It's Getting Scot in Here

by Suzanne Enoch

  They stopped. In the middle of the waltz, in the middle of the other dancers, they simply stopped. And then he lowered his hands from her, turned his back, and walked off the highly polished floor.

  With a hard breath she turned around. Couples swirled in front of her and behind her, sweeping across the ballroom floor. Farther away, among the nonparticipants, a low murmur began. Amelia-Rose clenched her fists. Oh no, oh no. This would ruin her. She’d turned Coll down, and he’d just ensured that she would never, ever make another match. She would be living in Baxter House until she was so old she turned to dust.

  “Look at me,” a low brogue came from directly in front of her.

  A shiver ran up her spine. Niall. “I don’t want to,” she whispered.

  A warm, rough hand took hold of hers. “Then just waltz with me, lass,” Niall murmured.

  His free hand encircled her waist, and she did look up to meet his impossibly light eyes. “You don’t have to, you know. I’m ru—”

  “I want to,” he returned.

  He swung her back into the waltz, and she closed her eyes against her sudden tears, dug her fingers into his shoulder, and she danced.

  Chapter Nine

  “Thank you,” Amelia-Rose breathed when she began to feel a bit steadier, looking up to meet Niall’s pale-green gaze.

  “Ye’re white as a sheet, for Christ’s sake,” he said, his tone low but sharper than she was accustomed to hearing from him. “What the devil did he say to ye?”

  “Give me a moment, will you?”

  His fingers around hers flexed. “Aye. I can do that.”

  A moment ago she’d been in a battle, and she’d won. And then she’d very soundly lost. Every nerve felt sharp and raw, and she held on to Niall to keep from stumbling. She had effectively ended the agreement and the engagement; even if Coll for some reason changed his mind, her mother would never allow the marriage now.

  Coll’s actions did prove how little regard he had for her. Yes, she’d insulted him, but she didn’t think that had anything to do with his abandonment. She’d simply ceased to be useful, and so he’d walked away.

  “Ye and Coll are like oil and water, lass, but ye knew that already,” Niall went on after a moment. “I reckon then that whatever just happened, it went past what either of ye expected.”

  “I … He was very honest. I can’t fault him for that,” she said finally, wishing her voice would stop shaking. “I lost my temper. I don’t want a marriage where I’m ignored and abandoned. If that’s selfish, then I suppose I’m selfish.”

  “I cannae think it’s a sin to want a measure of happiness,” he replied.

  “Exactly.” She’d told her parents her opinion at the very beginning of this, but that had been more nebulous, more about being forced into a marriage with a stranger simply because he had “Lord” in front of his name. “I could have been less strident about it. I shouldn’t have called him a buffoon.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away. No crying where anyone else could see.

  He made a sound deep in his chest that might have been amusement. “I’ve called him that, if we’re being honest.”

  Amelia-Rose lifted her chin. “I told you that I like my life. I see no reason I should give it up for a boor who offers me nothing but criticism and sheep and loneliness, wants me to continue living at my parents’ home and, if I have children, means to take them from me.”

  His grip didn’t shift, but she had the distinct feeling that he’d just become angry. Quite angry. At her? That, she didn’t know. “He said he’d take yer bairns?”

  “He said I was to live in London, and they would live in Scotland.”

  They twirled in silence for a turn. “I reckon he meant to make ye angry. If he can claim this is yer fault, then he still hasnae broken the agreement between my parents.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He was raised without a mama. To claim up front that he’d take any bairn from its mother’s arms … He’d nae do that.” Niall frowned. “I cannae imagine him doing that.” He muttered something else that sounded like a curse.

  “Have you asked him?”

  “Nae. I reckon I will, now.”

  “I did try to keep an open mind, Niall,” she told him. “And you … Your friendship and consideration lifted my estimation of your brother. You’re the better man, though. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

  “Nae. I’m different, is all. In some ways. I’m as much a MacTaggert as he is, and I shear as many sheep as any of us.”

