by Eliza Knight
“Thank ye, Your Grace.” Maggie’s cheeks turned pink from the praise.
Amabel and Lillie disappeared in a rush to get punch and chat with the friends they spotted across the ballroom, and Maggie excused herself to go after them.
The first tinkling of music began a breath later, and Bronwen recognized the tune as the one Esme had played when she’d practiced with Euan at Drum Castle.
A waltz.
She tried not to look at him. Didn’t want to make eye contact and have him ask her to dance when he should be seeking out the other lasses present. Jaime and Giselle were both swept into their husbands’ arms and whirled away. Bronwen retreated a step, trying to get out of the line of Euan’s peripheral vision, but he turned with her.
“Ah, it is our song,” Euan drawled beside her.
When she peeped up at him, there was that grin that made his eyes twinkle with mischief.
“Our song?” Her voice sounded so far away.
“Aye. The song we first danced to. Let’s do it again.” He held out his hand to her, palm up, fingers beckoning with the slightest curl. A lock of his golden hair fell over his forehead, adding to his charm. “Miss Bronwen Holmes, might ye do me the honor of granting me this dance?”
And then he winked, tearing down all the walls she’d temporarily put up as protection from his enchanting assault. Oh, for heaven’s sake.
Why did he have to be so…so…appealing? How could she refuse a request like that? Her body, her heart, wouldn’t let her. “Aye,” she whispered, placing her gloved fingers in his outstretched hand.
Euan whirled her out onto the dance floor, his right hand gently and tantalizingly placed at the small of her back, where the heat of his touch seemed to seep through the fabric of her golden gown. He held up his left hand, she pressed her palm against his. And though she couldn’t feel his skin through the gloves, she knew it would be warm and calloused against her own—remembered the feel of him most vividly. She had to close her eyes for a second, steadying her breath, or else risk fainting.
“Ye are a vision tonight,” he murmured as he twirled her about. “The most stunning lass here.”
Bronwen’s eyes popped open. “Ye’re a consummate flatterer, Captain.”
“I tell the truth.” He nodded, and though his eyes held an amusing spark, she could see he meant what he said.
She swallowed around the lump that seemed to form in her throat whenever he was near. “Well, if we are being honest then, I’d rather be dancing with ye than anyone else.” Ever. For the rest of my life.
With the slightest pressure of his hand on her spine, she was drawn closer to him. Her breasts brushed the strong expanse of his chest, and she gasped at the scandalous touch. Their eyes locked as he whirled her about. The entire ballroom, and all of the people with it, seemed to disappear as it had when they’d danced before. There was something in the music, the alignment of their bodies, and the way his intense gaze never wavered from hers.
It felt like a dream that she never wanted to wake from because, for her, the fantasy was so much better than reality.
Except…this was her reality, if only for the moment.
The music slowly came to an end, and their whirling bodies stilled, but Euan didn’t pull away. His hand still pressed to her spine. Their fingers relaxed midair until several digits were entwined. They stood in the center of the ballroom, holding their dancing position, gazes unwavering on each other. Bronwen could hear the buzz of voices that certainly were making comments about the two of them. But she didn’t care what they had to say. She found herself falling deeper and deeper into the fathomless and captivating well of Euan’s gaze.
At last, a livelier tune, and dancers forming lines for a more jovial country dance, forced them to move.
“A reel,” Euan murmured, referring to the line dance about to begin. “Would ye like to dance?”
A reel she knew how to do, as they often did them at the local public house in her close and the very few cèilidhs she’d been invited to. She nodded, grinning, and joined the line with Euan opposite her. While the aristocracy’s steps were a little primmer than her own, she was able to modify them fine, joining the rest of the guests in their joy of the dance. Throughout it all, she and Euan couldn’t seem to take their eyes off of one another.
When it was finished, sweat trickled down her back, and her ceaseless smile refused to go away.
“That was fun, aye?” Euan said, wiping his brow with his handkerchief.
