“It’s an important three years.” Agnes placed her hands on her hips as though it made her an authority. “I’ll come out next season and…”
“English snob.” Ainsley stuck out her tongue.
“See,” Agnes pointed at her. “Childish.”
Clarissa cleared her throat. “I’m sure they had a perfectly good reason.” Taking a breath, she pushed through the next words. “Fiona and Lord McDougal are getting married. And perhaps Lord McKenna has decided to court Emilia. She has such a lovely—”
But she stopped because Agnes had given a tiny, almost inaudible gasp. Looking at her cousin, she could see that Agnes had paled and her lips trembled. Perhaps Agnes didn’t dislike Lord McKenna quite as much as she had declared.
Dinner that evening, with all the company assembled, may have been one of the most uncomfortable events she’d attended in quite some time. Besides her own engagement party, of course.
Fiona was silent and sullen. Though why that would be, Clarissa had no idea.
Ainsley and Agnes were still angry. Agnes mostly pouted, which was in stark contrast to her normally bubbly personality, while Ainsley did her best to throw barbs at every opportunity.
“How was the ride?” Uncle Haggis asked.
“Lovely,” Ewan had answered.
“I wish I knew.” Ainsley stuck out her lip.
Ewan cleared his throat, looking at her uncle. “The morning ride was rained out and so we took a second, smaller party out in the afternoon.”
Uncle Haggis winked. “Of course. Small groups make for better conversation.” Than he chuckled at his own meaning.
Both Ewan and Fiona gave him a strained smile.
Keiran joined in the chuckle. “Interesting conversation, indeed.”
Agnes whipped her head around. “If you had any manners, you’d conduct yourself as a gentleman.”
His eyebrows rose. “There was nothing ungentlemanly in what I just said.”
Agnes tossed her napkin on her plate. “And what about sitting on your horse while women are stranded on the side of the road?”
“Agnes,” Aunt Judith chastised. “What has gotten into all of you this evening?”
Aunt Judith looked to Clarissa with a questioning glance but Clarissa understood as little as her aunt. She would have to speak with Agnes and find out.
Ewan knew exactly what was happening within the group at the table, which didn’t improve his mood whatsoever. Clarissa had not looked at him once, nor had she spoken a word.
He’d seen the way she’d looked at him and Fiona. But there was nothing to do for it. He’d not let Fiona be shunned as a jilted bride, even it meant his own happiness. He was first and foremost a man of honor, and that meant standing by Fiona, rather than allowing her to be ruined. But damn, it was difficult. Every glance at Clarissa heated his blood. He wanted to explore those feelings with her, not tie himself to Fiona.
He considered explaining it to her but then thought better of it. It somehow implied there was something between them when there wasn’t.
As dinner finished, several members of the party shot up, as though they couldn’t wait to exit the dining room.
Uncle Haggis looked at Aunt Rhona as though they’d all gone mad. “Everyone to the music room.” He clapped his hands. “McDougals don’t go to bed early.”
If they could have, they’d all have groaned aloud. But the group dutifully filed up the main stairs and into the spacious music room.
Agnes clapped when she saw the pianoforte at one end of the room. “You have one!”
“It’s Scotland, not the ends of the earth.” Ainsley grumped. She was likely still angry about their discussion earlier.
“Is it all right if I play?” she asked.
Uncle Haggis gave her a broad smile, “Of course, lass. That’s why we’re here.”
She seated herself on the bench and tested a few keys. Clarissa also loved to play. She and Agnes spent hours practicing. After Agnes’s father had passed two years ago, her cousin and aunt came to live with her family. Clarissa had actually missed her first season to mourn with them.
Lord Davenport had begun his courtship before she’d even officially come out. She supposed she’d never had a real season, not that it mattered to her.
Agnes broke into a light and playful song that melted any melancholy off her face.
Everyone broke into a smile as her skillful fingers danced over the keys. Her aunts began to clap, swaying to the music while Emilia grabbed Ainsley’s arm and, pulling her from the chair, broke into a jig.
Clarissa grinned too, clapping with her aunts. Even Fiona returned to herself, jumping up and circling around her sisters.
Keiran had the largest grin of all. “It soothes my tired soul.” He tilted his head back, letting the music wash over him.
As the song ended, Agnes turned to Clarissa. “Why don’t you play that Highland song you’ve been working on?”
Clarissa hesitated. It was mournful song about the tyranny of the English. Her mother had insisted she learn it but the mournful strains had spoken to her. She was sure Ewan would likely enjoy it but it would depress the mood that had just lifted. “It’s awfully melancholy.”
Agnes waved her hand. “It’s Aunt Fenella’s favorite and Clarissa plays it beautifully.”
It was, indeed, her mother’s favorite song that Clarissa played. Clarissa took a seat on the bench, going through each section of the song in her mind. Taking a breath, she tapped a few keys to test them and then struck the first notes.
She hadn’t played since everything had happened. But all the pain and humiliation rushed to her fingertips and cried out in the notes of the song. She didn’t look at anyone, she barely looked at anything, even the keys in front of her, as all that emotion poured into the song.