  “You actually do shear sheep?” she asked, snatching at a chance to change the subject. She needed to keep speaking, though; dancing in his arms felt … not quite safe, but protected. It was heady after her previous fear that she’d sink right through the floor, and she needed all her wits about her right now.

  “I do. We’re nae at Aldriss just to be pretty. There’s always plenty of work to be done, and I’ve a strong back. I reckon I can do my part to help.”

  She nodded, lowering her gaze to his simply tied cravat. Unlike most of her male friends he hadn’t arranged the stiff white cloth into a waterfall or a clever bow or a billowing cascade. Just a single pin in the shape of a thistle provided decoration. Likewise his black coat and dark-blue waistcoat were without ornament, the plainness of them broken only by their rows of silver buttons. No gold-threaded stitching, no stiff, high collar or faux medals or paisley patterns or embroidered monograms.

  “If you’re so busy working, how do you know the waltz?” she asked.

  “Is this what ye want to chat about?”

  “Very much so,” she said feelingly.

  Niall drew her a breath closer as the swirled about the room. “A long-legged fellow, a dance master, he said he was, came to the village offering to teach all the lasses for two shillings apiece. Anyway, we convinced this stork to teach us, as well.”

  She could imagine it, three dark-haired lions and a stork teaching them to dance the waltz. The poor man must have been terrified, but for heaven’s sake, in her opinion it had been well worth the fright. He danced without effort, every ounce of his attention seemingly on her. With Coll it had been a battle; with Niall, she soared.

  “Will you lose Aldriss now?” she asked slowly, swallowing away her nerves. If this waltz could last forever, that would be magnificent.

  He cocked his head. “That, I couldnae say. Ye’re the lass Lady Aldriss chose for him, but he made it look as if ye turned him away … Francesca keeps telling me she wants us back in her life. Forcing Coll into a marriage neither of ye want doesnae seem the way to do that. She may agree to choose a different lass for him.”

  “And then you’ll go and charm that lass on your brother’s behalf, I imagine?”

  “Nae. I dunnae think I have it in me to charm another lass.” Niall glanced down at their joined hands for a moment, then lifted his gaze again. “In the theater box that night, Coll meant to send ye into tears. Instead ye sent him running like a scalded cat.”

  “I didn’t intend to do that, though. A lady doesn’t show discomfiture or annoyance. It’s not proper.”

  “For a London lass it’s nae proper. The lasses in the Highlands can hold their own. When I sat next to ye, ye looked me straight in the eye and dared me to make an excuse for Coll.” His mouth curved in a slow smile. “Ye caught my attention.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted in response. “You saw all that just from me looking at you? I’m somewhat skeptical, Niall. Yes, I was annoyed, but more that your brother had just revealed himself to be exactly the caricature of a Highlander I had imagined.”

  “I can safely say ye’re nae at all what I had in my mind when I rode down to London. I told ye I reckoned I’d find ye’d all be pale, simpering, dour husks that didnae have a drop of warm blood in ye.”

  That was what she’d been trying to be, really. When he described a proper young lady, she sounded horrid. Was it so awful, then, that she wasn’t quite one of them? Being a husk would c
ertainly be easier, but it left no room for warm-blooded things like laughter and happiness and love. “What did you find?” she asked aloud, though she wasn’t certain she wanted to know the answer.

  The music stopped before he could answer. It felt … odd, as if she’d accidentally stepped onto a cloud, only to realize that a cloud couldn’t possibly hold her. The audience applauded, and she belatedly let go of Niall’s shoulder and his hand to join them. As she turned away, though, he caught her left hand and tucked it around his forearm. “What did I find?” he repeated, and before she was even aware of it, they were outside on the balcony overlooking the garden.

  “What are—”

  “I found ye,” he interrupted, and leaned in to catch her mouth with his.

  A delighted thrill sent shivers up her arms, her previous tragedy forgotten—or at least set well aside. Niall MacTaggert. He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. Amelia-Rose drank in the heat and taste of him, putting her hands over his broad shoulders and lifting up on her toes. In return he deepened his kiss, his breath warm along her cheek and his mouth teasing at hers in a way that left her both satisfied and yearning all in the same swirl of warmth.