She nodded, and they jumped into the next dance. When they’d finished, her throat was parched, and her hair was in danger of coming out of its pins. An exhilarating feeling was thrumming through her veins, and now she knew why Euan’s sisters had been so excited for the ball. What she’d thought was going to be a nightmare was a lot of fun. Of course, they were not doing at all what they’d come to accomplish—finding Euan a worthy bride. In fact, by dancing so much together, they were implying she was that lucky lass if the rules in Lady Edinburgh’s guide were to be believed.
And for some reason, as the minutes continued to tick by, the less she cared about that.
“Some punch?” he asked, and she nodded, following him to the long table with punch and refreshments.
Euan handed her a glass, and they both sipped heartily until Euan was jostled from behind, nearly spilling his punch. If he’d not been more agile, it might have splashed all over Bronwen. But he saved it at the last second.
“Oh my. I’m terribly sorry. Pardon my clumsiness,” a lass said with the faintest hint of a smirk on her face as she scooted between them, giving Bronwen her back as she presented herself to Euan. “Captain Irvine? Is that ye?”
Bronwen narrowed her gaze over the woman’s shoulder, and for a moment, Euan looked confused. Their eyes met, and she could read in the depths of his gaze that he had not the foggiest idea of who the rude lass was.
“I do apologize, my lady. Have we met?” He took a step back as the lass seemed to be standing overly close.
She laughed and touched his arm, and Bronwen had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at how unsubtle the woman was being. There were a few paragraphs in Lady Edinburgh’s Guide for Gentleman about lasses like this. A true gentleman should steer clear as it was a good sign that they were husband hunters and not the kind that a gentleman might want to be acquainted with. If Euan didn’t realize that soon, then Bronwen would be obliged to step in.
“Oh, Captain, ye are too funny,” the lass said, her fingers dancing over his jacket sleeve. “We spent an entire week together.”
By some miracle, Bronwen managed to keep her eyeballs from popping out of her head. Euan, however, choked on his punch. So, he was very well acquainted, it would seem. What a cad for not remembering his lover. Bronwen frowned.
The lady’s grin only widened as she stepped a little to the side, so she could look back at Bronwen with a saucy and somehow snotty expression that set Bronwen’s nerves on edge. She looked to be Bronwen’s age, and she was bonnie; there was no doubt about that. But there was also a pinched, sour look to her that showed her personality.
“Lady Mary,” Maggie said acidly, with Giselle and Jaime at her side. “What a pleasure to see ye again.”
The way Maggie said it made it sound very much as if it was the opposite of anything pleasant. Bronwen couldn’t have been happier to see her friends.
Mary did not smile as she slid her gaze toward the three women. “Indeed.”
Maggie caught Bronwen’s eye, sending a silent message. “We met Lady Mary at that house party I was telling ye about.”
“Ah,” Bronwen said, keeping her face straight but recalling how Maggie had said the house party had been horrendous. Considering the way Maggie was looking at Bronwen now as if trying to impart a communication, she got the impression that this Lady Mary might have been the reason the house party was so…vexing.
“And ye are?” Lady Mary said, not trying to hide her animosity as she finally paid Bronwen more atte
ntion, now that she seemed worthy, Bronwen supposed.
“This is Miss Bronwen Holmes,” Euan said, pride dripping from his words.
“She’s verra dear to our family,” Maggie added, looking down her nose at Lady Mary.
Lady Mary’s gaze flicked between Euan and Bronwen as if trying to formulate in her mind what their connection might be, but she said nothing more. She offered a flash of an acrid smile with a toss of her head and left, as if they had all become suddenly uninteresting to her.
Which suited not only Bronwen just fine, but it appeared the rest of the group too. She would be very happy if she never had to deal with her again. My goodness, but Lady Mary was the epitome of what Bronwen thought of society lasses. For a little while, having been on close terms with Euan’s sisters and now with Jaime and Giselle, she thought she’d gotten it all wrong. But Lady Mary proved there were still vipers nestling within the den of the aristocracy, waiting for the right moment to strike.