The sadness, anger, inability to affect change. Every note struck an emotional chord. Each stroke of a key coming from her heart until the very last note died.
No one had made a sound through the piece and it took a few moments before she could bring herself to open her eyes.
Slowly, fluttering them open, she looked to the assembled guests. Aunt Judith sat crying, tears silently sliding down her face. When their eyes locked, her aunt’s face spasmed in pain. “I can’t imagine how much it hurt, Clarissa.”
“Please don’t.” Her eyes searched every face then, to see their reaction. Aunt Rhona held her hands over her mouth while Fiona and Emilia looked at their laps.
Uncle Haggis reached up to wipe a tear from his eye. That almost undid her, because she’d never seen her uncle cry.
Last, her eyes met Ewan’s. He had given up his seat and stood two steps in front of the settee he’d been seated on, his hand partially raised toward her. His face was a mask of stone, his brows drawn together, though she didn’t know if he pitied her or was simply reacting to the emotion of the song. But she didn’t want to find out.
“I…I’m very tired. I think I’ll go to bed.” She stood abruptly, knocking the bench backward.
Uncle Haggis stood then too. He shook his head. “I love ye like my own daughter. So I’m going to tell you that it’s time to stop running. Most of all, from yer family and from yer self.”
Words failed her as the truth of the statement slammed into her. She’d physically run from London, but emotionally she ducked away every time it was difficult. She gave a nod to acknowledge her uncle but couldn’t make her voice work to answer. Clearing her throat, she finally answered, “I will.”
Then she turned to pick up the bench and suddenly Ewan was next to her. She couldn’t look at him and so she struggled to right the bench instead. Strong hands lifted the wooden frame she’d been grasping to haul it back up.
She reached for the cushioned seat to slide it back in place but his hand grazed hers. She made to pull back but he held it tight. Then she looked in his eyes. She was afraid he would ask questions or look at her with pity, but he did neither. Instead his eyes were kind, filled with unders
tanding. “I was wrong about you, lass. You’re a Scot through and through.”
She returned the smile. That validation eased her ache. He didn’t ask her anything else as he helped her stand. Walking back around the pianoforte, he offered her his elbow. She took it, and somehow touching him made it easier to take her seat rather than run away.
Her family was still looking at her, but the gazes had changed. Instead of sadness or pity, they were watching her with…curiosity. Now, what was that all about?
Chapter 7
Ewan tried to get his emotions under control. War had made him exceptionally disciplined so the feeling of spinning wildly off course was shocking, nauseating, and just a touch exhilarating too. Fortunately, it was the middle of the night and he was alone in his room so no one would witness as he came undone.
He knew exactly what was causing the emotion. That little pixie, Clarissa. What confounded him was what to do about it.
Earlier that day, he’d travelled with Fiona, Keiran, and Emilia to the Campbell estates under the guise of going for another ride. He and Fiona had ridden in front.
“What will you say to him?” He’d asked.
“I know how to handle, Colin.” She bit back.
Irritation washed through him. “As well as you handled him earlier? This affects us both. I’ve a right to know what you’ll say.”
He heard her breath hiss out. “I’ll tell him the truth. I made up it up and you were too much a gentleman to call me out. Does that make you happy? I’ll be humiliated.”
“I don’t wish to see you humiliated.” He turned to look at her then. “If we were to actually marry, none of this would be necessary.”
Her face pinched but her answer was guarded. “Do ye want to marry me?”
He considered his answer, but decided to ask a question instead. “Are ye in love with Colin?” He needed to know. This was their future.
“Are ye in love with Clarissa?” She turned to him, eyes flashing.
He blinked a few times. He barely knew her. Of course he wasn’t in love. But there was this pull that he couldn’t deny.
For the moment, he couldn’t leave Castle Kounan. While Fiona sought out Colin and explained why she’d said what she did, there was no telling what might happen. If Colin announced her error to his clan, Fiona would need his help.
He’d allow her to publicly denounce him. Then she wouldn’t be humiliated. He didn’t live here, it was no trouble to him. But she’d never live it down.
But he couldn’t escape his attraction to Clarissa, though she’d given him almost no encouragement.
Her pain had been near palpable while she’d played the pianoforte and, like a bolt of lightning, he’d become aware of what had been hidden just below her surface. He didn’t know what she’d been through, but he knew her feelings mirrored his own. That desire to run and hide from the world that had been so cruel.
He masked it better, with angry barbs about the bloody English. But there was an understanding of shared pain.
One that was difficult to accept if ye hadn’t been through it. Their second riding party of the day had been a trip to Campbell lands. They’d decided it would be best if Fiona explained to Colin that she wasn’t exactly engaged. Fiona had blurted out on the ride there that Ewan was too serious for her to marry anyway.
The lass was angry and lashing out. But deeper than that, she likely found him too stoic. He couldna help it though, he’d seen too much to want to frolic without considering responsibility and he needed a woman who would understand what he’d been through.
So unless Colin outed Fiona, he’d likely not marry her. Much as he wanted to be settled, she wasna right for him.
