Page 29 of Taming the Scot
Bronwen glanced at his sisters who were eating their sandwiches the same way. However, their expressions were completely devoid of humor. Amabel even went so far as to look down her nose at Euan and say, “Brother, it is rude to tease your governess. She is here to help ye find a bride, and ye should be grateful for her lessons.”
Thoroughly chastised, he continued to eat his sandwich in a ring around the edge until there was only a tiny circle left, which he then popped into his mouth.
“Am I passing this lesson?” he asked.
“Much better than any others,” Bronwen said with a shrug.
“Good.” He lifted his tea, sure to keep his pinky up, and sipped. “And how do ye find the cucumbers?”
“To be quite honest, they seem to be devoid of most flavor, but I do enjoy the crispness of them.”
“A good assessment,” Maggie agreed.
“Now a rather indelicate question, Miss Holmes.” Euan set down his teacup, sitting back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee.
Her eyes widened as she stared at him.
“What if I need to…” He cleared his throat and held down his laughter by some miracle. “Belch.”
His sisters gasped in horror. Lillie’s teacup clattered on her saucer.
“Euan,” Maggie hissed.
Bronwen, however, seemed to take his question in stride. She carefully placed her teacup and saucer on the table, pursing her lips as she thought over his question. “Belching is the body’s natural response to eating and drinking. And we all do it, aye? So, I suppose if ye need to, a wee one would be all right. But no’ too loud. Ye would no’ want to offend the ladies.”
“Good to know.” He nodded seriously.
“Do ye need to belch now?” she asked, looking at him curiously.
“No’ yet.”
She nodded as if that were important information he’d just clarified. “Well, I think we can all be comfortable, knowing ye will no’ blow us out of the room with it.”
Lillie giggled behind her teacup, and Amabel elbowed her in the ribs to make her stop. That only caused Lillie to start to choke, and Amabel pounded on her back until Lillie’s eyes watered and laughter spilled out of her lungs.
Bronwen gave them both a quizzical look, but he didn’t want her to draw anything from his giggling gossip of a sister who’d nearly choked on her laughter. He didn’t want to tease her anymore, either, afraid she’d pick up on it and flee before he could find out exactly what was going on with her. So Euan decided to distract his governess.
“The older Irvine sisters have been invited to a country dance this evening a few miles away. Would ye care to join them?” he asked, adding, “I’ll be their escort.”
“Oh.” Bronwen jerked her gaze back to his, one that looked more as if he’d just invited her to a duel in which she’d be sans weapon than a dance. She vehemently shook her head. “I could no’. But ye must go and attempt to use some of our lessons on the lasses in attendance. Maggie, if ye would report back to me, I’d be delighted to hear how the captain does.”
Maggie nodded, her gaze flicking between Euan and Bronwen. “Of course.”
Euan couldn’t help the disappointment he felt at Bronwen’s declining the invitation, even if it confused him. He had a job to do after all—get a bride to fall in love with him and bear his children—and his sisters were counting on him. Thinking about what would happen if he failed was almost too much to bear.
Nay, he needed to stop being distracted by Bronwen. He had to stay on course.
A bride must be procured and one he could love and be loved by in return. As much fun as he was having with Miss Holmes, he truly needed to get on with his planning as he was certain that his cousin Hector must be. The man was likely coming up with some illegitimate scheme to force a marriage. The bastard. His cousin never did anything the lawful way, as if his brain had been outfitted since birth with only nefarious ideals.
So why did the idea of pursuing someone other than Bronwen sit so heavily in his gut?
Euan was quiet for the rest of the tea, politely entering conversation when asked but mostly introspective. His sisters soon begged to be excused to prepare for the dance, leaving him and Bronwen alone together. In the quiet, their gazes met, and neither of them spoke. He wanted to ask her what had happened before she’d arrived at Drum, but the question continued to stall on his tongue.
Then she stood abruptly, and he sat forward, anticipating her next move, only for her to say, “More tea?” as she lifted the pot.
He didn’t want any more tea, but seeing she was nervous and had not yet left, he nodded. She leaned forward to pour, the faintest scent of her soap wafting toward him. The lass started to pour at the same time that a loud knock rattled the main door of the castle. Owen leapt to his feet and unfortunately, just happened to be right under Bronwen, which meant she stumbled. Hot tea flew everywhere—hitting Euan in the face, on his chest, his lap. While the tea went in all different directions, the lass at least maintained a grip on the pot.
“Oh, my! I—I’m so so—sorry,” she stammered, setting the pot down. Gripping a napkin, she began to wipe at his face frantically.
