Page 33 of Return of the Scot
“A lady is never too old to dance. It would be my honor to have ye on my arm,” Lorne said, bowing to Alec’s granny.
“Well, if ye insist.” The fan snapped closed.
“Oh, I do.”
He took the older woman by the arm and led her out to the dance floor, joining the others. At the far end of the line, Euan had brought out his partner and Malcolm the same, both of them looking sour as hell. Alec, meanwhile, gloated on the side.
Well, here went nothing.
As much as Lorne thought he’d hate dancing, the dowager made it fun by whispering bits of gossip each time they were paired to turn and nodding in the direction of whoever she was speaking about as they broke apart.
“Ye’re utterly charming,” Lorne said, leading her off the floor when the dance ended.
“If only I were younger,” she said with a mocking wistful sigh.
Lorne chuckled. “No one else would stand a chance. I thank ye for allowing me this dance, my lady. I simply could no’ choose between all the twittering ninnies, and I much prefer the company of a mature woman.”
Granny flashed open her fan and waved it in front of her face. “Ye’re a charmer, Your Grace. And, I might add, it is good to have ye back alive.”
Lorne pressed his hand over his heart and bowed. “Thank ye, my lady.”
He retreated from the dowager, made his way back to the corner and stopped more times than he cared to be introduced to one debutante after another. He was nearly there when Mungo’s voice boomed out of the crowd and stopped Lorne dead in his tracks.
“Miss Jaime Andrewson and the Viscountess Whittleburn.”
* * *
Jaime stoodat the entrance to the ballroom, all eyes on her and her aunt, who’d made a sneak attack visit that morning to inform her that she was not going to the ball alone. It was most unfortunate and rather irritating. Jaime was a grown woman and perfectly capable of taking care of herself.
But Jaime suspected the true reason her aunt had come up from London was that she wanted to be at the ball that was garnering all the talk of the Scottish ton, and even those in London who’d yet to step foot in Edinburgh.
It had been years since Jaime had been inside a ballroom, and nerves prickled every inch of her skin. The new gown fit like a glove, and when she twirled, the lights caught on the crystals, making it sparkle magically. It was the same when she walked, she noticed. She slowly made her way forward, smiling at familiar faces and trying not to look as frightened as she felt.
So many people looked astonished to see here there, and with little doubt as to why. It’d been years since she’d attended a ball, and now here she was, likely putting voice to all their rumors.
“Come, let us make our way to His Grace,” her aunt whispered in her distinctly English aristocratic tones. “We are here to show that despite past fractures, our family ties are not destroyed.”
“I’d rather no’,” Jaime whispered. Oh, why had she decided to come?
“Which is why we should.”
But they needn’t have gone far, for the duke approached them, looking unbelievably confident and devastatingly handsome in his kilt and doublet. Had he always been so tall? His gray eyes were cool as they met hers. Jaime flicked her gaze up to the center of his forehead, when all she wanted to do was take him in. Even looking there at his head, her imagination conjured what she wasn’t looking at. The turn of his muscled calf in his hose. The way his dark locks seemed to fall in all the right places, making him look as though he’d just come in from an exhilarating ride. The wide, full mouth that would undoubtedly demand she leave, but which she actually, for a fraction of a second, wondered what it would be like to kiss.
It was no wonder her sister had been obsessed with him. Lorne was too gorgeous for words. Unfairly good-looking. Damn him.
Aunt Beatrice tugged Jaime into a curtsy, which she did begrudgingly, hating the idea of groveling before the man who’d made it so clear the last time they’d spoken that she was not to be in his presence again. And yet, there was a thrum of excitement swirling in her belly, knowing his eyes were on her. Did he like her gown? Her hair?
“Lady Whittleburn and Miss Andrewson.” Lorne’s voice was smooth as silk, gliding over the silence of the ballroom as everyone—including Jaime—waited on bated breath for what he’d say next.
“Your Grace,” Jaime murmured, while her aunt was a bit more enthusiastic.
“You have a lovely home, Your Grace, and what a magnificent fete you’ve put on. We are so very glad that you’ve returned.”
“Thank ye, my lady.” Lorne nodded his head, but his questioning gaze slid toward Jaime. From what she could tell peeking through her lashes, he was waiting for an explanation. And he’d be waiting a long time.
She was losing her nerve.
Beatrice grabbed Jaime’s hand, starting to tug at the dance card tied around her wrist, but Jaime yanked back. “If you’re not already full, which I’m certain you must be,” her aunt said with a nervous laugh, “then I’m certain my niece would very much enjoy the honor of a dance. Two families coming together in peace, shall we say?”
