Page 50 of Taming the Scot
Without waiting for the men to agree, he sauntered toward the ladies, and Euan couldn’t help but notice that several of his sisters’ heads swiveled in Malcolm’s direction. He’d have to talk with them later about that. His friends were off-limits as far as husband-hunting went.
As Malcolm flattered Jaime until she turned a knowing look toward Lorne, Euan watched Bronwen, at ease with Maggie and giggling about something.
When Jaime, at last, scooted them out of the parlor, the pull he had to stay with Bronwen was enough to propel him out of the room to escape himself. A good bout of fisticuffs was what he needed to mull over the idea of how exactly he’d ask her to marry him and how to heal if she flatly denied him.
12
“Captain Euan Irvine, Miss Maggie Irvine, Miss Amabel Irvine, Miss Lillie Irvine, and Miss Bronwen Holmes.” Their names were announced, bringing the conversation in the ballroom to a halt.
A flushed heat filled Bronwen’s chest, creeping up to her neck and her face. Every inch of her skin was prickling as strangers assessed her. If not for Euan and his sisters standing there beside her, she would have turned around, hailed a hackney, and returned to Irvine House. She could still do that. She could make her excuses saying that she wanted to join the other lasses at home, to recreate the party as they’d done in the Highlands, so they didn’t feel as left out.
Because that was how she felt right now. A fish out of water.
Last night at the intimate gathering at Sutherland Gate, she’d gotten to know Jaime, the Duchess of Sutherland, and Giselle, the Countess of Errol, and liked the two of them very much. Their conversations had been easy and exciting, and for a few hours, Bronwen had not felt as if she were a pretender. She’d been at ease and… as if she belonged.
When the men had gone off to box out of hearing distance, Jaime and Giselle had shared their romantic stories of how they’d met their husbands and fell in love. Bronwen longed for the day she’d be able to share a similar story. But her mind kept whirling back to Euan as if being hired as his governess were a future tale she’d get to tell about the two of them.
What a daydreaming fool she was.
A slow murmuring rose, similar to the sound bees make as they fly closer and closer until it's loud and overwhelming to the ears.
Bronwen had never experienced being more out of place than she did at that moment. Dressed in a gown of gold, which shimmered in the candlelight, she felt like an imposter, a charlatan. The silky fabric of her gown was whisper-soft against her skin. The slippers on her feet were practically molded to her foot shape. No pinching.
Conversations had stilled to watch them enter and now ramped up as they all talked about her. Everyone was looking their way—judging her, she was certain, for being the fraud she was. Who amongst them thought she might have stolen the gown that fit her like a glove? A gift from Maggie, who’d sent her measurements to the modiste in Edinburgh before they’d arrived in town.
How could she have agreed to go to the ball with Euan and his sisters?
An intimate gathering with his close friends was one thing, but a ball? This was so far from anything she’d ever done, and those in attendance probably knew it.
Euan offered her his elbow as they entered. Maggie was on his other side and his other two sisters behind them. Bronwen placed her hand on his forearm, fingers barely touching, and willed the trembling to disappear.
She swallowed as the stares from those in attendance stabbed her forehead. She should haven’t listened to Euan, to Maggie. Shouldn’t have agreed to watch Euan put his skills of being a courting gentleman into play. Doing so was going to hurt her more than she was willing to admit. And he really ought to stop paying such special care to her. Any lass who was interested in being his bride would not appreciate that.
It was almost as if he were laying claim to her for anyone to see—which right now appeared to be most of the Scottish high society. Maybe that was his plan, though. To spark interest from the maidens through jealousy. Well, Bronwen didn’t want to be a pawn in that way. It was one thing to teach him manners, quite another to be the dangled carrot those lasses wanted to demolish.
Just thinking of the ladies who’d be clambering over themselves to take a bite of Euan caused a pang of loss in Bronwen’s gut. Perhaps she should make her smiles and melt into the wallpaper, slip out the nearest door or window and disappear into the night. She’d gotten quite good over the years at sneaking away. Of hiding and being invisible to anyone who might come looking for her. Besides, she was already one step ahead of the ruffians she feared. Dressed as she was, the men looking for her wouldn’t recognize her or even see her, most likely. She was a lady tonight, a princess even.
Physically running away would be so easy.
Mentally, however…it was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.
Difficult as it might be, it was also the right thing. Because the longer she spent in Euan’s presence, the harder it would be to leave. To stay meant saddling him with all of the burdens she carried on her like a pack mule.
“Ye promised me the first dance,” Euan said, interrupting her thoughts. His smile was charming, disarming and enticing, the combination of which softened her resolve to flee.
Oh, but she was a silly, demented lass, wasn’t she?
Maintaining a serious and determined visage to keep Euan—and herself—on task, she said, “To show all the other lasses what they're missing. Their mothers will be clambering to get your name on their daughters’ dance cards.”
“Perhaps they will.” He leaned a little closer, his spicy scent assaulting her senses in the most delicious, forbidden way. “But ye know I’ll deny them all if only ye, my faithful governess, would agree to keep me occupied all the night through. For ye outshine them all. I may have to battle off the gentlemen present.”
A shiver of pleasure went through her—and something else. Sadness, regret. She knew he was jesting. He had to be. This was who Euan was—the consummate charmer. Always looking for a way to please whomever’s attention he held.
And Lord help her, he often held hers. But as she’d told herself a hundred times, if not more, she couldn’t saddle him with the burdens left to her by her parents, even if he said he wanted to help. It wouldn’t be fair to him nor to his sisters. They deserved better than that. From the stories they’d told her, they’d already climbed out of the ashes. Why be dragged back down?
Euan had plenty of his own things to worry about. Six sisters to see settled. His legacy to secure. Adding Bronwen’s problems to the mix would only muddy the waters, and eventually, he might come to regret his choice in her. He’d be miserable. And she couldn’t handle that.
“I would suggest a plan to combat the opponents pressing in, Captain, but we both know a society wife is what ye desire. So I say, bring them on.”