And Clarissa. He ran his hands through his hair, sitting up in bed. It was no use lying down. He grabbed his kilt and pulled it on, stalking over to the window to watch the moonlight play along the ocean. Clarissa was all wrong for completely different reasons.
She was too wrapped in her own cloak of agony to open her heart. He gave his head a shake. Was that what he wanted? Her heart? His brain was going soft.
She didn’t like him and, what was more, she needed time to heal.
Even if that wasn’t true, he’d said he wanted a true Scottish lass. He ran his hands through his hair again. What did that even mean? No she didna have wild hair as she flew across the heather on her horse, but she was strong, full of emotion, passionate, and beautiful. She was glorious. Would he really pass that up because her father was English?
The swish of paper caught his attention. He watched as a folded note slipped under his door. In an instant he was sprinting across his room. He didn’t need to read it to know Clarissa had delivered it; the paper smelled of her.
For a second, he considered reading the words first but then she’d be gone, and so instead, he wrenched open the door and stepped into the hall.
Clarissa had only made it a few paces, but her back was to him. As she turned, surprise lit her features and she opened her mouth. Afraid she would scream, he stepped up to her and wrapped his arm around her waist, the other coming to cover her mouth.
The soft fabric of her nightdress rubbed against his bare chest as her body molded to his. His arm fit perfectly in the crook of her back as her breasts crushed against him. He’d meant to tell her that he’d do her no harm. That he grabbed her to keep them from being discovered. But at the contact of their bodies, all reason left his mind.
Instead he removed his hand and replaced it with his lips. Slanting open her mouth, his tongue plundered hers as the taste of honey made him groan with need.
As his tongue withdrew and then repeated the tasting, it was met by her own tongue tentatively returning the gesture.
He nearly came undone. Backing her against the wall, he deepened the kiss further, pressing their bodies together, his hands molding to her ripe buttocks to lift her higher, press them closer still.
His cock was near bursting, and as he lifted her higher, it settled between her legs, only their clothes separating them. But he knew he’d reached the spot where she needed contact because she bucked and moaned. “Yes,” her voice hissed.
Continuing to plunder her mouth, he lifted her further, rubbing her against him. Her legs locked around his waist and luscious hips started working to help him with the movement. All the while making the most delicious little noises.
He tried to recall the last time he held a woman like this or when a female had responded so instantly and completely to his touch.
But he couldna picture anything but her. Dimly, he was aware they were still in the hall and he picked her up, not stopping the rhythm, but he started carrying her into his room. They needed some privacy.
But as they stepped through the door, her body went rigid against his and she began pushing him away.
“What’s the matter, lass?” he asked, completely mystified by her sudden change of behavior.
“I…I…shouldn’t be in your room.” She stopped struggling, talking calming her. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He held her still, not moving but not letting her go. “I just thought you’d not want to be discovered in the hall.”
“Of course I don’t. But anything could happen in your chamber—”
He gave her a small, light kiss. “Nothing’s going to happen, lass. Nothing that you don’t want.” He kissed her again and she softened, just a little.
“No bed,” he crooned softly. “And all of our clothes stay on.” He kissed a trail along her cheek to her ear and then down her neck. “My kilt won’t move an inch. I thought just to finish ye with what we were doing. Rubbing and kissing…nothing more.”
“That’s it.” She arched her neck back to allow him access. “We won’t actually do…that?”
He felt her skin heat and he smiled as he continued kissing down her neck to her collarbone. “Nae, mo chridhe. I just want to bring you a little pleasure. Nothing more. I swear it.”
She flexed her hips to rub against him just
a little and he groaned as a coo escaped her lips. Using his hands, he guided her up and down as she rubbed against his clothed shaft, her moans growing faster and louder.
He longed to lift the hem of her nightdress and sink a finger inside her, feel her wetness and her heat but he had promised, and so he resisted.
His lips had reached the neckline of her gown and flicking open the ties with one hand he drew the fabric to the side to take one luscious nipple in his mouth.
He could have done this for hours, but with a single flick of his tongue, she came undone. It was beautiful and so intoxicating that he wanted more.
His lips found hers and kissed her over and over as spasm after spasm wracked her body, his arms creating a cradle for her.
Then she melted into him. It seemed as though every inch of her skin touched his and a fresh wave of need overtook him. Her head cradled into the crook of his neck. “Oh that was…” Her voice drifted off not completing the thought.
He had to get her back to her room before he forgot all about the promise he’d just made.
With that in mind, he sprinted down the hall with her still in his arms, his body pulsing with need. It looked as though he wouldn’t be getting any sleep at all.
Chapter 8
Her first waking thought was that it had been the most delicious night of her life. Her second was that Ewan McDougal was undoubtedly the second worst rake she’d ever met. Granted, she’d only met two. And the first had destroyed her in front of all of society.
At least this time if she were ruined, she’d had fun. Delicious, wonderful, intoxicating fun. And she deserved to be a fallen woman now. Unlike before, where her only real crime was poor judgment. But a cancelled wedding was unforgivable.
Still, she had to stay far away from Ewan McDougal. She’d likely encouraged him with the letter she’d slipped under his door. She’d thanked him for saving her from the horse. Words she’d meant to say but hadn’t.
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