Lavinia and the Laird (Bluestocking Brides Book 0)
Page 11
Lavinia fixed a polite smile in place that she hoped looked innocent. “Well, this is not the way to the orangery. Silly me.”
Scurrying away, heart pounding, she pushed loose strands of her hair from her face and followed the path that led directly into the building. Footmen in livery also stood by the generous rear doors but they did not seem to be checking if people belonged there. After all, why should they? No one would enter a party by squeezing through a hedge.
Gaze fixed on the dancers inside, she avoided eye contact with the two men and stepped swiftly inside. The scent of perfume and cigar smoke washed over her, and the change in temperature from outside was dramatic. Guests were cloistered around the dance floor, almost chest to chest and shoulder to shoulder. Strains of music seemed to vibrate through the air while all around her was movement and laughter.
Her world stilled, however.
There he was. Dancing with a young, thin lady who had a delicate aura to her. Lavinia had never thought she was one to be prone to jealousy but there it was, needling at her heart. She shook the sensation away. Niall had to dance—it would be rude of him not to. The way the girl looked at him returned the sensation, though.
“Miss!”
Lavinia glanced over her shoulder to see a footman approaching her. No doubt her ragged appearance had drawn attention and those around her had started to take notice. It would have been her worst nightmare once.
Not anymore, however.
Ignoring the man, she forged deeper into the crowds. While the high attendance made it hard for her to make her way around the ballroom, it also prevented the footman getting any closer without being rude. Now, if only she could catch Niall’s eye.
She made her way closer to the edge of the dance floor and managed to position herself so that he might see her if he looked up. She paused, aware the footman was nearing and held her breath.
Please look up, please look up. All she needed was one glance.
He looked her way. Her heart threatened to jump from her throat.
“Miss, should you be here?”
Lavinia whirled to find the footman next to her. She eyed his stature. Footmen were generally chosen for their height and good looks and this man was no different. If he wanted, he could fling her over his shoulder and cart her away.
“Whatever do you mean?” she said as haughtily as she could.
“Miss, do you have an invitation?” His gaze skimmed her attire.
“Well, of course. I would not be here otherwise, would I?”
“I think you had better come with me.” He made to grab her arm but she retreated.
“I would not make a scene if I were you,” he murmured.
Lavinia lifted her chin and stared him down. She spent many years trying not to make a scene. All her sisters made scenes—even Amelia on occasion—and they had survived. For once in her life, she was not going to go peacefully.
She pushed the man, sending him stumbling back into the crowd around them. Cries of surprise and annoyance rose and Lavinia used the opportunity to get closer to the dancers.
“Niall!”
He didn’t hear her, nor did he look her way. Oh Lord, what if it was true? What if he really had found someone else and was ignoring her?
A strong hand wrapped around her arm. She peeked up into the man’s face, wincing at his furious expression. Apparently the footman did not appreciate being pushed about.
“Come with me now, miss,” he said firmly.
Lavinia tugged fruitlessly against his hold on her but to no avail. He dragged her through the crowds until they reached the front door. He only released her once they were past the footmen standing guard.
“Don’t come back!” the man ordered.
“Beast,” Lavinia muttered, more to herself than anything.
Julia, who had been sitting on a nearby wall, stood at the sound of the commotion. She hastened over and her expression dropped when she spied Lavinia alone. “Was he not in there?”
Lavinia let her shoulders droop. “He was there.”
“Oh.” Julia’s gaze caught on something behind her. “Oh!”
“Do not tell me—” Lavinia twisted and stilled. She was faintly aware of her sister stepping back as Niall made his way down the steps of the building toward her.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight, lass.” He stopped in front of her, running his gaze over her. “Especially looking like you’ve been in a fight with a bush.”
Lavinia pressed her lips together. “That is exactly what I did.”
Admiration shone in his gaze.
She tilted her head to eye him. “Should you not be dancing?”
His lips quirked. “I dropped out early. After all, I am a boorish Scotsman. I don’t have any manners anyway.”
“I did not know...that is...I was not sure you would wish to see me.”
Niall moved closer and plucked a twig from her hair. “Of course I would wish to see you. I’ve thought of nothing but you since I left.” He flung the twig aside. “In truth, I thought I was mistaken when I saw you in there. Every time I saw a golden-haired lass I kept hoping it was you.”
“So...” She glanced at his boots then met his gaze. “You still want me?”
“Aye.” His grin widened. “I still want you. As much as the last day I saw you. Maybe more.” He looked over her shoulder at Julia. “Does this mean your mother is well? And approves?”
Lavinia chuckled. “Well, her approval was begrudging, but she is almost fully healed. My sisters were complicit in persuading her to let me see you.”
“Oh?”
“It seems they convinced your aunt to overcome her dislike of us all and tell my mother what a marvelous man you are. Once Mama was converted, we convinced Mr. Bentley to act as escort to us.”
“I have some thanks to make it seems.” He moved close and curved a hand around her neck.
Lavinia leaned into the warmth of his palm, her racing heart finally slowing.
His gaze searched hers. “Are you still certain you want to be a laird’s wife?”
She let a wide grin spread across her face. “Aye.”
Niall chuckled then sealed his lips over hers. She gave herself up to the sensation, forgetting her sister watching, Mr. Bentley leaning out of his carriage to get a good look and the perplexed footmen observing them.
She didn’t care what any of them thought. Not now she had her braw, wild Scot.
THE END
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Other titles by Samantha Holt
Bluestocking Brides
Amelia and the Viscount
Julia and the Duke
Emma and the Earl
Catherine and the Marquis
Rogue of Redmere
You’re the Rogue That I Want
When a Rogue Loves a Woman
Waiting for a Rogue Like You