  Far too soon he broke the kiss, lifting his face an inch or so from hers. “Ye needed a breath of air, adae,” he whispered, “because of yer shock over Coll leaving ye cold on the dance floor.”

  “Wh—”

  “Amelia-Rose.” Her mother’s sharp voice came as Niall ducked out from under her arms and took a long step sideways. “Where are y— Whyever are you out here, unchaperoned?”

  She turned around as her mother’s footsteps tapped up behind her. “I needed a breath of air,” she said, her mind feeling misty and dreamy. Wake up, she ordered herself. Now was not the time to lose her wits. She’d just been kissed, not rescued.

  “I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Baxter retorted, sending at glare at Niall—who now stood a perfectly respectable distance away from her. “You. Where is your brother?”

  “I’m nae his keeper, Mrs. Baxter.”

  “Well, someone needs to be. This is unforgivable. I can’t even imagine the gossip now. I’ll be the laughingstock of London. What did you say to him, Amelia-Rose? For heaven’s sake.”

  “He told me what he wanted in a wife. Someone to remain here in London, living with you, and to wait for him to send for me so he could get me with child, take the babe, and then send me back to London again. Like a … a brood mare or something! I told him that was unacceptable.”

  Victoria snapped her mouth shut. “He would have married you, then?”

  Of course that was what would matter to her. “Yes, he would have married me. I will not marry him.”

  “You have ruined everything. Again.” Mrs. Baxter put a hand to her temple. “We may not have announced it officially, but everyone knew he was to marry you. Everyone.” She turned to glare at Niall. “You barbarians!”

  “Mother, Niall saved me,” Amelia-Rose protested, though “helpful” wasn’t the first word that came to mind when she looked at him. “Improper,” definitely. And “scorchingly desirable.”

  “That is more than enough from you, Amelia-Rose. Where is your mother, Mr. MacTaggert? I will not carry on with this farce for another minute. He insulted my daughter in the middle of the Spenfield ball. In front of everyone. That cannot—will not—be tolerated. Do you hear me?”

  “I’m nae deaf,” he returned coolly, leaning a hip against the iron railing of the balcony. “And I’m nae about to scamper off and fetch my mama to deal with ye.”

  “Well, you certainly have no say in matters here. Promises were made.”

  He sent Amelia-Rose a sideways look. “I didnae promise anything. Did ye promise anything, lass?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  She would never have said that if it had been her alone. But she was tired of being caught up in all these machinations for status and respectability, and Niall’s plain, outspoken manner felt refreshing. And she wanted him to kiss her again.

  “Amelia-Rose Hyacinth Baxter,” Victoria snapped. “You will return to that ballroom at once and dance your next dance.” She pivoted to glare again at Niall. “And you will inform your mother that Mr. Baxter and I will be calling on her at ten o’clock in the morning and that we are most displeased.”

  “I’ll alert the pipers, then,” he said dryly.

  Amelia-Rose didn’t know if he was jesting or not, but her mother practically dragged her off the balcony and back into the ballroom, so she couldn’t ask him. Part of her hoped he wasn’t.

  So she and Coll had apparently broken their agreement, but a whole new box of troubles had just opened. At this moment only two things comforted her—that Niall had saved her on the dance floor, and that whatever happened, she wasn’t going to have to marry Niall’s brother.

  As for that kiss … Good heavens. She didn’t want to think logically yet, but she did have to acknowledge that Niall possessed the very same detriments as his older brother—he was a rough-hewn, mannerless Highlander who disdained London. He’d said he wished he could return home. He was even less acceptable to her parents—and oh, she wanted him. She did. Trying to convince herself otherwise …

  But nothing had been resolved. No one had pledged anything, and she still had a very large problem.

  She could conclude now that what she’d suspected was true, that the past days he’d spent in her company hadn’t been solely on his brother’s behalf, just for the sake of Aldriss Park. He’d as much as warned her that she and Coll wouldn’t suit. But had he done that for her, or for him? Just because he’d been correct didn’t excuse the way he’d essentially backstabbed his brother—or did it?