“Well, that could have been worse,” Giselle said, then with a sarcastic tone added, “She’s so…pleasant.”
Bronwen couldn’t help it. She started to laugh, and apparently, it was contagious because, within minutes, all of them were in stitches.
13
“Would ye care to take our punch to the balcony?” Euan asked, nodding toward the glass doors that had been opened at the back of the ballroom to let in a cool evening breeze, which was welcome given the ballroom had become stifling during the dancing.
He’d been waiting to ask her that since the second dance. With every minute that passed, his chest felt as if it were going to burst with the need to share with her his feelings and his desire to make her his wife. Since last night, he’d been trying to think of what the most special moment would be. And he’d concluded that there was no right or perfect moment.
But rather, now.
To put an end to this torment.
She kept reminding him they were here to find him a bride, and he’d wanted to burst out at least a dozen times in the last hour that he was no longer looking. That she was the woman he wanted for the rest of his days.
Giselle and Jaime exchanged a look with each other and then him. “Fresh air sounds like a splendid idea,” Jaime said, reminding him of their presence, which he’d nearly forgotten about. “If ye’ll excuse us, we are going to find our husbands and do the same thing.”
“Aye, it’s verra stuffy in here,” Giselle added, fanning her face.
Bronwen watched the two women rush away with a puzzled look, then glanced back at Euan. “It is rather warm in here. I could use some air too, I suppose.”
Thank the saints. Getting her away from the crowd had been easier than he anticipated. Euan offered her his arm, and they took their punch cups through the throngs of ballroom dancers and chatterers until they crossed over the threshold into the night air. The sun had yet to set all the way but cast a grayish-purple glow over the back garden.
Several other couples milled about in their own corners. Hushed whispers reserved only for each other, and his chest swelled with anticipation. He led Bronwen to a corner of their own, leaning his elbow against the stone rail to steady himself.
“How are ye enjoying the ball?” he asked, taking a sip of his punch and wishing it were whisky. Good heavens, but he felt as though he were a wee lad asking the first lass he’d ever met if she cared to dance. Only this was so much bigger than that.
She grinned, glancing back toward the dancers inside. “Quite a bit more than I anticipated.” Her gaze slid back to his. “But I must apologize, for ye’ve yet to dance with any of the other lasses. And it would seem the only one ye’ve had yet to talk to besides me was Lady Mary.” She shook her head and placed her punch cup on the railing. “And I dare say that was no’ what ye expected.”
Euan chuckled softly. “No’ at all.” He set his cup on the railing and then took Bronwen’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Everything save for Lady Mary is exactly the way I want it.” Then, he raised her hand toward his mouth and pressed his lips to the fabric of her knuckles.
Bronwen sucked in a breath, her eyes wide as she stared at him. “Captain?”
Now. Now was the perfect time for him to confess everything. He had her full attention, and they were not in danger of being interrupted, at least not yet. If he didn’t do it now, he might lose the opportunity.
With a deep breath, he plunged ahead. “I do no’ care about any of those other lasses. And I do no’ want to talk to them. Ever since ye stormed my castle, Bronwen Holmes, ye’ve laid siege to my heart. I must confess how verra much I admire ye. And that I wish to make ye my wife. No’ anyone else. I want to spend the rest of my life with ye. Dancing with ye. Laughing with ye. I love ye. And I can no’ imagine feeling that way about anyone else. I do no’ want to feel that way with anyone but ye. When I think of my future, of my family, it is with ye there, right beside me.”
With every word he uttered, her eyes grew wider until they were twin moons peering back at him, glistening with tears. Her lips had parted in a small O, and she looked shocked at his confession. But she wasn’t saying anything. Her hands were trembling in his, and he had the sudden fear she might bolt.
“My sisters adore ye as much as I do. And I’m saying all of this now because Bronwen, ye would make me the happiest man alive if ye would agree to be my wife.”
She shook her head slowly at first, then faster. “I am flattered, sir, but I can no’ accept your proposal.”
