flushed heat filled Bronwen’s chest, creeping up to her neck and her face. Every inch of her skin was prickling as strangers assessed her. If not for Euan and his sisters standing there beside her, she would have turned around, hailed a hackney, and returned to Irvine House. She could still do that. She could make her excuses saying that she wanted to join the other lasses at home, to recreate the party as they’d done in the Highlands, so they didn’t feel as left out.
Because that was how she felt right now. A fish out of water.
Last night at the intimate gathering at Sutherland Gate, she’d gotten to know Jaime, the Duchess of Sutherland, and Giselle, the Countess of Errol, and liked the two of them very much. Their conversations had been easy and exciting, and for a few hours, Bronwen had not felt as if she were a pretender. She’d been at ease and… as if she belonged.
When the men had gone off to box out of hearing distance, Jaime and Giselle had shared their romantic stories of how they’d met their husbands and fell in love. Bronwen longed for the day she’d be able to share a similar story. But her mind kept whirling back to Euan as if being hired as his governess were a future tale she’d get to tell about the two of them.
What a daydreaming fool she was.
A slow murmuring rose, similar to the sound bees make as they fly closer and closer until it's loud and overwhelming to the ears.
Bronwen had never experienced being more out of place than she did at that moment. Dressed in a gown of gold, which shimmered in the candlelight, she felt like an imposter, a charlatan. The silky fabric of her gown was whisper-soft against her skin. The slippers on her feet were practically molded to her foot shape. No pinching.
Conversations had stilled to watch them enter and now ramped up as they all talked about her. Everyone was looking their way—judging her, she was certain, for being the fraud she was. Who amongst them thought she might have stolen the gown that fit her like a glove? A gift from Maggie, who’d sent her measurements to the modiste in Edinburgh before they’d arrived in town.
How could she have agreed to go to the ball with Euan and his sisters?
An intimate gathering with his close friends was one thing, but a ball? This was so far from anything she’d ever done, and those in attendance probably knew it.
Euan offered her his elbow as they entered. Maggie was on his other side and his other two sisters behind them. Bronwen placed her hand on his forearm, fingers barely touching, and willed the trembling to disappear.
She swallowed as the stares from those in attendance stabbed her forehead. She should haven’t listened to Euan, to Maggie. Shouldn’t have agreed to watch Euan put his skills of being a courting gentleman into play. Doing so was going to hurt her more than she was willing to admit. And he really ought to stop paying such special care to her. Any lass who was interested in being his bride would not appreciate that.
It was almost as if he were laying claim to her for anyone to see—which right now appeared to be most of the Scottish high society. Maybe that was his plan, though. To spark interest from the maidens through jealousy. Well, Bronwen didn’t want to be a pawn in that way. It was one thing to teach him manners, quite another to be the dangled carrot those lasses wanted to demolish.
Just thinking of the ladies who’d be clambering over themselves to take a bite of Euan caused a pang of loss in Bronwen’s gut. Perhaps she should make her smiles and melt into the wallpaper, slip out the nearest door or window and disappear into the night. She’d gotten quite good over the years at sneaking away. Of hiding and being invisible to anyone who might come looking for her. Besides, she was already one step ahead of the ruffians she feared. Dressed as she was, the men looking for her wouldn’t recognize her or even see her, most likely. She was a lady tonight, a princess even.
Physically running away would be so easy.
Mentally, however…it was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.
Difficult as it might be, it was also the right thing. Because the longer she spent in Euan’s presence, the harder it would be to leave. To stay meant saddling him with all of the burdens she carried on her like a pack mule.
“Ye promised me the first dance,” Euan said, interrupting her thoughts. His smile was charming, disarming and enticing, the combination of which softened her resolve to flee.
Oh, but she was a silly, demented lass, wasn’t she?
Maintaining a serious and determined visage to keep Euan—and herself—on task, she said, “To show all the other lasses what they're missing. Their mothers will be clambering to get your name on their daughters’ dance cards.”
“Perhaps they will.” He leaned a little closer, his spicy scent assaulting her senses in the most delicious, forbidden way. “But ye know I’ll deny them all if only ye, my faithful governess, would agree to keep me occupied all the night through. For ye outshine them all. I may have to battle off the gentlemen present.”
A shiver of p
leasure went through her—and something else. Sadness, regret. She knew he was jesting. He had to be. This was who Euan was—the consummate charmer. Always looking for a way to please whomever’s attention he held.
And Lord help her, he often held hers. But as she’d told herself a hundred times, if not more, she couldn’t saddle him with the burdens left to her by her parents, even if he said he wanted to help. It wouldn’t be fair to him nor to his sisters. They deserved better than that. From the stories they’d told her, they’d already climbed out of the ashes. Why be dragged back down?
Euan had plenty of his own things to worry about. Six sisters to see settled. His legacy to secure. Adding Bronwen’s problems to the mix would only muddy the waters, and eventually, he might come to regret his choice in her. He’d be miserable. And she couldn’t handle that.
“I would suggest a plan to combat the opponents pressing in, Captain, but we both know a society wife is what ye desire. So I say, bring them on.”
“Is it?” he asked, with a pained expression and a roll of his eyes toward the crowd. “I think ye must know by now it is no’.”
Aye, but she didn’t want to know that. As she struggled to find a way to answer him, to decipher his meaning, or at the very least bat away his words, they were approached by the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland, as well as the Earl and Countess of Errol.
Bronwen saw them as titles out of habit, but the bright smiles from Jaime and Giselle, the friendly nods from their husbands, reminded her that she’d been invited and wholeheartedly accepted into their world.
“Your Grace. My lady.” Bronwen curtsied to them both anyway, as was expected, especially in front of all the guests.
“Oh, please do no’ do that,” Jaime laughed. “We are friends, now are we no’?”
Bronwen liked the sound of that. And the genuine warmth in the two women’s eyes.
“Maggie, ye look ravishing,” Jaime said to Euan’s sister, who did indeed dazzle in a white silk gown.
Forget the ladies clambering for Euan’s attention. They might have to ward the men off of Maggie.
