Page 97 of Wild Scottish Beauty

Damn you, Miles.Ramsay’s expression was virtuallyunreadable as he looked down at me. For once, I wished Clyde would spring into the room to break the tension, but no such reprieve presented itself.

“I should have told him…before. Asked his permission.”

“Excuse me?” I reared back, annoyed. “Permission for what, exactly? I’m my own woman and can make my own decisions. I certainly don’t need my brother’s permission foranythingthat I do in my life.”

“I still should have spoken to him.” Ramsay’s expression remained stony.

“You know what? You’re starting to piss me off. And I don’t like that, because I’ve got a pretty dress, and this is my first Scottish dance. Yes, I get it sucks that Miles is mad about this…whatever this is. But he’ll come around. Or he won’t. But either way, get it very clear in your head, Ramsay, that I’m the only one who gives out permission on what to do with my body, my future, and my life. Not Miles. Not anyone. So you can take your antiquated patriarchal notion of asking permission and shove it up your ass.” I poked my finger into his chest for good measure and turned to flounce into the bedroom, where I could cry in peace. I’dreallybeen looking forward to this dance.

I made it two steps before Ramsay grabbed me around my waist and buried his face in the back of my neck.

“I’m sorry. It’s been weighing on me, not telling him. You’re right. I don’t need his permission to date you. I’m upset because I crossed a line with him is all.”

And line crossing with brothers is a very sore spot with Ramsay.

My breath was shaky as I turned in his arms. I needed togive this man some grace, because he, too, had his own issues he was working out.

“You’re still taking me to the cèilidh?” I’d been working on my pronunciation.

“I’d be honored to have you on my arm this night, my fair maiden,” Ramsay joked, playing up that we were now sleeping in a castle. I closed my eyes, and pressed my forehead to his chest, and he wrapped his arms around me. We stood like that for a moment, our world recalibrating around each other, so many words left unsaid and yet nothing else needing to be said at all.

“I need to finish getting ready.” My words were muffled against his shirt.

“Just a moment, darling.” Ramsay reached a hand under my chin, lifting my face until his lips found mine. I sunk into the kiss. “There. That’s better then.”

“He won’t stay mad long. Give him time.”

“He’s always had a short fuse.” Ramsay shook his head, and I arched a brow at him.

“This from the man who exploded when I turned off Foo Fighters the other day?”

“Och, you can’t turn off music mid-song. At the very least wait until the end.”

The tension eased in my shoulders, and I tapped a finger against his nose before pulling myself from his arms.

“You need to get ready in the other bedroom. I want my Cinderella moment.”

“You look amazing in anything you put on.”

“Keep that up, sir, and you may just get lucky after the dance.”

Ramsay flashed a wolfish grin that had desire tugging at my core.

“I plan to.”

I hightailed it to my bedroom before I did something silly, like skip the dance so I could jump Ramsay, and closed the door behind me. Unzipping the garment bag that I’d laid across the bed, I pulled out my outfit and grinned at it. I’d taken inspiration from images I’d scoured online of traditional Scottish attire for women, and then I’d done my own spin on it to modernize it.

If I had to say, it was like Madonna meets Outlander.

Naturally, I’d gone with a pink tartan that I’d sourced. I’d sewn a wide high-waisted circle skirt that had plenty of flounce and movement when you twirled. I’d ended the skirt at the knees, and then had designed a black tulle petticoat for beneath the skirt to give it added pouf. For the top, I’d cut and sewn a bustier with a sweetheart neckline in black silk. I’d lined the edges with a slim strip of the pink tartan fabric and added pretty jet beads down the front. It was fun and fresh, as Sophie had told me that while people would be dressed up, it wasn’t as formal as a wedding, so I designed something that would make me feel pretty and would have a lot of movement on the spins.

A few more stitches on the bustier and I’d be all set. Humming to myself, I finished off the outfit, rolled my hair into hot rollers, then took a lightning-fast shower. After, I did my makeup, smokey eyes and soft lips, and then unfurled my hair from the rollers and brushed it softly for big bouncy waves. Piling a few sparkles around my neck, I slipped on my dress, and realized my error.

Shit. I was going to need Ramsay to zip me up.

Annoyed, I went to the door.

“Ramsay.”

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