Page 40 of Taming the Scot
Forget I said anything, kiss me some more. But instead, what came out was, “I thank ye for this kiss. It was delightful, but it must be the last one we share.”
Euan’s gaze slanted back to her, disappointment in the creases of his lips. “Ye sound as if we’ve just split a slice of cake.”
Bronwen couldn’t help the light burst of laughter at his description, but then she grew more serious. Reaching for his hand, she squeezed gently. “I assure ye, it was much sweeter. But like cake, we can no’ have it in abundance, and sometimes no’ at all.”
Before she launched herself into his arms, Bronwen retreated from the alcove. Every step felt as if she were walking barefoot over shattered glass. Painful and unpleasant, when it would be so much easier to leap into the safety of that cocoon they’d just created.
Then she was on the other side, several feet between them, the light of the foyer chandelier seeming all too bright. Euan remained where he was, and she could feel his gaze on her, watching, the intensity of it as strong as a magnet pulling her back.
“I can no’,” she said again, more for herself than for him.
Walking away from him was probably the hardest thing she’d done to date. Because he’d practically said he would stop searching for a wife. Because he’d said he wanted her.
And those were heady words for a lass who’d always wanted to belong. For a lass who longed for a family like this. A lass who longed for love.
10
Last night’s game of charades had been fun to observe, even if Bronwen felt as though she’d been sitting on pins and needles with her on one end of the settee and Euan on the other. The tension between the two of them was so thick she could have climbed it.
She wished she’d been able to feign a headache and go to her room, but she didn’t want to disappoint his sisters as she’d come to think of each of them as friends, if not secret sisters of her own.
Every minute she thought about scooting closer to Euan. About looking at him even, but she’d kept her focus straight ahead on those acting out the various charades and even threw in her guesses as to what they were doing. Her favorite was when Raine, Esme and Skye had acted out a mother goose trying to gather her goslings.
Euan’s laughter had been contagious, and his sisters had been in stitches playing together. When she’d said at dinner she didn’t like charades, it wasn’t because she found it unenjoyable, but rather that she’d never played. Oh, but it seemed like so much fun now that she was watching.
But no matter how much fun she had or how she tried not to look at Euan, she was all too keenly aware of his presence. Every one of his laughs, claps, slaps on his knee or guesses drew a reaction, both visceral and emotional. Her entire body felt as though it were vibrating, sitting there.
The two hours of charades were the most intense moments for her since her arrival, even more so than the kisses because wanting Euan and not being able to have him was so strong. She’d had to curl her fingers into her skirt, into the wooden arm of the settee, to keep herself in place.
How was she ever going to move on from this—from him? With every second that passed, Bronwen was certain she never would. Every day for the rest of her life, and lonely night after lonely night, she would be thinking of Euan. Of what he asked of her. Would wonder if being his lover was such a bad idea, and maybe even kick herself for denying them both the pleasure—even of a single night.
For now, she had to try to make it through the days until he decided he no longer needed lessons—or rather, his sisters decided since it was Amabel who’d begged her to stay. She couldn’t deny them the happier brother they’d longed to see from whomever he’d been before her arrival. And who exactly was that? Every once in a while, she caught flashes of a man wounded, a man who was tormented by something. But knowing his past, how he’d spent the remainder of his childhood summoning the courage to care for his sisters and take over his father’s duties, he was admirable. She’d also learned he’d been through hell and back when on the battlefield during the Peninsular War.
Knowing these things about him gave Euan more depth in her mind. He was not simply another spoiled man of noble blood.
As much as she admired him for all of those things, that didn’t change her situation. She hoped this altered state he was in now would stick enough on its own that she could be set free and away from the torment of knowing he could never be hers.
The agony of knowing she’d lied to them all, and exposed them to danger. How could they ever forgive her if they knew she was associated with The Trojan gambling hell and its nefarious owner? The criminal thought himself so untouchable that he called himself Prince and made people grovel at his feet.
That was what had caused her to keep her distance this morning. To take her breakfast in her room. What little of her eggs and toast she’d been able to consume. Because she wanted to tell them all so badly the truth. The guilt of keeping secrets from people she’d grown to greatly care for was eating away at her. But she was scared of what their reactions would be when they found out she’d duped them. She wasn’t sure how she’d feel if she found out someone had lied to her about who and what they were.
As she’d whiled away the morning in her chamber, going over the etiquette guidebook for the hundredth time, Maggie had stopped by to ask her about today’s ballroom etiquette lesson and dancing, and Bronwen was obliged to come out of her room.
She stood outside of the ballroom now, where Euan had caught her dancing days earlier. Her gown was simple, the gray one she’d worn already, and her hair was in a neat knot at the base of her neck with a matching gray ribbon tying it in place.
Owen sat beside her, waiting and staring at the door as she did. She patted his head, hoping his presence would calm her, but as sweet and even-tempered as he was, the hound was not going to solve this issue for her.
With a deep inhale, Bronwen pushed open the ballroom doors to find Esme at the piano playing a tune while Maggie instructed the other sisters on several dance moves. Euan was by the window, leaning against the wall. He had a booted ankle crossed over the other, and his arms folded nonchalantly at his chest, watching with a half-smile. Even dressed in a kilt and frockcoat, he made his impeccable attire look casual and comfortable. As soon as he saw her, though, his gaze darkened with emotion that she tried to ignore because it pulled at her heart.
Feeling flustered, she remained rooted in place, uncertain what to do with her hands, her feet.
Euan pushed off the wall, strolled forward and bowed low. He had such command of his body…and she liked to watch him move. Despite what had happened between them, he was still acting the gentleman, and it broke her heart a little more. Bronwen dipped into a curtsy, feeling more unsteady on her feet now than she had when she’d first attempted a curtsy days before. She kept her head down, unable to look him in the eye for fear she’d burst.
“A pleasure to see ye,” he said, and the way the word “pleasure” rolled off his tongue had her insides melting and her mind tunneling back to the darkened alcove where the hard planes of his figure had aligned with the softer curves of her own.
Nay, nay, nay. She had to stop thinking about that.
“Likewise, Captain.” Bronwen was impressed by how even she was able to keep her voice.
