Page 24 of Return of the Scot
“Something like that,” Lorne said. A flash of his time in prison, where he’d been made to fight with the others for their captors’ pleasure, took him out of the moment. It had never been as civilized as this and never as safe.
A bitter taste swept into his mouth, and he retreated, taking a deep breath. But Euan hadn’t noticed his sudden change in mood and continued to attack forward. Lorne was slow to recover, and the top of Euan’s foil stabbed against his chest, off-setting his equilibrium, and he stepped off the planche, his right foot catching air. He tumbled to the mat below with an “Oof.”
Euan jumped down beside him, pulling his mask up to stare at Lorne with a frown. “What just happened?”
“Ye won.” Lorne held up his hand, and Euan pulled him to his feet.
“It’s no’ winning when your opponent gives up.”
Lorne lifted his mask, wiping the sweat slicking his brow on his sleeve. “I did no’ give up. I was…distracted.”
Euan nodded, intelligent eyes studying him. “Perhaps ye’d prefer the ring then. Maybe get some of those distractions out of your head.”
“We’ll get to that.” Lorne pulled the mask over his face, shuttering his eyes from his friend, feeling too exposed. “That was just a warmup.”
They climbed the ladders to the planche again, and when Lorne put up his sword this time, he was determined to win.
* * *
Jaime paced her drawing room,making certain to do so in a different place than she had been before so as not to wear the rug out in one spot.
MacInnes waited patiently by the door as she tried to sort through the thoughts tumbling through her head. But she couldn’t seem to get a handle on a single one. Since she’d arrived home after the duke had so unceremoniously dumped her on his front stoop, she’d had one caller after another. Everyone wanted to be on the inside of the drama festering between herself and Lorne.
Oh, how she wanted to box his ears for him thinking she’d tripped and fallen on purpose. That she’d wanted him to catch her so she could somehow seduce him with her clumsiness. Of all the absurd things she’d heard… But it had been a wonder to have his bulk pressed so close to hers. To feel the heat and strength of him. The way his eyes had blazed into hers. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit feeling in her belly, and the buzzing of bees in her head. Blast it!
MacInnes checked his pocket watch, a subtle reminder that she had callers waiting.
To deny them entry would be to fan the flames and allow their comments to run wild and out of control. She’d never be able to get a handle on it then. But to let them in would be to plaster a smile on her face that she didn’t feel. To speak with people she loathed and to play their stupid society games, which she hated. One of the reasons she’d moved her office permanently to Edinburgh, instead of remaining in London as her father preferred, was because it was more informal in town here.
Not that it didn’t have its share of stiffness. Edinburgh was like a finger of London if London were the hand. The royal family still held residences down the street from her and often came to make their roundabouts.
Which meant so did the rest of Scottish and English society alike.
“Miss…” MacInnes hedged.
Jaime whirled to face her faithful butler. What would she do without his patience and guidance? “All right, fine, MacInnes. Tell Lady Giselle she can come up and leave the rest of the cards with me. I’ll think about my replies later.”
Her butler nodded and left the room. If she had to get this over with, fine, but she wasn’t going to entertain more than one person today. And she was going to make certain it was a person she at least used to enjoy the company of.
Lady Giselle Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell’s daughter, swept into the room in vivacious yellow silk skirts and a gauzy emerald-green sash beneath her bosom. Her golden hair was twisted into a fashionable style, with several curls framing her face. Giselle was lovely as ever, a hint of a smile on her lips, her gaze cautious. It had been so long since they’d seen each other.
“Oh, Jaime, I’m so glad ye let me up.” Giselle came forward, pulling her in for an embrace. At twenty-one, a few years Jaime’s junior, Giselle still had a whole wide world in front of her, though she didn’t appear in any hurry to take it. Jaime, however, at twenty-four, was basically on the shelf, a placement that suited her fine.
Giselle had come out for her season three years after Jaime, but they’d still found each other to be good company, even if the Countess of Bothwell had warned her daughter to stay away for fear of Jaime ruining Giselle’s chances at a match. Through the swift intervention of the countess, they’d lost touch when Jaime’s parents had both passed, and she was no longer attending husband-hunting society functions. The blasted affairs were so obvious. Why not simply line the eligible males up on one side and the females on the other and have an auction? Pretending they were all civilized by dancing, laughing and drinking punch when they were being paraded and prodded was offensive to both parties.
“You look beautiful, as always,” Jaime said, kissing the air beside her old friend’s cheek. It wasn’t until this moment that she realized how much she’d missed having a friend. But she didn’t want to get her hopes up. Giselle had not come around in the last two years and had only now decided to show her face. Her visit could not be genuine. “Shall I ring for tea?”
Please say no.
“Aye, please.”
With a tight smile, Jaime rang the bell alerting MacInnes of her request and then took a seat on one of her silk chairs facing Giselle, who’d opted to sit on the settee. The younger lady fixed her skirts so they wouldn’t wrinkle and then looked up at Jaime with a beaming smile that confused her in its sincerity.
“How have ye been?” Jaime asked, smoothing down her own skirts to occupy her hands.
“Oh, the usual.” Giselle waved her hand in the air with an eye roll. “Mother is disappointed I’ve no’ yet found a wealthy lord to wed. But who can blame me with the choices we’ve got?”
“Fair enough. And does your mother know ye’re here?”