  What did Niall want from her, anyway? Her virtue? Her hand in marriage? He’d never courted her on his own behalf, after all. All she knew was that half the women in the ballroom wanted him, and that her lack of propriety didn’t seem to trouble him a whit. And that being the focus of his attention and his desire was the most heady thing she’d ever experienced in her life. Goodness. Her legs felt weak, and she didn’t think it was still because of Coll’s rudeness.

  This was not going to end well. She knew that as well as she knew anything. Niall had stopped a nightmare in midstride, but that didn’t make him the answer to all her problems. Even if he had been proper and English, he lacked a title. Her parents—her mother—wouldn’t allow any man without a title to walk away with her daughter. Amelia-Rose had heard her say it; she’d been close to aristocracy all her life, close enough to touch, but not inside the door. Victoria Baxter wanted inside that door, even if it was as the duchess’s or marchioness’s or countess’s or viscountess’s mother.

  Aside from all that, Niall wasn’t very proper. In fact he seemed to delight in tossing propriety onto its head. Nor was he English. He had no love for her native land, no respect for the traditions of her or her peers—even though they were his peers, as well—and he’d expected to find an empty-headed, weak-willed lady for himself. He’d told her so, if not in those exact words.

  Amelia-Rose shook herself. He’d kissed her. That was all. He hadn’t proposed, or declared that he’d fallen for her, or anything more than that he found her charming. Yes, the kiss had been magnificent, and yes, she liked him a great deal, but she had no idea what it all meant. Logically she needed to figure that out before she began lamenting all the things that could never be.

  Thomas Dennison hesitantly stepped forward to claim her for the country dance, and after a word from her to explain that Lord Glendarril had choked on something and had had to send in his brother as his second, she was out on the dance floor jumping and twirling again. She tried to enjoy herself; after all, she did love dancing, and the social interaction and conversation and glamour of a grand ball.

  With every turn, though, her gaze went to the guests who weren’t dancing. Her mother’s glare lingered for barely a heartbeat. Her father’s annoyance for the same length of time, if that. There was Lady Aldriss,
her brow furrowed, her attention on her youngest son. And there stood Niall MacTaggert, saying something brief to the countess and then meeting Amelia-Rose’s gaze. And most unsettling and electrifying of all, this time he didn’t bother to hide his smile.

  * * *

  “You were unforgivably rude, Coll.”

  Coll sat back in his chair at the breakfast table and folded his arms over his chest. “Aye. I reckon I’m calling yer bluff, Lady Aldriss. And only because Aldriss Park is involved, I’ll tell ye the lass turned me away.”

  Niall, seated across the small table from his oldest brother, looked down, stabbing another pork sausage to cover the move and his roiling anger. He’d known Amelia-Rose had serious reservations about Coll, and vice versa, but Coll had nearly ruined her. For a lass as sensitive about her reputation as she was, that had been devastating. She had plenty of spleen, aye, but last night could have gone very, very differently.

  “And I suppose you haven’t got any idea why she would do such a thing,” Lady Aldriss countered.

  “Nae.” He pinned her with a glare. “I only described what I intended for our marriage—one that mirrors yers. Her staying in London, me carrying on in the Highlands, and any bairns she might have residing with me.”

  The countess’s cheeks paled beneath her carefully applied blush. “You’re a cruel boy. You wanted to hurt me, and instead you hurt an innocent young lady whose parents put far too heavy a burden on her shoulders.”

  Coll looked away at that, finding something out the window to catch caught his eye. “She called me a buffoon.”

  Aden, at the far end of the table, snorted. “Good for her.”

  “Shut yer gobber. At least ye have a say in which Sassenach ye’re leg-shackled to.”

  “For your information,” their mother countered, “and aside from the fact that you’ve violated the terms of my agreement with your father, I have made inquiries about you over the years. I know you to be hotheaded and abrupt, not one to suffer fools in silence. I chose Amelia-Rose Baxter with you in mind, my son. She is clever and quick-witted and very kind as well as being lovely—a perfect counter to you.”