Page 35 of Taming the Scot
Euan tugged at his cravat, feeling as though it were overly tight this evening. When he passed by a window in the corridor as he made his way to the dining room and saw his reflection, the crease between his brows was more than noticeable. The frown causing his mouth to downturn made him look sour and unapproachable.
The brooding self he was most comfortable with had returned. And he much preferred the teasing, light-hearted man he’d been of late.
Mostly, he was disappointed in himself. Where the hell had his willpower gone? Kissing Bronwen in the garden had been a mistake. A delicious, mind-altering mistake. He should feel guilty. It was what he kept telling himself. He was a rogue, after all. Except, the only guilt he felt about the kiss was how upset she’d been after. For he’d truly thought when he’d kissed her that it was for the right reasons—because he desired her, wanted her. Because she’d seemed to want it in return. The moment she’d stormed into his castle and taken the position as his governess, he’d been struck. Mesmerized. Enchanted.
Stunned by her spirit, her quiet beauty, and the whimsical way she had about her in quiet moments that made him want to creep into her mind and set up camp in that faraway place. The way he felt the overwhelming urge to protect her. To fight all of her demons. And that the very idea of her leaving, disappearing from his life forever, sent tremors of dread to coil around his spine.
But instead of telling her that, trying to explain and see if she might return any of those sentiments, he’d planted his mouth on her as the lecherous lout he was and demanded something from her she wasn’t willing to or interested in giving. He’d shown her exactly who she thought he was.
Which hadn’t seemed to matter because she had pulled him closer…had sighed against his mouth. Had kissed him back—quite enthusiastically.
There was more at work here than simple denial. It was likely the heavy truth that sat on both their heads. She was on the run from something that scared her—which he’d yet to uncover—and he had a pistol pointed at his head to find a bride, fall in love and procreate.
Neither of their situations lent itself to casual kissing or even passionate kissing. Or even him saying to her that he wanted to pursue her. This was all madness, and he was an idiot.
So, here he was, responding to the summons his sisters had sent of a dinner party invitation in his dining room. He was weak when it came to the possibility of spending time with the termagant who was turning his world more upside down than it already was.
More lessons. More pretending. More of the woman he wanted but couldn’t have.
At the base of the stairs, he heard piano music coming from the parlor as Esme played. Delightful notes that should have soothed his soul. Among his sisters, she was the most talented with the instrument. Normally, her music calmed him, but right now, nothing seemed to take the edge off.
With a deep breath, he pushed into the parlor to find them all standing about the piano. And then to his shock and awe, Bronwen began to sing.
Euan stopped dead in his tracks, his gaze riveted on her, his ears rejoicing. She had the most angelic voice he’d ever heard, and she trilled in perfect harmony to the music as if she’d sung every day of her life. Her dark hair was curled around her face; her cheeks flush with color. Her evening gown was a soft rose shade, which accentuated her body in all the right places—places he shouldn’t be looking.
She sang of a lost love gone off to battle. A story he’d heard a hundred times before but seemed infinitely different coming from her.
Mustering the same self-discipline he’d used in battle, Euan willed his gaze away from Bronwen to the six younger Irvines. His sisters appeared equally enamored by their guest, and Euan’s resolve failed, his gaze slipping back to watch. So into her music, Bronwen closed her eyes, the passion and pleasure of verse after singsong verse coursing through her veins and out of her gorgeous throat.
Euan’s mouth went dry. His limbs grew heavy, then light, and then he felt a little as if he might explode with something akin to pride, to want. He wanted her for far more than kissing. He wanted her to sing to him, to look at him with the same passion she paid to her music. The tumult of feeling, both metaphorical and physical, which stormed through him was unexpected enough that it took his breath and threatened to flatten him.
When Bronwen finished, his sisters clapped loudly, calling for an encore.
“That was beautiful,” he said, his voice sounding a little more guttural than usual, nearly hoarse. She was beautiful. He sauntered forward, pretending to look over the sheet music, but really it was to be closer to her. To catch her scent, to perhaps feel the heat of her skin, even if from a few feet away.
Bronwen turned to face him, her cheeks pink with the attention and her gray eyes sparkling. Her skin glowed golden in the warm candlelight. A shy smile curled her lips, but behind it was pride. Something she’d shown them all up on, something she owned that no one could take away.
“Ye’re verra talented,” he said, leaning his elbow on the piano lid.
“My mother and I used to sing together.” Bronwen tended to divulge so little information that this was like a glittering gift.
Euan smiled with an appreciative nod. “Whoever had the pleasure of hearing was verra lucky.”
“Thank ye, Captain.” As expected, she didn’t expand on her admission to reveal who might have listened, and he didn’t pry, even though he wanted to.
“Oh, wait,” Maggie pouted, pointing her attention to Euan. “Ye’ve ruined our plans.”
“What?” Euan asked, confused by his sister’s sudden change in demeanor. He straightened off the piano.
Maggie waved him toward the door. “Go back out of the parlor. We’re no’ ready for ye yet.”
Euan frowned, but his other sisters chimed in, shooing him from the room. Owen leapt up, tail wagging as if the hound too were pointing Euan out of the room. With little choice, Euan left the parlor, the door shutting behind him. He stood in the grand foyer, as perplexed as ever, examining the wallpaper in a way he’d not done to date when Martin appeared beside him.
“I’m to announce ye, sir.” His butler very impressively kept a straight face.
Euan nodded with a sigh. “Another game of pretend, I see. By what name shall ye call me?”
“I’m no’ certain there is any new name, sir.”