Euan was stunned. She yanked her hands away from his grasp. This was not at all what he’d expected to happen. Certainly, he thought she might be confused, but a flat-out denial? A pain started somewhere in the middle of his chest.
Her words gutted him worse than any cannonball on the battlefield ever could have. “Why?” he managed to say.
Bronwen swiped at a tear that fell down her cheek. “There’s too much we do no’ know about each other. Too much ye do no’ know about me.”
“Then tell me,” he said earnestly. “There’s nothing ye could say that would make me change my mind.”
She shook her head all the more, biting her lip as tears spilled down her cheeks lovely cheeks. Recalling the lesson in the garden at Drum, he pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. Bronwen took the offer and dabbed at her eyes.
“Ye will be happier with someone else,” she said in a voice that was tight with emotion. “Someone who was born and bred to be your wife. I am less than common, Euan. Less than everyone. I will only sully your bloodline and your reputation. No’ to mention that of your sisters’, all of them.”
Euan was reeling from her words. Who would dare think she didn’t deserve to be his? “I do no’ care where ye were born or to whom, Bronwen. I’ve never cared about that sort of thing. I know I love ye, and I want no other.” It was as simple as that in his mind.
However, it seemed to go so much further in hers, beyond where he could fathom.
“Ye should care,” she insisted.
“Nay I should no’. That does no’ make ye who ye are, and it bears no weight on how I feel. I love ye.”
“Och, nay, Euan. Ye can no’. Ye must understand.”
But he didn’t. He stared at her, confused, hurt. She made no sense. All he could comprehend was that the woman he loved was refusing him because of what other people might think about her upbringing. God, it was so strange, but he realized how Bronwen worried much more about bloodlines than even he had.
“I’m sorry.” And then, she turned and fled down the wide stone steps of the balcony into the garden before he could pull her back or explain that none of that mattered.
Whispers buzzed like a horde of bees from those who’d witnessed her hasty retreat, but Euan didn’t give a damn about them. All he cared about was the woman running away from him.
And he simply couldn’t let her go.
Bronwen knew well how to stick to the edges of view in the streets, having raced through them before a hundr
ed times. Escaping via the garden gate had been simple. Ignoring the sound of Euan calling her name as he searched the shadowed garden behind her had been harder but necessary.
Hiding from Euan, and anyone else he might send after her, was going to be easier than when she’d escaped from Prince’s henchmen because those aristocratic men didn’t know how to run the thoroughfares like those of lesser classes such as herself. Especially with the sun having finally set, casting the alleyways into deep, cavernous shadows.
Angry, bitter tears stung her eyes as she kept close to the walls and darkened passages. Disappointment tugged at her gut. Mostly at herself for giving him the impression that there could be a future together. She’d gotten too carried away in the moments. Enjoyed too much the forbidden fruit of his affection.
She should have left days ago. Weeks ago. In fact, she should have never come back to Edinburgh. The only thing on her mind right now needed to be her escape route. But of course, everything else was reeling inside her until she wasn’t watching where she was going, darting blindly through the closes.
How could Euan have asked her? How could he have expected her to say “aye?”
To marry him…to be his bride. To be lady to his castle, mother to his children. To be a part of his family. His large and frustratingly wonderful family.
The tears came then in a torrent, and she stopped for a minute, ducking in the doorway in one of the alleys so she could catch her breath and wipe the tears from her eyes that blinded her. Every teardrop she swiped with his handkerchief, which she still clutched, had her recalling when he’d undone his cravat and handed it her garden. How this time he’d had one on hand to give her. How easily he’d cared for her and how she’d thrown it away.
And with good reason.
Her parents’ debts were not a burden she could ever place on him. Nor the stigma of what marrying a woman like her would mean for his sisters. She was rubbish, and she knew it. To bring her into his fold as anything more than the hired help would mean terrible marriages for his sisters and going broke to pay off Prince. And the harm they would inflict. Oh my God, she couldn’t even imagine the danger that would befall them if Prince and his henchmen found out.
